After glow

There is a strange calmness that falls over the house where children live on Christmas night. It is the calm of full bellies, of fulfilled expectations, of full hearts. How long until my little ones aren't so easily filled? It flies before me even now.

This year was our first technology gift. CE got a nano and we spent some time downloading songs and charging the thing. (It was a group gift, refurbished, purple and wonderful on the idea and general reconnaissance of aunt Tiff T.) From here on out gift giving gets more daunting, I know. But we still have some time for the rest of them.

M was tickled pink by everything she received, including the boxes.

Bam wanted a firefighter rubber ducky. He was enchanted by some Lightning McQueen pjs and some pixar animation themed underwear.

Z and CW made endless lists of needed Lego creations (some of which, to the dismay of Ellie Grandma who got one of the lists, not actually available in this country). Their expectations, if not exceeded, were at least appeased by the profusion of small plastic blocks under the tree for them.

Maybe some day things will be calm enough for me to take pictures in the process of unveiling the Christmas. Problem is, when things are calm enough, they will be boring and I won't care. So, I paint myself this word picture.

Finding Jesus

Several years ago, our ward had an unusual Christmas party. There was no Santa appearance; no one was dressed in red or green; there were no tables laden with ham and turkey. There were no tables at all. Instead, we came with blankets, wearing bathrobes over our clothes. We arrived at the door and were met with the best approximation manageable of a meridian time Jewish town square. There was a well in the center where we got water for our meal. We went from stall to stall to get meats and cheeses, bread and simple sweets and then we sat with our families on our blankets and ate. At a certain point in the evening, a small group of people more successfully dressed than the rest of us began walking from one end of the room toward the stage area. The woman looked pregnant and tired. And then a little bit later, a small family appeared in a cave like area. This was our nativity. I had a new baby at the time, my hormones and feelings were tender. The idea of having a baby in a cave in this very simple time was daunting. It was a sweet and tender meeting as we contemplated being there, perhaps a shepherd, perhaps an innkeeper, just being at the feet of the newborn King. My dear friend had a 2 yr old at the time and he was wandering a bit as some of the families made their way to "greet" the baby Jesus. My friend called to him, B~, we're going to see the baby Jesus, come here. And he came running: "I'm coming baby Jesus, I'm coming!"

That tender, enthusiastic call from a little boy has stuck with me. Am I coming to greet the Savior? What am I doing to make my way toward Him?

Perhaps I feel the need to make my way more forcefully toward my Savior at Christmas time because everyone is singing O Come all Ye Faithful. I know that, at Christmas time, I feel the need to clear a path in the commercial calls for every cool new toy so that my children can know where to look to find Him. Maybe that's why I have four nativity scenes in my house. Maybe that's why my favorite Christmas saying remains up year round: Wise Men Still Seek Him. I want to be wise. I want to keep firm in my mind the two most powerful words in the scriptures: Look and Remember. I want to see. I want to remember. I want to join my feeble grumpy voice with little two year old B~: "I'm coming baby Jesus, I'm coming!"

Christmas in the Desert

The palm trees are blowing in the chilly wind. I argue with my boys that they might want more than a hoodie for recess. The leaves on deciduous trees are finally beginning to change. The rose bushes are dormant; but there are new petunias planted in the community flower beds. Welcome to Christmas in the desert.

Christmas songs are rather homogenous. Almost all of the non-religious ones involve snow, cold and other winter scenes like fires and sleigh bells. What a funny thing for those around the world for whom Christmas comes midsummer. While it is technically winter here now, it rarely snows at all let alone before Christmas (although there was that freak storm last Christmas . . .) Christmas and snow don't go together for my children. They have never had a white Christmas. Christmas for us is an atmosphere entirely of our own making. It is found in how we decorate (negotiating where to put the breakable items so that they aren't terminally tempting to M, etc) and what songs fill our minds and cars. Every Christmas my kids seem to pick a favorite Christmas CD. For several years it was a CD found in the bargain bin called Kids Carols (on which no actual children sang, so I was always puzzled by the title). This year, the favorite CD is Straight No Chaser's Christmas CD--largely because of their silly 12 Days of Christmas.

What is your favorite Christmas CD this year? How do you get Christmasy? Is it because of or in spite of the weather?

Things for which I am thankful this November . . .

