In case you haven't heard . . .

You may have heard, or read some news item something like this in the past day or so (if you're not from my neck of the desert, that is):

It was a winter wonderland that blanketed much of Las Vegas last night. A winter storm dumped more than eight inches of snow in Henderson, and the heaviest snowfall hit the southeast Vegas valley just after 7:45 last night, where three inches had accumulated. Snow blanketed Mount Charleston, packing powder at more than eleven inches. The weather prompted several businesses to close up shop early. The snow also closed down several highways last night, that are still shut down this morning . . . .
(Copyright 2008 Metro Networks Communications Inc., A Westwood One Company)

The above picture was taken late yesterday afternoon. The snow began about eleven--the time I picked my children up with their gingerbread houses (see previous post). Even by that point in the day, the snow was a freakish hardly ever heard of occurrence. It was only going to get less believable as time wore on.

A wee bit of back story, aside from the usual Christmas crazies, my dear M has been teething. Her tiny mouth decided that now was the time to produce all four year old molars. So we have alternated good sleeping nights and bad sleeping nights. Tuesday night, I got to bed at 11:30, admittedly a tactical error given the possibilities. M had me up from 3am til 5:15 and then the boys who do not sleep (BWDNS for short) got up at 6ish, so I gave up and went running so as not to kill them. So, I was tired, my house was a mess and when I came home from parent-teacher conferences, my goal was just to hold it together through an afternoon of playdates/ taking care of my friend's children while she did her conference (with no ability to match her gingerbread super mom prowess), take CE to basketball practice and slide them all into bed before DH got home from a long evening of tithing settlement and other appointments at the church.

Instead, the mom friend who attempted to drop off her daughter to play with CE, couldn't get her SUV up my street, so she came inside with her other two children. And then when my friend returned from the P/T conference, she slid into my driveway, so she didn't even try to make it up the street, she just came inside. That brought the grand total of people in my house on a crazy snowy afternoon to 11 children (9 and under) and 3 mommies, one of whom is great with child. It was about 3pm.



The afternoon included playing in the snow, calling various church leaders to cancel youth activities, basketball practices, tithing settlement and other appointments. And checking in periodically with DH's homeward exodus. Because the plan was that he would help me push the mommies up the street with their children so everyone could be home safely in their houses before dark. DH left work around 3pm. He got home a little before 9pm and it was still snowing. The roads weren't that bad, really, if you know how to drive in snow and have the equipment to do so. But this is the desert. How many people here actually have even seen snow before, let alone know how to drive in it or have anything other than a rear wheel drive car? All of those people who don't have what is needed were all over the road, driving badly or creating miles long parking lots in the road impeding the homeward progress of DH and many other people we know. So, we played, the mommies chatted, we dried off snowy children and fed them hot chocolate, chicken nuggets and corn dogs (thank heavens for a recent Costco run!) and wondered if husbands were ever coming home.

To add extra entertainment value to the evening, M fell down (not majorly) and was angry enough at the development that she cried until she coughed and then vomited, ALL over herself and all over me: through my sweater, shirt, underwear down to my skin. Lovely. Thankfully, one mommy friend rode herd on the non-vomiting children, the other mommy friend stripped and bathed M so that I could strip myself and clean off enough of me that I could avoid throwing up too.

Eventually, we found pajamas and sweats for all eleven children and began to try and settle in for a crazy impromptu sleepover. The problem with most sleepovers is that no one actually sleeps. This held true last night. No one had any intentions of sleeping. We sang Christmas carols by the piano, watched the Grinch and other non-Christmas kid DVDs. We tried to calm the children with some limited effect. Finally DH arrived and we tried to push cars, with no luck. So, instead DH drove both families home in the 4WD Explorer we are now grateful not to have gotten rid of yet (it's a battered, well used 97 explorer with many many many miles on it).

And everyone slept in their own beds and even M slept through the night.

Today, we awoke to this:




School was cancelled, so there has been more playing outside and slowly the stuff is all melting. It already seems like some surreal dream. I was so grateful that of late I have resisted my usual urge to postpone grocery/Costco shopping until we are on our last drop of milk/diaper/square of toilet paper. Yes, the day was exhausting and crazy. Yes, I would have liked to have had some reasonably nutritious meal just waiting to be prepared that I could double or triple to feed extras. I would have deeply enjoyed a clean house or at least some semblance of order. But, we had food that would fill our bellies, sufficient numbers of clean pjs and sweats that could be lent out. We had diapers and TP in abundance and milk and cocoa to fill our needs. Perhaps I actually have some "oil" in my proverbial lamp after all. No one was stranded out in the cold wet dark snow. No babies were born prematurely in a stranded Yukon. Everyone was safe and warm.

Maybe it's not such a bad thing (although my ego is feeling it still) that people saw my messy house and the packaged frozen junk I purchase for "occasional" consumption by my extremely picky eaters. I can't imagine that any of our ward members have any delusions about the bishop's family and home being perfect or idyllic in any way (they do attend sacrament meeting with us after all), but it makes me feel okay, bruised pride notwithstanding, that I could open my messy home and provide some measure of refuge, or shelter at least and that eventually we could help them get home with only a few too many chicken nuggets sloshing around in their bellies with too much hot cocoa. It warms my heart to hear throughout today of ward members who drove home stranded neighbors and friends and others who towed endless cars up the crazy hill we live on (DH's brother calls it "the widowmaker") instead of tucking themselves in their well prepared cozy homes and leaving the rest to the elements.

Even though the snow is fast melting, I think it really is looking a lot like Christmas.

What I am not

I may not be a good, fun mom, but thankfully I know some who are and they kindly play with my children.

Yesterday, a friend and I arranged a kid swap to facilitate parent-teacher conferences with the least amount of actual children in tow. This meant that my friend had my five children in her house in addition to her three. So, what did she do? She made gingerbread houses FROM SCRATCH and then helped all the children (and several others that are neither mine nor hers) decorate many many houses to take home. Here are the two that we brought home:




Or at least what was left of them by the time I could get to the camera . . .