1. That our pediatrician has regular weekend hours so we could get Bam into the doctor the morning after his birthday eardrum bursting extravaganza.
2. That my plantar fasciitis (6 years' worth) was totally gone before I (probably) broke my toe so that going barefoot to mitigate toe pain hasn't killed my feet.
3. That my washer was in perfect working order when the school called to tell me of CW's vomitous/diarrheal state so that I could put his awful clothes directly into the washing machine upon returning home. Then I could finish making M's birthday cake.
4. That I was current on laundry when M began vomiting so I could remake her bed in the middle of the night with little creativity. (although I did need to get creative about "bathing" all the friends--Elmo, Abby, Zoey, Foofah--in her bed).

But even better is watching Miss M dance and sing all morning long (the day after her day of vomiting and diarrhea) because her body is rid of its toxins and she is happy again. Also high on my list of happy things is the fact that DH is not going into the office for the rest of the week, after months and months (and month) of rarely if ever being home. Life is good; life is crazy and tomorrow we're going to eat our fill of comfort food and enjoy the companionship of loved ones. Really, what could be better than this?

I think I love Two

M is quite a kid. She is at that precocious nearly verbal stage. She calls her siblings (in age order): Sissy, Yackie, Ella, and Papul. The other day, Bam was growling (because really, why shouldn't you growl when you're 4 and a boy) when M woke up from her nap. She was waiting for me when I opened the door and asked me "What Papul saying? What Papul saying?" When I told her he was growling, she spent the next several minutes (and even hours later for her father's benefit) saying "Papul say rowr."

She loves to dance, especially to the Do-re-mi number from The Sound of Music. She loves Sesame Street and sleeps with Elmo and Zoey dolls. (except she calls the Zoey doll "shoey"--took us a while to figure that out). She is ALL girl: she loves shoes, purses and prancing about with them. And she prefers dresses to wearing almost anything else. Really, I think this being two thing is lovely.

For whatever reason, for two year old birthdays in our family, I always make chocolate chip cake. I think, originally, it was my attempt to slowly introduce them to the world of heavy sugar and chocolate. M sniffed out the Halloween candy remnants on her own this year and could often be found dragging a chair to the hiding place for some "canny," so really there is no delusion that she hasn't had plenty of chocolate and sugar already. But a tradition is a tradition. I think, really, by this point in my family the chocolate chip cake is because the birthday child is still too young to successfully articulate a cake theme of his/her own.

M got into her cake just a bit (she's already quite a climber), so I had to make the drizzly glaze extra stiff to cover up the finger holes. What I didn't expect though was for M to be terrified by the lit candles:




Gratefully, big sister CE was able to calm her a bit.



And so now we have a two year old (although, when asked she says she's three). And on we go.

Bam turns 4

Bam turned 4 on Friday. I'm not sure exactly how this is possible. The years are becoming more and more of a blur. Is this because I am too busy, or just getting old? Perhaps both.

Bam is the sweetest of boys. He is tender hearted and cuddly. But he knows his own mind. This means that he ALWAYS knows what he wants/needs and can very rarely be dissuaded. This is particularly a problem when he can't actually articulate what he wants. We're working on that.

Since this has unwittingly become the year of no friend birthdays, we just kind of glossed over that part of the celebration and went straight to planning cakes. Bam said he wanted a Billy Blazes cake. For those who have no boys or are otherwise uninitiated into the world of the unfortunately discontinued toy line (no, we haven't told Bam they are discontinued) "Rescue Heroes": Billy Blazes is a firefighter. So, I found a fire engine cake online and constructed my best approximation.



Everything was going well. DH was picking up pizza for the birthday dinner (a compromise from the originally chosen Happy Meals), the cake was ready and local relatives were coming for presents and cake. Then Bam began to cry that CE had hurt his ear. He was crying genuine tears of pain, but CE swore she had not touched his ear. He cowboyed up a bit once the pizza arrived, so I blew off the prior calls of trauma. Pizza was the best $5 can buy (Lil Caesar's, his favorite); family came, presents were opened and then it was time to blow out candles and cut into the fire engine cake. Bam stood up next to the cake, blew out his candles and said he didn't want cake and could he go to bed now. Really he did.



So, while helping him change into jammies, I asked him if his ear hurt (YES!), gave him Motrin and we cuddled him to bed. An hour later when we were quietly bringing up the rest of the hooligans, Bam was up and playing. I chalked it up to powerful drugs and we moved toward bed time. The next morning, the boy was whiny and said his ear hurt, so DH took him to the doctor and it seems our lovely birthday boy burst his eardrum for his special day! Antibiotics were applied and we moved on.

Or so we thought.

Grandpa T came to play with us for the weekend (which was lovely and we are so glad he came and hope he will come again soon, even though he spent longer in the airport trying to leave than he was actually at our house due to unfortunate community events like the PRC championship and a NHRA race, in addition to the usual conventions in this strange town) and we had tons of fun playing with him.

Sunday morning, I gave Bam his second dose of the amoxicilin and we went to church. Half way through the sacrament service, I began to notice spots on Bam. The spots multiplied and spread all over his body. So, on the way home from church, I called the pediatrician and he agreed that spots were bad and he issued a new prescription and directed me to give Benadryl until the spots abated.

What a birthday for Bam! But true to his sweet nature, he is happy. He is playing with his new toys. His new medicine is not itchy (a big plus) and even tasty and life moves on. Never a dull moment eh?

Low key Halloween goodness

These are my kiddos and their alter-egos for the season. It's not a fabulous picture, but it's what I was able to take. We are not serious Halloween people. We enjoy a good trunk or treat with our ward congregation and some limited trick or treating on the actual day (assuming it's not a Sunday) of Halloween. We don't decorate our house--I didn't even manage to get out my few token "Harvest" pumpkins this year. My nod to "decorating" my car for the trunk or treat was some "enter if you dare" tape and some gel pumpkins for the car windows which promptly fell down. I'm not creative and my sewing skills are not equally matched with my time to spare and my patience, so I find the best deals I can on the characters my children will most likely want to dress up as during the year and consider the money spent an investment in a fully stocked dress up bin.

Each year we try to balance our candy purchasing with our candy gathering so that we don't end up with too much excess. This year we almost got it perfectly matched. We were able to completely distribute all candy we had purchased AND all candy gathered from the trunk or treat during the actual Halloween evening AND we were able to distribute all M's Halloween evening gatherings as well. We let the kids chow down on the remainder for a few controlled pig out sessions and that got our harvest down to something manageable we could stash for emergencies (emergencies being when the piano teacher gives out treats to the 2 piano players and they don't want to share with the 3 pre-piano players or when I need to self-medicate with chocolate to avoid more extreme measures).

Add to this success the fact that the weather was neither too hot nor too cold for my children's choice of imaginative attire and it was the perfect Zen of holidays for us. Funny what passes for success these days, eh?

Reasons perhaps why maybe I shouldn't cook

I have a love hate relationship with the kitchen. I love food. I think I am a decent cook, but I have some of the world's pickiest family members so it is literally impossible for me to make one entree to please everyone in the family. And so I go back and forth, sometimes I try new and inventive combinations hoping to find a hidden treasure (rare, oh so rare) and sometimes I make things that some people like and other people can choke down an aspect thereof. And sometimes I go on strike and feed them plain pasta, rice and cheese and/or popcorn chicken to quell their hunger and hope that the side of fruit will provide at least some measure of vitamins.

I had just emerged from a somewhat lengthy stay on strike because of the migraines and since I've been feeling marginally better and DH's schedule is marginally less awful, I have attempted to cook. Thursday, I made black eyed pea soup with okra and elephant garlic from our CSA share. I believed CE would like it, DH would love it (we have something similar each New Year as made by DH's southern dad) and the boys would find some leftovers on which to survive or they would pick summer sausage bits out of the soup. No child would touch it and DH never came home that night. It was yummy. I'm freezing it for reintroduction later. Friday was our trunk or treat so children were placated with Little Caesar's pizza and sugar. Good times. Last night, I thought I had a winning combination: I made homemade pizza--cheese and pepperoni pizzas for the kidlets and thai chicken pizza for DH and I. Hmph. CE didn't like the sauce. Bam didn't like anything except the crust. Z, CW and M ate, so that's a pretty decent success in my book. Oh and DH and I enjoyed our pizza, or so we thought . . .