Lamps and My Christmas Wish List

It's been a bit longer than I would like since I have come up with enough coherent thoughts to populate an entire post. I didn't blog at Thanksgiving, not for lack of gratitude but for lack of the ability to string together the big thoughts roaming around my head. I feel they are just out of reach. I am going to try tonight.

DH is out of town. The only commitment we had today was a birthday party for Z. I had my goals: get the Christmas tree put up, do laundry, get everything ready for church, not kill the children. Simple things really. So, a lot of Wii was played. A lot of legos and cars were spread hither and yon. Laundry was done; the tree is up, although not decorated. And all of this activity really only required some of my brain power, so I found my thoughts turning on the theme from last night's Ward Christmas party. Now first, my explanation of the theme will be sketchy at best because I spent most of the devotional in the hall with Bam who was certain DH had a shark in his pocket and that it should belong to him (Bam). DH was speaking in front of the congregation about the Ward Christmas gift and our theme for the coming year. So, the eloquence of DH and the other speaker were sadly lost on me amid the shark cries. But there was still enough to get me thinking.

Each family was given a lamp. A clay lamp made in Israel as a replica of the very old lamps possibly filled with oil by those ten virgins in the New Testament and also, of course, by countless actual real people in Israel around the time. The lamp is a working lamp, complete with wick. So, once home, I unwrapped it and DH installed the wick; we filled it with olive oil and lit it to see what happened. The light was surprisingly bright. It used oil quite sparingly and was far easier to carry around than a lit candle.

Perhaps you can guess at the theme for next year--filling our lamps, being prepared in all senses of the word.

In addition to the tasks of today, I have been reading this book: Life as We Knew It by Susan Beth Pfeffer. It's a YA fiction book about a catastrophic event and the survival skills needed and used to get a family through it. It was harrowing for me to read. It made me want to stockpile cash and diapers, to evaluate our emergency skills and provisions. It made me contemplate how well I'm doing at filling my lamp.

This holiday season has been hectic and promises to continue to be so. I'm doing my best to be simplified in my expectations and the commitments I accept, but there is far too much to do. With DH's life as a bishop and the regular demands on a bishop's time at Christmas combined with the concerns for members of our congregation who are struggling financially in the precarious economy, much of the family observance of Christmas traditions falls to me to execute. I'm feeling worn down. My lamp isn't empty, but it isn't full. I don't feel much current success with my previous attempts at emotional and spiritual replenishment. That lamp is staring me down. I want to find some sort of order in the chaos of life with young children; some way to infallibly add to my proverbial lamp's oil each day in regular, if minuscule ways so that I am always moving at least a little ahead. Sadly lately, I have felt mostly like we are treading water as a family: I am holding my head above water, but just barely and it is taking all my effort to manage that feat. I don't like this. I am just tired.

This post is lacking the transcendence I was hoping for. I don't mean to whine and complain. I know that on so many levels my life is easy and definitely blessed. There is much for which to be grateful and I am. My sister said it's okay to complain occasionally, a little. I'm hoping this doesn't exceed the bounds of "a little."

I want to be able to see baby steps being made successfully. I want to sleep through the night, to not wonder why Bam has to watercolor-paint his hair before the ward party or why CW must explode in a flurry of hyper kinetic activity most frenzied when my headache is most fierce. I want to be, if only for Christmas, a glass-half-full person so I can wonder along with my little ones at the beauty and excitement of Christmas and teach them the blessings of Christmas, all the while guiding them away from any further additions to their wish lists. Ideally, I would love to have DH with us for all the wonderment of the holidays, but what he is doing is needful and his devotion to service and duty to God at this particular time of year is a wonderful Christmas star of sorts for my children to follow. And we are blessed for it. So there's my Christmas Wish List.

What do you want for Christmas?

A Little Bit of the Crazies of the Week

As I mentioned in the last post, this week has been a bit nutty. I have finally received permission to discuss with you the scene of our FHE this week, which, sadly has set the tone a bit for the whole week and its success thereof.

To set the stage:
Things were a "bit" crazy (as usual) Monday afternoon into evening as we battled the great homework battle and the eating-food-that-is-not-processed-and-might-contain-a- (horrors!)vegetable battle and hunkered down to prepare for the daily return of the daddy and to experience an actual family home evening lesson with all (or most) members present. Since M had skimped on her nap earlier in the day, upon DH's return, we made the executive decision for me to put her down while he supervised dinner clean up and then we would have FHE. While I was changing and nursing M, I began to hear suspicious sounds. These suspicious sounds erupted into actual screams of pain and trauma sufficient that I abandoned the "put the baby to bed" plan in favor of the "run down the stairs and see what on Earth is happening" plan.