DH spent the night in GI distress and I was plagued with bizzaro dreams. First I was awakened when I slammed my knuckle on the headboard (I think), certain that a scorpion had stung me. So I spent the next several hours in delirious pursuit of said scorpion in the dark, awakened by every fan breeze and skin twitch, certain to be stung "again." And in the midst of scorpion hunting, I found myself plagued by my inability to recall the portuguese words to the chorus of The Spirit of God. And to add further insult to my sleep deprived brain, once I recalled those words (mission in Brazil), I found myself further worried that I couldn't remember the Dutch words that I had once known for a whole month in 2002 in preparation for our primary program AND I couldn't remember if I had appropriately thanked the non-member Dutch woman who had kindly taught me how to pronounce the words once I found them (in 2002). And I should probably have commented on Louise Plummer's blog (who is Dutch) how nice that Dutch woman was to teach me how to sing the words when she wasn't even LDS and had no idea what Primary was (now that Louise Plummer has a blog. I don't think anyone had a blog in 2002). She even made me a tape (not Louise Plummer, the nice non-member Dutch woman). Needless to say, morning came too soon.

So, today, I decided to make spaghetti squash and actual pasta because I imagined that my children could possibly not be fooled or amused by squash that looked like pasta and tasted pretty darn good (really, what isn't tasty when cooked with butter and basil?). Surprisingly, DH came out of his squash phobia long enough to try and like the squash. CE tried enough to earn a piece of zucchini bread and the rest kept to their actual pasta. And then, because the meal had been far too uneventful, while trying to clean up the pan in which I had baked the squash, I instead dropped it. It was glass; it was a lasagna pan--one of those extra big ones. It shattered in so many pieces that glass was flung the entire length and breadth of my kitchen, some of the family room and somewhat into the living room and down the hall to the laundry room. At this point, the only good thing I'm seeing about dinner is that while I painstakingly cleaned up the glass shards, DH put the kids very nearly to bed. I even got glass blowback in my shins from impact with the floor! And the glass managed to rip one of the fancy super strong Hefty trash bags (I'm going back to the Kirkland brand Costco bags tomorrow, sale schmale), so the escaping glass sliced my thumb. And now, even though I have swept the entire area multiple times, at least once with a wet paper towel, I know I will find new glass shards in surprising locations and my neurotic worst case scenario mind will dream up ways M will step on, ingest or otherwise be hurt by the pan whose squash contents she wouldn't eat either.

Popcorn chicken's looking better all the time!

Clarinex, migraines and tender mercies

My life is a special breed of crazy these days, but somehow it's working for us. A year and a bit ago when DH was sustained as bishop (can it possibly have been over a year already?), a ward friend whose husband has done this already told me that the blessings would come, that it would be hard to say how, but the blessings would come. Well, of course it would be nice if the blessings were perfectly behaved children (yeah, not happening), but we are blessed with a wonderful family who has adopted mine and sits with us each Sunday. It would be lovely if DH's job were unstressful and gave plentiful raises, but despite CRAZYstress and a paycut, he has job security because they need him so much and there is enough to pay the bills. To me, these are the obvious blessings that I've been seeing all along.

Lately, things have been even cookier because DH's hours have been worse and more stressful, we are now doing the long school commute (which when the work hours are worst, DH can no longer pitch in to mitigate), and I have gone from my usual every other month migraine (before the bishopness the migraines were once in a blue moon and I even went for several years between a few babies without ANY), to monthly and then to biweekly and then to weekly migraines interspersed with some new breed of migraine without all my usual auras (when I was a kid, I called them martian spaceships) and dysphasia (where I can't talk right and absolute nonsense comes out of my mouth instead of what I mean to say, really, a treat for all) to warn me, but instead a speed straight to the searing pain. This has made it tricky to drive, tricky to keep a house clean and running, tricky to want to do anything except curl up on the couch keeping half an eye on children to make sure no one is actually killing anyone. I have been exhausted, discouraged and doubtlessly rather unpleasant to be around and at a loss as to what to do.