What happened:
CE had been sweeping the kitchen floor and had somehow knocked over one of our kitchen benches. Onto her big toe. There was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. And blood and hopping around the family room in pain, because CE didn't realize she was bleeding, only that she had hurt her toe and in a traditional toe-stubbing dance, she hopped all over the family room floor, leaving a trail of blood drops and spatters to memorialize the injury and the dance on the carpet. DH had halted the dance and moved her to the tiled floor with a cloth to apply direct pressure to the wound. She was very upset, to put it mildly. I set M down to play and began spot-cleaning the blood trail, thinking that CE was able to sit calmly and apply her direct pressure. Unfortunately, the pain, the blood and the fact that the integrity of her skin had been breached caused a great panic to well up in her and CE began to wail uncontrollably. So, I abandoned floor clean-up and began panic control and more detailed wound assessment. It was ugly. Since this is a G-rated blog, I will not post a picture. But the nail will most likely be lost. At the time, blood was oozing quite freely from beneath CE's toenail and it was slowly turning black and the toe was bruising and beginning to swell. I have never lost a toe nail, but my baby sister has lost several, so I called her in an attempt to distract CE with a conversation with beloved aunt BT. Perhaps that was a bad idea. CE first got to talk to her uncle Shawn, who has also lost a toenail and his "reassurances" that she would still be able to have a pretty toenail with polish and everything even if they had to "drill through the nail to release the pressure" somehow neither distracted nor soothed the maimed CE. BT tried to rehabilitate the conversation, but it didn't go all that well and was marred by more mayhem in the background, the noise of which was such that we had to cut the conversation short.
See, DH was trying to clean up the family room and maintain order with the rest of the family. Someone had crushed and spilled many crackers on the carpet, so DH was trying to vacuum. That may seem reasonable to you and I, but we are not Bam. Bam is apparently cultivating a fear of vacuums for his collection and this wasn't helping. Things were made worse by the fact that M was enchanted by the vacuum and was trying to pull at hoses and poke at things while DH vacuumed, thus leading Bam to scream "don't suck up my baby, don't suck up M" at the top of his lungs, easily audible over the sound of the vacuum.
So, vacuuming was curtailed, more direct pressure was applied and the toe was dressed and elevated. I put M to bed and we had a somewhat subdued, and whimpery (on the parts of CE) FHE.

Now several days later, we are still dressing and splinting the offending toe (in case it's sprained or broken and just because it seems to feel better when we do). CE no longer needs to sleep elevated and it is no longer oozing blood to the same degree (but only in the last day). But she can't wear actual shoes or walk without limping and it is almost certain that the toenail will eventually be lost since it is exceedingly black and ugly. And the boys have been interested in all the authorized use of bandaids, gauze, tape and other first aid supplies from which CE has benefitted. I'm so glad I actually squirrel the stuff away to keep it away from more recreational uses in the event of just such an actual need.

So, my question is, how long until the toenail actually goes? And is the unprotected skin impervious enough to withstand a coat or two of polish as a distracting measure? (once we actually get to that point, of course)

M is One

My darling baby is now one year old. It's been a whirlwind year, to say the least. This week alone was filled with commitments and logistics that left me feeling suffocated. Usually, on Thursday mornings, I drop Bam off at his joyschool class and run errands with M, grateful to do so with a minimum number of children. I had errands that I could have run yesterday morning, but after the suffocating week of "have-tos", I just didn't want to rush or race at all. So, I dropped Bam off and returned home to hang out with Miss M.



Being the fifth of five children, and because she is still so little, I don't get much alone time with my baby that doesn't involve nursing, bathing, changing--all with someone larger and more demanding yelling in the background. But things were different for her birthday. I fed her some bananas and cheerios and played with her a bit before cuddling her down for her oft-short-changed morning nap. I was repeatedly struck by the gift that she is in our family. She isn't a miracle child any more than all children are miracles and she has always enjoyed health safety and general well-being. Maybe because she may very well be the caboose. Maybe because she is a baby girl after 3 rough and tumble boys. Maybe just because it was quiet on a sunny November morning in the desert, but I was filled with such gratitude for this spirit that has been entrusted to me as my daughter.



There are moments when the goodness of motherhood settles upon me just a bit and I feel so tangibly the blessings the Lord has given me and the ones He's trying so tirelessly for me to notice and accept. How lovely for one of those good mother moments to come on my baby's birthday.

Peace preparation and perspiration

I was wandering the halls of an unfamiliar chapel Sunday with a cranky child who had been deprived of her nap in favor of supporting a dear friend on a happy occasion. I looked into the RS room and saw a sign advertising a meeting. This is what I thought it said: Peace through Perspiration. I thought about that for a minute and my brain began to take me on a tour of memories of the peace I have found while running, when I re-read the sign and found that it really said: Peace through Preparation. Okay, far more predictable title, when further on the sign, it seems the meeting was about emergency preparedness. But my mind was off and running. There have been many times in my life as a mother of young children when I have felt specifically counseled by the Spirit to run, to exercise, to be physically active without my children on a regular basis. For me this activity is almost always running. I run regularly with two dear friends (separate friends on different days). I treasure those conversations and the ability we have to vent, gab, brainstorm, counsel and garner/give support. I feel refreshed, renewed and strengthened by these runs, far more than the actual cardiovascular benefits. Oftentimes, especially lately, that run is my only time during the day when I don't have anyone small hanging off me or demanding my time. It is my only purely selfish time of the day. But I have slowly learned (slowly, because sometimes I am not all that smart) that this time feeds my spirit and allows me the ability to be less selfish and more giving to my family and to others--it prepares my spirit, it refills my emotional pitcher as it were with what I need to begin again.
But here's where the preparation part comes in. If I don't lay out my clothes, watch, etc etc the night before and make firm plans with someone else, I am more likely to ditch the run in favor of more sleep (which I will never get because invariably someone wakes up extra early because I didn't). I'm trying to re-work some more exercise time into my day so that I can have a better weight training program because my body needs strength and my self-esteem hates back fat. But I have yet to be able to find the key preparation elements that will help me to make this new activity work into my day and my life. The preparation is off, the peace has no possibility of coming because I am not doing what I need to do.
Amazing what I can get out of a sign read wrong, huh?

On Weaning

For those who are squeamish about breastfeeding, perhaps you should skip this post.

My baby turns one in one week. I have nursed my other children to a year and been ready to wean. Ready to regain my body and a very small degree of autonomy and control over my schedule. The year mark was always important for several reasons: 1) teeth--my babies usually have several at this point and get better at wielding them and I get squeamish about offering up my tender parts to their fledgling incisors and 2) we were always looking forward to subsequent siblings, and weaning a baby at one year, gave me a few months at least before my body would begin growing the next baby (all my kids are 2 years apart).
So, here I sit. M is nearly one. I don't know that there are any more Fears coming down the pike for us, at least none that I can imagine actively planning for at this point. Which means that even though there is definitely the teeth issue, and the desire to burn some nursing bras and regain a bit more control over my body, I don't know that I'm quite ready to wean. And M is not pushing away the mommy milk machine either. I have loved nursing: the ease (for me, I know this is by no means universally true), the portability, the bonding, the specialness that only I can offer my babies. If this is the end of my body filling this miraculous purpose, am I ready to be done? This, of course, gets into the whole question of being done in a more global procreative sense. I haven't yet reached the place where I can shout from the rooftops that we have brought all the children we are bringing to this earth; but I am entertaining the distinct possibility like I have never been able to before. Being done means no new babies, no more nursing, no more creating a new life with God and all the awe and miracles that brings. And I have loved all that.

Admittedly, I am not the best at making proactive transitions; I suppose I have difficulty visualizing dramatic changes in my paradigm. Usually things just happen to me and in hindsight I can wistfully ponder how I could never have imagined then what I would be doing now. But with nursing, I want to know beforehand that the end is the end. For now, I just continue ambivalent about the immediate issue of weaning, unable to even contemplate with any finality the rest of it.

I'm not totally delusional. I know that pregnancy, babies, nursing and everything about getting them here has gone far more effortlessly and mostly according to plan than I have any right to expect. I know how blessed I am, truly I do. I guess I just find myself a bit greedy nonetheless.

Bam turns 3 (unless of course you ask him, in which case he is still 2!)

Bam is his own man. He always has been. If we can keep this up through the troublesome teen years, it will be a good thing. At least that's what I keep telling myself. For now, there are days when it's a good thing to have a strong minded 3 yr old. And then there are the rest of the days . . .
This is him in the midst of his little friend party yesterday. He and his buddies had quite a three year old blowout. There were balloons, and cars and brownies to frost. But, the weather was nice, if a little breezy, and the friends wanted to play outside at some point. Which would have been fine, except that Bam is currently TERRIFIED of wind. That's right. The wind. And breezy counts as wind in his world. Bam's response to wind is to shut any door between him and the out-of-doors. So, not only would he not go outside with his friends, I had to position myself in the door frame to prevent Bam from locking them outside. What a party! But he and they had fun. Because, that is the great thing about 3 year olds: in large part they are so egocentric they fail to even notice anything other than themselves and their own concerns.

This is Bam with his cake: my meager attempts to make the "Lightning McQueen cake" he had requested. When each birthday rolls around, we come to a problem: I have slim to no artistic abilities and my children have such extravagent ideas for their birthday cakes. You might say I could buy a cake. Well, that's when my own prejudices come into play: I really don't like storebought/mix cakes all that much, but I LOVE homemade cakes. So, my children must sacrifice for my lack of artistic merit. But at least it's a tasty sacrifice, because, honestly few things are tastier than a Wellesley Fudge Cake with homemade buttercream icing!

And now to tell you a few things about my little buddy, that I have been saving up for just such an opportunity:

He is a very verbal child, which is fun because he still has that little high pitched baby voice. So when he says things like, "I'm miserable sad mom" when I wake him from an impromptu nap in the car, it tugs my heartstrings. But my favorite was this week. He came to me and gave me a hug, saying "you're my very best girl mom!" I wonder how long I can keep that distinction!

Bam has some unique idiosyncracies. One of which is the "stuff" he sleeps with. None of my children before him have had loveys, blankies or any other kinds of security objects. Bam, all on his own, has them ALL. He sleeps with 1)blankie: a somewhat dingy, (despite washings whenever I can) receiving blanket from his baby days 2) grandma blanket: the quilt his Grandma T. made for him 3) Bob (as in the Builder) and 4) any other things which are important at the moment, ranging from a few of his sister's teddy bears, some rescue hero guys (especially Billy see here) and anything else in which he finds comfort or entertainment at the moment. This stuff is portable. We take it with us on all road trips. But Bam also carts it around for catnapping in front of his favorite programs, whenever he needs comfort and for finding other sleeping locations when his bed just isn't suiting his needs, as here:



As I mentioned before, Billy has been, off and on, a very important part of Bam's entourage. I have several photos of different versions of Billy in our possession, because every time I'm taking a picture of something or someone, Bam sees the need to take a picture of Billy too. So, I thought I could share:

That's Bam. We sure love him, whether he is 2 or 3. And he makes sure there are no dull moments at our house. Yeah Bam!

Hannah and Clone Troopers and Fire Fighters, Oh My!

Halloween was a bit drawn out for us this year. The pictures of the actual day with its trick or treating and other festivities are tied up in my sisters' cameras, since I have succumbed and no longer even get out my camera at family functions where I will likely just be chasing small people. But our ward offered up a trunk-or-treat which, I maintain is far preferable to actual trick or treating for the smallish types because there is less ground to cover, the whole experience can be taken care of in under an hour, ie, before the little types tire of the event and demand to be taken home. The only glitch for us this year was that Bam refused to be in the picture with his sibs and M wouldn't stay in her costume at all for more than about 5 minutes. So here we have the big three:

CE, if you can't tell, is Hannah Montana. I'm thinking we are getting into a difficult area of Halloween for her. She no longer wants to be a princess (besides, I think we already own all the princess costumes Disney makes), but still wants to dress up. CW was "Clone Trooper Commander Cody" and Z was a mere unnamed Clone Trooper. This was a compromise worked out between the two of them that I didn't understand (not following more than the regular plots of the 3 Star Wars movies), but could implement with the help of officialstarwarscostumes.com. Yes there is such a place. And I feel gratified that I talked them out of Darth Maul, since the ward and their school has a no mask policy and I'm not ready for my boys to grow into the creepy halloween costumes place.
And then Bam on his own:

Bam's journey to self-identification in the form of what he wanted to be this Halloween was a bit drawn out. For weeks, he told me he wanted to be "Super Why". I had vague notions of this character as a literacy friendly super hero on PBS. I figured I had plenty of time. How on earth could my not quite 3 yr old pick some character that would be in hot demand? And really, how hotly demanded could a literacy friendly super hero from PBS be? Boy howdy was I wrong! Super Why turned out to be the impossible costume to find of this season. I checked all kinds of websites and it was always out of stock. I finally checked ebay and found a few I could bid on, since Bam was unwavering in his desire for this costume. I set my bidding max at $40, which was $15 above list price and, I figured, pretty extravagant for a 2+ year old's costume. Imagine my surprise and utter disgust when the costume went for $102.50! That's right folks, a 2T/3T costume about a PBS character was purchased for over $100. Luckily, about this time, Bam decided that he would much rather be "Billy" for Halloween. Billy is a Rescue Hero whose character Bam carries around with him on a daily basis and who is a firefighter. Firefighter costumes are everywhere and I found one that he loved for 12.99. Halloween crisis averted.

For a Halloween picture of M, I need my sisters to extract one from their cameras and send it to me, since I didn't get one at the trunk or treat. M went as a pumpkin; the same pumpkin that all my children have been for 1-3 years of their early life when I can still choose fore them. I made the pumpkin for CE and it is still in reasonably good shape. But, M hated it, as all her siblings before her have, so it was difficult to capture the moment.
Now, on to Thanksgiving . . .

The Divine Miss M (and some friends)

My sister has been complaining again. And with good reason, I have unfortunately allowed the niggly little details of keeping the roof on the house and the children down from the rafters keep me from my bloggerly duties, well at least as this sister sees those "duties". So, I decided to give you a post devoted entirely to our littlest Fears: Miss M in some of her glory:


She is a very um strong willed child. And she has a lot to say. If there were a sound track with this picture, you would understand because that smile/grimace accompanies a huge yell. She was yelling into the tunnel of a jungle gym near my parents' house and I think she was pretty interested in the echo, because she yelled for a good long time.


In some parts of the country, people begin to go outside to enjoy the beautiful weather once summer hits. Well, in the desert where we live, fall is the time of year where everyone tumbles out of their air conditioned caves into the beautiful cool weather. The kids have been enjoying time in the backyard and "teaching" M to ride (aka sit) on a baby big wheel. Despite the lack of actual motion, she gets quite a kick out of the adventure. And the sibs enjoy their part in the fun.


And then we have the ugly underbelly of fall: things move back and forth between soothing cool weather and actual chilly stuff. Now mind you, we do live in the Mohave Desert, so "chilly" in the world of my children is defined as anything south of 60 and if you venture anywhere below 55, you're in certain Arctic territory. I know, they are warped by their surroundings. Their blood has thinned and they are true desert babies and I as their transplanted desert mother would not know how to dress them for actual cold winter conditions if my life depended upon it. Thankfully, we don't have to worry about it right now.


Nearly every time I go to get M from a nap, this is the scene that greets me. My very own pint-sized jailbird plaintively crying for freedom.

This concludes our tribute to the little bittiest of our brood. Perhaps next time, I will regale you with shots of Bam and his collection of Rescue Heroes, my collection of messy faces or something with no pictures at all (we know my sister will not be impressed if there are no pictures!)

School Finally Started

This is one the faces that greets me each morning. You can see why I love dear CW, but I'm guessing you can also see why I would be anxious for school to start to use up some of that mischief that is otherwise oozing out every pore of his being. To back up a bit. . .
We are now one week and one day into the new school year that everyone else started some time ago--due to the modern "wonders" that are yearround school. Normally I like the 12 month school system. It allows us smallish breaks throughout the school year when we need them and when the weather's more agreeable than three months home in the convection oven that is Vegas in the summer. Normally, my children start the school year with everyone else and then begin having their breaks thereafter. Nothing about this year is normal. We know that now. We are on what is called track one. Which means we "started" the year with a break and are only beginning the instruction portion of the school year now. I have, as a result witnessed a unique phenomenon: children actually begging to go to school, looking wistfully at every passing bus and verbally wishing they were on it, counting down the days until they too could have school. Here's the school going crowd before they caught their first day bus:

Not only are they on a new track this year, but at an entirely new school, riding a new bus (we've never had the option before) and all in addition to the other newnesses in our life. So we have a bit of an adjustment to weather. It was a bit tricky last week. Some of my children don't transition all that well, not to name names. But this week is already going much better. Friends are being made, routines are being recognized and observed. We are getting into a groove. I like grooves.

Another new aspect of our school life this year is the absence of uniforms. Heretofor (see the snazzy and otherwise useless words you learn in law school!), the kids have attended a dress code mandatory school, which means navy, khaki, white and yellow were the colors. No jeans, no graphics and only very small brand logos allowed. It made school clothes so easy. But at the new school, we have none of that, so the kids are revelling in their newfound choices. I give you the first day fashion show:

CE, ever the girly girl, has been dying to be able to wear such a profusion of pink to school. She is now in HEAVEN. Please note, that she is only wearing sneakers because she was afraid it was PE, but she had her new favorite pink cheetah flats in her bag for a quick changeout the minute she knew there was no PE.

Z, is generally an easy going boy, except that he won't wear denim shorts ever and it is very important to him what sorts of things are on his t-shirt, now that he can actually have things on his t-shirt. His choice here, a shark, was actually a second choice, because the first choice: a red shirt with lots of gadgets of which I didn't really understand the appeal, got breakfast spilled all over it in some first day jitters, so we were already onto second string by this picture.

CW, you can see above. The things on his t-shirt must be cool as well. He is usually most pleased with balls, but will wear something non ball related if it is a green shirt or has skulls or fire on it instead (you guessed it, his favorite t-shirt, not pictured here because I hadn't found it yet, is a green soccer ball t-shirt where the ball is flaming and has a skull on it) So, this shirt that is greenish with a ball, is pretty cool.