My migraines usually have reasonable triggers--stress (can't change it), wonky weather--storms, monsoon season, hurricane season, etc (haven't had anything but sun and wind here), lack of sleep (see stress), and hormones, like from pregnancy (NOTHING to report!). So, I was stumped, thus the discouragement. And then in the midst of muscling under and crawling along, (because really what else could I do?) a thought came quietly to my head. It came so quietly that I didn't pay any attention really for a few days until it noodled around in there for a while. The thought was, "take some allergy meds." This was a funny thought to me, because I haven't been plagued by any traditional allergy symptoms. But, what could it hurt, right? I happened to have some Clarinex samples from a bout with tinnitus earlier in the summer and I remembered that they didn't make me drowsy or give me any of the other less desirable side effects that antihistamines can bring. So I tried it. No headaches. Not one. And then after a week or so, I forgot a day and nothing happened, so I purposely didn't take the second day's pill and I began to get the zingy beginnings of a headache. Hmm. Back to the pills; no more headaches. And then I did it again--forgot a day and then tested it the second day followed by the zingy beginnings of a headache I can't shake. Duh! I'm not so bright. So, I'm back to my pills. I am converted and I called and got an actual prescription for them now.

So why do I tell you these tales of my neurological oddities? Because this incident is merely the latest capstone in the feeling I've been having of immense blessedness. I have been buoyed up. I have been blessed with a divine serendipity wherein the things that need to work do and the things that don't work go peacefully by the wayside and I am okay with it. I have been on time more and less harried in that late/overscheduled way (no things are not perfect, there is still tardiness and frustration, just less). I have been in many ways--none of them mine--more Zen, more at peace. I have been feeling like that eighties mission farewell song--"in the hollow of thy hand." Amidst all my failings and ingratitudes and imperfections, He has given me this and amidst all of the craziness and migraines and stubborn prepubescent daughters, stubborn near 2 yr olds and crazy boys in the middle, I have still managed to feel and recognize this grace. For it is GRACE.

I am a worst case scenario thinker. It's how I manage my anxiety and process possibilities. But it leads me to see failings and imperfections far more than hope and progress. So, for me to see and feel this serendipity is to me a second gift of grace altogether and precious all its own. And it was upon finally seeing it and acknowledging it, that the very next day, in the midst of a migraine, that I received the clarinex inspiration.

Tender mercies, I tell you, they're how I survive.

We have a winner!

Z's very first Pinewood Derby was on Saturday. When the den mother introduced him to the pack on his birthday, she gave him his car kit. He wanted to go home right then and make his car, but we made him wait a while for actual construction.

He bided his time; he sought counsel from Grandpa T. He bided his time some more. Then he, Dad, Grandpa F and the wonderful neighbor across the street with all the wood working tools got to work. This was the final result (after a city wide scour for appropriate stickers)



and this:


I knew that cars had to be weighed. I had no idea that additional adjustments would be needed because cars never seemed to weigh the same at home as at the race. DH knows these things and brought more weight, a drill and assorted items. There was also a "pit area."

After weigh in, we made our way to the race area:



and an action shot:


He WON! Z, my brand new baby cub scout won our entire den (or is it pack when all the age groups are together?) pinewood derby. He set and then broke his own record in 3 of the heats and then just won his third heat. He was so happy! We are so happy for him, but what does he have to look forward to next year?

Not going anywhere

Three weeks ago, I flew up to Utah to run the marathon.

Two weeks ago, we piled the kids in the car and drove up to Utah for a family mission reunion with Chad's mission president who is now an apostle.

It was quick and lovely and mostly a joyous time to remember time spent in the service of the Lord and how it has molded our family and the families of people that we love.

One week ago, Chad and I flew up to Utah for a fireside/mission reunion and to attend the Saturday morning session of general conference. It was another quick trip (just under 24 hours), but a lovely respite that left me on a spiritual high that I have been trying to quantify since.

We are not going anywhere this weekend. But, this morning, CW says to me as we get ready for school, "now, before you leave on your trip tomorrow . . ." I guess three weeks really is long enough to form a habit, at least in the minds of my children! I know some people leave town every weekend. Maybe those people are more exciting than I am. Maybe they have fewer children, less job stress, easier church commitments, more money, I don't know. I only know that I am heartily looking forward to many weeks of the foreseeable future of not going anywhere. I guess this solidifies my homebody status.

Things I didn't plan on . . .

1. I lost my first marathon toenail this week. One down, one to go.

2. I am a full fledged scout mom. This begins what will be a minimum of ten years in which at least one of my 3 sons will be in some sort of scouts. I have so much to learn! My MIL helped Z earn his Bobcat while I was running the marathon, so at Z's first pack meeting ever, he earned a patch and I earned a pin. I think I may end up with a bunch of these pins. Where does one wear Bobcat pins (or their relatives)? Perhaps Stacy and Clinton could give me advice on the appropriate use of such accessories and if it's okay to wear more than one of the same kind at once (since I will conceivably have some triplicates in the coming years).