And finally we have Bam. He's not in school. But he does have "class" twice a week: a mom-share, joy-school sort of round robin playdates with some themes that a few of us in the ward have with the 3ish set to give them time with friends and to give the moms time to run errands, etc with out their member of the 3ish set. Bam loves class and especially loves that he is big enough to have somewhere to go like the big kids, so of course he had to be in the first day pictures.

So that leaves M alone with me on two mornings a week, to have her own adventures:


All the regular elements of our fall are now in place, or as much as they can be at this juncture. And we are off and running to soccer practices, piano lessons, and church activities. We juggle homework and piano practice and most of all we relish saying the phrase "not tonight it's a school night." Yes. School finally started and not one moment too soon!

The Not Killing of Plants

I do not have a green thumb. I think I am far too ADD for that. I don't actively kill plants; I just neglect to care for them. I have never had to repot a plant in my life. None of my attempts at indoor greenery have lasted long enough to outgrow their surroundings. So, the fact that my children give me plants poses a pesky dilemma: they expect these gifts to live. Thankfully, their attention spans are about as lengthy as mine, so eventually they forget about the plant and I am able to discreetly dispose of the pot which, by the time we've all forgotten about it, holds only a sad browned remnant of what was once a green and thriving baby plant. But, they keep giving me plants, largely because their teachers tell them to do so. Meet the most recent offering:



At this point, I should probably name it. But I haven't and CW didn't tell me its name when he presented it to me. He brought it home from Flower Day at preschool some time this summer and I haven't killed it yet. (There were no preschool sessions during the month of August, so this thing has lasted at least one month!) I was thinking, as I watered it yesterday that this plant is like me. My emotional/spiritual wellbeing will hold on through a fair bit of abuse and neglect. But at some point, attention must be paid. I have learned that I do best with some alone time, some exercise time, some scripture time and some time to write in my journal.

Lately I have taken great counsel from the blog of a sister's friend. In particular, this post where she talks about the New Testament recipe for growth and extraction from difficult places: do something physical (exercise), mental, spiritual and social every day. I know this is sage advice. I know that I feel best when I balance my efforts in self care in this way (I feel pretty okay if I can manage any regular attempt at self care), but I don't seem to be able to manage the regular application of the advice so well lately, what with the familial demands of this new bishopness and five children looking to me all the time for all their needs (and it's track break, so once again, it's all mommy all the time), I'm beginning to feel like the plant looks right before I remember to water it (pretty droopy and about to give up).

I was doing so well at the morning person quest, but when DH doesn't get home until after 10pm, I find myself waiting up to talk with him and then being too tired to get up so early again and again and without the getting up early, I feel ambushed and unready to start the day in a meaningful way with any attempts at self care and the drooping begins. So, I suppose my quest these days is to not kill my plant, so to speak. To keep my efforts at watering and caring regular enough that I don't die outright but to be patient enough with the scheduling glitches and other demands that I don't berate my failings too much, thereby causing droopiness of another sort. I'm thinking that I wish there were a gardening class for this sort of thing I could take, that would stick with me. Any ideas?

And in other News . . .

I am a bad mommy. I accept this and understand my limitations. But I am trying. Tuesday, while we were all still reeling over the bishopness that has overtaken our lives (when will I not be reeling? Good question.), Z turned seven. I knew this. We planned for the family celebration to happen on Sunday, while my out of town parents were still here and then, so that his actual birthday wouldn't be a total wash, we had his friend party on the precise anniversary of his birth. And, like the space cadet I sometimes am, this is one of only 2 pictures I have of Z celebrating his birthday--either day. So, I'll tell you. Summer birthdays with boys after a certain age, are fabulously easy. Water is the answer. We had pizza and cupcakes and icecream after school (well for the kids, unlike ours who are not on track break) and then I handed each boy a super soaker purchased on Target's end of summer clearance, a splat ball, some water balloons and told them to jump in the pool. And that was the end of my orchestration of said party. It was great. CE wasn't quite as jazzed about the whole thing because the boys chose to train their guns on her as resident sitting duck for about 1/2 hour and she got pelted a bit. But for everyone else, it was a delightful party and I didn't have to do a thing, which was good because I couldn't manage one more thing. Oh, and I have to tell you a beautiful thing about Z: He doesn't like big parties. Our family rule has been one guest for each year you are old, but he hasn't reached that guest list ceiling since he was 3. Three seems to be the perfect number of guests in his mind. I coaxed him up to four guests this year, but one boy didn't make it, so Z was perfectly happy with his party of three friends yet again. Beautiful, just beautiful. Oh, and in case you couldn't tell, the cake is Kung Fu Panda--at Z's request and with a label saying as much in case no one else could tell either.

Keep your hands and arms inside the car at all times . . .

“I come from a long line of weepers.”

That was my opening line as I bore my testimony in Sacrament Meeting this morning after sustaining DH as our new bishop. We’ve known that this day was coming for 28 days, which by the way, is far too long for me to know something like this before the fact. The agony and the anticipation are both too acute. But, as DH’s name was read and he stood, the emotions coursing through me were a mixture of the electricity of knowing that this is an inspired call and the absolute gut-bottoming-out-dread of “what have we gotten ourselves into.” Not exactly your easiest feeling to digest in a Sunday morning Sabbath service. Let the roller coaster begin.

I keep being amazed at the tender mercies that are coming my way. I know this entire experience will not be easy, but we have the opportunity to learn a lot and grow individually and as a family in our testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ and in our devotion to Him. People have offered their help and support in such warm and loving ways that I know we will be okay and I will learn, if nothing else, to knock a bit more off that bothersome pride with which I’m always struggling. I gladly accept any words of wisdom from those of you who have been there!

Here’s a picture of our family after church. I will call it “before.” I wonder what we’ll all look like when this particular ride has come to a close.



Enjoy the ride!

To explain a bit for dear friends who may visit my blog and who are not members of my faith, first I offer my apologies for being so slow to do this and so inept at it. In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we don't have a paid clergy. The nitty gritty of this means that regular unspectacular members like myself and like DH share in the work of ministering and adminstrating to the needs of the congregation on all levels. In our church we believe a great deal in inspiration. We believe that God hears and answers prayers and advises us on any of the myriad things we may need to do from day to day, if we ask in faith. We receive jobs to do from time to time; we call them "callings" based on this idea of inspiration in all things. For us at this time this whole business of a lay ministry means that DH will be filling much of the role that a pastor of another church would fill (ministering to the needs and concerns of our congregation, administrating to the regular needs of keeping a church going with teaching, activities etc), except that he still keeps his day job. A day job that was more than full time already. So, we will have full days ahead of us, to say the least. He could have said no. I could have asked him to say no. This isn't forever, DH will serve until it's deemed time for someone else to take up the position. I believe with all my heart that the Lord is mindful of my little family, that service brings us closer to the Savior and that sacrifice brings blessings. Thus the tears on my part.

A Whole New World

This is CE. She is 9. We have been shoe shopping for a little bit because her feet are growing and it's the beginning of school. Yesterday was a somewhat fruitful day, I found clothes for her and shoes for her 3 younger brothers, but no single pair of shoes on which she and I could compromise. So this morning, I thought I'd do some net research to see where these elusive wonder shoes might be.

Meet CE's dream shoes:

a sassy black suede number with a 1 3/4 inch heel. Did I mention that these shoes are for school? I should back up by expressing my exasperation with the entire concept of fashion with her. She knows what she wants, but can't always express it. I suppose she's watched a few too many episodes of What Not to Wear. With her brothers all I have to do is display that shoes will jump well or make the wearer run fast and they are sold (there is some color play and opinions about the layout of laces v. velcro/elastic but it's minimal). CE has always needed more negotiation, more searching, more finesse and ultimately more tears when she can't have the exceedingly impractical choice of the moment. DH can no longer shoe shop with us, because his only sister is 9 years younger than he is and he has no experience with the whims of tween girl fashion and no patience either.

Fast forward to today. We searched every shoe website I could think of to no avail. I would prefer she wear actual sneakers to school, in order to facilitate running, jumping, playing and not getting in trouble with the PE teacher. But I am willing to compromise in favor of some cuteness, so I suggested skimmers. Basically, the shoe needs to be flat and have a rubber, sneaker-like sole. The only shoes CE would even look at had a minimum of 1 inch wedge heel or they were super slick leather ballet flats, and then she saw these shoes, the shoes she knew in the pre mortal existence and all of a sudden I become even more ogreish than usual in my refusal of her fashion wishes.

So I ask you. Am I woefully out of touch with the fashion NEEDS of the average fourth grade girl? Am I unreasonable in thinking that nearly two inch wedge skimmers in suede might not be the best shoes for her to wear as she plays tether ball or kick ball or runs from the boy crush of the moment? But the big question on my mind is, how have we gotten to this place in life (fighting over the desire to grow up entirely too soon) so much sooner than I anticipated? I am not ready. But is anyone ever really ready for this?

Help Nie Nie

I don't know the Nielsons. But I have been touched by their
story. In the spirit of "see what good this blogging world can do", a friend of mine and her sister have started some silent auctions to contribute to the fund which will help in paying the medical bills of the Nielsons as they climb the awful road to recovery. Check out the auctions here. So sure, the internet can be a hairy scary place, but there is good here and it has the power to tie us together and allow us to lend helping hands in the process. So, hold out your hand and help.

The Perfect Vacation

This weekend we dashed off for a somewhat impromptu trip to Southern California. We had great plans to see friends and play at the beach, most of my children having never seen a beach (even the ones who have seen it have no memory of it).

We were staying with beloved friends and enjoying their company. M was not sleeping and the playing with friends on the part of the kids, of course, meant less than usual amounts of sleeping for them as well. But we had promised a beach.

Imagine my surprise Saturday morning when CE came to me, begging, "Mom, do we have to go to the beach? Can't we just stay here and play?" If ever there was a no brainer, this was it! So, the kids were in and out of the pool all day, having a blast with their friends.


Bam wouldn't "get in" the pool. But water balloons were so much fun that he went through 3 outfits of clothes. He was perfectly happy playing on his own inside and outside.

Even DH got much needed respite, since the big case settled.

Z enjoys an inner tube contraption--ever the inventor!

CW follows suit.

CE takes a page out of her Dad's book and soaks up the Southern Cal sun.

The trick was convincing the kids to apply sunscreen appropriately, since it wasn't nearly as hot as "hot and sunny" always is at home. They don't believe that you can get sunburned unless you are also being roasted alive Nevada desert style.


The day ended in the best possible way, with the baptism of our friend, pictured here with his grandfathers. The Spirit was so very strong during the baptismal service and I feel so blessed that we were able to participate in that sweet experience.

Now, to appease certain members of my family who will complain if there are no pix of M. Here's one:

She still hasn't figured out crawling all the way, but will get up on all fours like this and try very very hard until she falls angrily back to her commando crawling, thus dusting all the tile floors in my house with her belly!

Now, I have had some requests for a progress report on the subject of my previous post: becoming a morning person. So I wanted to give one. I was doing pretty okay. I had gotten up between 5 and 5:45 nearly each day since that post. I was feeling invigorated (despite less sleep), going to bed earlier to facilitate it and it was working. And the true test was that in the midst of this lovely weekend in Cali, (the one where no one slept) I got up--on my own--at 6 am and ran six miles in the most beautiful California morning weather, feeling renewed and able, despite the no sleep, to have a lovely day with family and friends. Then, Monday night I was futzing with a problem and didn't get to bed until midnight-ish and my alarm went AWOL, so I awoke with a start at 7:20 and could do none of the exercising, reading, writing and rejuvenating that I had become accustomed to over the previous week or so and needless to say, yesterday was a bad, sluggish day. I have learned my lesson. Not to say I have magically become a morning person. But I am learning which things I can't start after the kids go to bed, when to definitely be in bed for there to be any hope of getting up at five (and it's not "midnightish"), but most importantly, that I need that morning time. The day really does go better and I am a better woman, mother, wife, human when I have that time to myself. I'm thinking this knowledge will ultimately be the thing that turns me to true morning personhood. I'll let you know.