3. I don't buy sandwich bread anymore. I have been grinding my own wheat and making my own bread for a few months now. So far it's been in the bread machine. I'm working up the nerve to make it completely by hand. I have a good easy recipe (or so I'm told), I'm just trying to figure out the scheduling of it. I think it's healthier than what I could buy in the stores; it's definitely fresher and cheaper and there is a certain pioneer satisfaction in doing something from start to finish.

4. I make my own yogurt about once a week. This was borne out of frustration as the yogurt prices kept rising and my children continued to favor only the most sugar laden varieties and would eat and/or waste them by the dozens each week. I love the fresh homemade stuff. My children are still adjusting to the idea. But I have found a new use for it: as a buttermilk replacement, especially in buttermilk pancakes. For the cost of one gallon of milk and a packet of unflavored gelatin (to thicken) I can have 4 quarts of yogurt and a lot less sugar and other stuff I can't even pronounce!

I don't consider myself to be terribly crunchy. I'm not the mother earth type. I believe in technology and make up and disposable diapers. But the older I get and more importantly, the older my children get, there are things that seem worth learning and doing for myself, whether it be out of a desire to put less gunk in our systems, to spend less money, or just to learn to be more self-sufficient and less dependent upon someone else as a supply chain. Even though the scouting thing comes because of its place in the boys' programs of our church, I think its value is largely because it does exactly the same thing for the boys.

I don't know what toenails had to do with this.

I went, I ran, I survived

26.2 miles is really long. I think I realized this definitively in two waves. The first wave came this summer as I trained, running longer and longer distances in the entirely too hot summer morning hours of the desert. And the second wave came at about 18 miles into the race.

My baby sister and I ran the Top of Utah Marathon on Saturday. The race begins at Hardware Ranch in the mountains above Logan, Utah and winds its way through the mountains, finishing up at Central (Merlin Olsen) Park in downtown Logan, 26.2 miles later. It promised to be a cool and beautiful, descending race course, a sharp contrast to my hot, uphill and hotter desert runs all summer.

My sister and I get each other into these things. I can't really say she talked me into this one, though. We both thought it was a good idea. For me, the appeal of the marathon had three prongs: a chance to spend some time with my sister, a training goal culminating in achieving something noteworthy, and running all those miles would surely help my weight, right? Well, I did enjoy the time spent with my sister. Here's our before shot:



We got to stay at my great grandmother's home in downtown Logan, graciously offered to us by its current owner, my great aunt Maureen. I hadn't been in the house since Grandma Great passed away in 1993. Funny how it still smells the same and how many memories came flooding back to me as soon as I opened the door.

The race in the canyon was beautiful, cool and a relatively easy run, except that they were unable to close the canyon, so we had to run on the slanty sides of the road and my sister ended up with tendonitis as a result. Things got a little more difficult as we came into the little towns along the way and it got less scenic and less cool and I got more tired. By the end, I felt like a hamster on a wheel--totally running in place. But we finished, just barely, as is apparent by my deathly pallor in the after shot.


But we did finish. I think I have to agree with my sister: I'm looking forward to doing some other forms of exercise for a while, although the cooler fall temperatures blowing their way into town are making me feel much more favorably toward running again. I am continually amazed by how soothing temperate weather is to me in the throws of a hot desert summer. I am definitely seeing the merits in summer mountain living! Now if only my budget would accommodate such a thing.

Years ago, CE's shy friend had as her motto for the year "I can do hard things." For her, those hard things were giving a talk in church or otherwise being in front of people. Doing this marathon has been the latest in my list of following the same motto. I, too, can do hard things. Somehow it helps me, when faced with the latest emotional mountain to climb, to remind myself that if I did this hard thing, I can do more. Not a bad Saturday's work, I suppose.

Eight was a long time in coming

Or so Z believes. He has been waiting for the twin honors of baptism and scouts for a very long time. Because his birthday fell on a Wednesday and scouts is on a Wednesday, he had the distinct pleasure of attending scouts for the first time on his actual birthday and that's what he chose to do, even though it meant foregoing cake, ice cream and the bulk of his presents until Saturday when he would be baptized and more family would be in town. But then scouts was cancelled. Oh the horrors.