Becoming a Morning Person

This is my goal. I am not a natural morning person, although 4 out of my 5 children currently are. I have done early morning seminary and missionary service. I have even worked at 6am across town. But, even given that experience, 7am classes were always a disaster in college and I have always dreaded the early hours. However, the more busy life becomes and the more crazy DH's schedule becomes, the more I realize that if I want any time to myself, I must find it in the wee hours of the morning. This, as I've said, is not easy for me. I will get up early to go running with a friend when it's too hot in our desert home to run later (which it currently is, 5:30 is our current start time). But when I'm just getting up for my own benefit, either to exercise or just be alone with my thoughts, the bed is too powerful and I don't hold myself accountable the same way I would if my failure to get up were bailing out on a friend. We won't even talk about the night hazards of teething babies, nearly 3-year-olds who are trying to be simultaneously night owls AND morning persons or the disaster of tag-teaming children. Since those things we aren't talking about are a regular event here at the Fears homestead, the battle with the power of the bed is being lost and I'm getting so discouraged. I keep telling myself it's all about the baby steps.

So, it is with great pride that I report that, even though I had no early morning plans to run with a friend, and Bam wouldn't successfully stay in bed until 11pm and woke up at 1:30 am and even though Em's 4am shout-out for a friend really made it difficult, I successfully made it out of bed by 5:45 this morning! It was no longer as dark as the picture above, more the early morning greyness that summer in the desert makes me cherish (it's not too hot yet), but the day, despite the wall of exhaustion that I'm sure will reach me later, is already going so much better. I was able to read a little, write a little, think quietly to myself a little, have a shower and get dressed before absolutely everyone was yelling for breakfast. So, I definitely want to keep this up and eventually reach my goal of getting up at 5 am with some regularity and some ease. I need help.

Are there any reformed night owls within the "sound" of my keyboard? Natural morning people won't be able to help me, because I suspect they won't understand why it's so difficult in the first place. But if you too have battled with the comfort of your bed when you know you should heed the call to arise early, how have you done it? How can I emulate your success?

The Moment

Mortality being what it is, and being the somewhat scattered sleep deprived person I am, it is far too easy to lose the little moments of life. The sister of one of my friends recently lost her little one in a tragic accident and she has, rightly so, been very grateful for the tender moments she squeezed out of her brief time with her daughter and has urged all who will hear to do the same. And so I’ve been mulling a bit about the how of that and for me at least, it has something to do with reveling in where my children are now and who they are as individuals and not pushing so much for them to “get it” (although when the it is why not to hurt each other, why to do what I ask etc etc it is ever so difficult to be patient) or to change the more quirky aspects of their personalities to make life easier for me. Examples:

Meet CW's idea of "hurrying to eat his breakfast" and why I can't buy fruity cheerios to eat when we're in a hurry. He is a very particular child. He sorts. Some may even call this tendency of his somewhat OCD. It can be very aggravating when I need him to hurry and eat so we can leave and this is what I get instead. But I love the way his mind works, the way he has to sort out how many of each character and color of Scooby Doo gummies he has before he can begin eating, the way he lines up tinker toys by size, shape and color to put them away, that he knows his own mind and desires so very well.
And then there is this side of CW:


He is so playful and impish, some (me?) would even say pesky at times. I've written about his grin and and it is killer. This particular outfit of his is all stuff he snagged from his dad's closet and he put it together very particularly and then pranced and laughed and played in his "dad" persona. We weren't too terribly late for church as a result.
And then there's this face:

Bam, who is a very verbal 2.5 yr old and has warmed considerably to the idea of the polite request, comes to me today and says "Can you come to my house, please?"

This is his house; he lovingly built it all by himself with the kids' computer table, family room chair cushions, an ottoman and some throw blankets and he has played happily in and around his "house" on and off all day. He is such a sweet kid and only just beginning to develop pesky tendencies.
And then we have the divine Miss Em. She is trying so hard to not be my little lump of an immobile baby. Today she did this:


That's right, she is trying to crawl, which means the world of the infamous "lego leavers" in our house must now come to an end. But I am so wistful about all the other things that are coming to an end, namely her babyhood. She is so quickly developing the ability to express her desires: refusing food with a clenched mouth, batting happily at some things and pulling other things to her and expressing an independence I'm not ready for:
"I can do it myself!"
How do I capture and keep these moments in my heart and memory (and some of them on my SD card as pictures) and still attend to the business of "running the family", ie: making sure we have clothes and food and are reasonably on time to the various places that require our presence from school to orthodontists, piano and soccer, church, work and meetings? How do I have fun and enjoy these moments of their developing personalities and not miss them? So far, I seem to cycle through attending to some details on some days and other details on other days, so the neglect gets passed around--some days I am fun and some days have to be all business and some days we just do our best to hold our heads up. But it is seeming too much a blur when looked at from behind and I don't like that. I'm hoping that in the trying, I will get some sort of brownie points and in the resurrection, my memory will be refocused and refined and all the things that I have placed there will be recalled with more clarity and calm and I will be able to enjoy them again. But in the meantime, any ideas?
No, I haven't forgotten about CE and Z. They're just back on track at school and their advancing and progressing isn't as picture friendly these days, unless you count the pants Z keeps growing out of. They both have ever advancing lists of things to do when they are older (ala the movie Big). So, I guess I need to figure out how to hold onto the moments so that I can teach them to stop wishing them away. So again, any ideas?