His cub scout leader (the head one, I'm really going to have to get up on the terminology) and the Primary President, knowing how much Z had been waiting and how crushed he would be, decided to have his intro to scouting meeting (showing us the cub handbook, etc) in the same time slot as actual scouts would have been had his actual leader (wolf?) not been out of town. So, he had his baptismal interview with Bishop Dad and then we talked scouts with his leaders and went home, having opened family presents that morning. It was probably the most uneventful kid birthday we've ever had.

Fast forward to the weekend. Some cousins, an aunt and uncle arrived late Thursday night. A set of grandparents and another aunt arrived on Friday. And then the insanity began. I made two birthday cakes (one for Z and one for my sister whose birthday is the day before Z's):



I think Z's request for a Bionicle cake ("Mom, just put the Bionicle on the cake") wins the award for easiest birthday cake ever.

We gathered all the necessary accoutrements and went to the stake center for Z's baptism where we were met by friends and family for this most special gateway event. I love that Z was so excited, he nearly jumped out of his skin on several occasions.


Z has made a charming transformation in the past little while into the most affectionate and polite of children. He wants so desperately to do the right thing. He understands what that right thing is most of the time and he battles his inability to always make the right choice. It is a testimony to me of the divine wisdom in defining the age of accountability as eight. This is the exact right time. He knows right from wrong and he wants to do right but in a few years, guile and hormones will begin to overtake his innocent desire for goodness and without the blessings of the Holy Ghost, he (like all of us) would be lost.

These first eight years of his life have flown so quickly by. The world has literally changed since he was born just nine days before 9/11. It will likely seem like mere moments before he is receiving the Aaronic Priesthood, going off to college, a mission and being a grown up. I can hardly imagine what these transformations will look or feel like or how swiftly the roller coaster ride will be. Hold on to your hats!

What a Kid

Finally the long awaited day arrived. After an entire week in which every single time Bam asked if it was his turn to go to school, the answer was no, Tuesday dawned and it was Bam's turn too.



He picked his cool clothes, shod himself in his "exercise shoes" (why they are "exercise shoes" I don't know. He told his teacher that's what they are for. Last year he had jumping shoes. Sneakers: fodder for a fertile boy imagination), grabbed his backpack and threw out a final question as to why he didn't need a thermos for preschool and we were off. I worried that he would be reticent. This is the kid who didn't decide that nursery was okay until some time long after his second birthday.


So, we arrived at school. Isn't his teacher a beautiful lady? She's also the world's best preschool teacher, in addition to being a kickin early morning seminary teacher AND the stake president's wife (when I grow up, I want to be her!)


And mere seconds after the above picture was taken and he had accepted the obligatory good bye hug and kiss, he RAN into school with the glee I hope he never loses. School should always be this highly anticipated.

After school, there was a slight misunderstanding about the exact timing of his eligibility for treasure box. He had watched older siblings bring home coveted treasure box trinkets for years and he was so excited for his turn, that he seems to have glossed over the whole "fill up your whole sticker chart with good behavior and then earn treasure box" part of the deal. He adapted eventually.

And sadly, this first day was his only day at school this week. He has nursed an ugly cough off and on since then, particularly on during the hours between 2 and 4 in the morning, causing him to be asleep when school should begin. We'll try again next week.

Then and Now

Twenty three years ago, Anne and I had the amazing opportunity of going on a short goodwill student exchange to Germany. A handful of German language high school students in the Washington DC metro area were chosen to visit a handful of students in and around Bonn (the then capital of West Germany, yes I am that old) in commemoration of Lufthansa beginning to offer flight service between the two capitals. We traveled with classmates and a teacher from our school and then we were housed with our exchange partners. We attended school with them and traveled to various sites in and around Bonn with them and then we went home and the German students came to visit us in a similar fashion later that year.

Well, she was in town yesterday for a quick trip and so we got together for lunch at the yummy Mesa Grill so that we could catch up on the intervening years. I think the food was probably better at Mesa Grill than at most of the places we ate in Germany (think cheap tourist food, because Lufthansa was footing the bill), but the day the first shot was taken remains seared in my memory as one of calmness and ease (Rhine river cruise for the day, truly lovely). It amazes me how completely our lives have twisted and turned on themselves in the 23 years since we wandered the Rhine that day. Isn't it delightful how catching up with an old friend is such a cause for dusting off memories and reflecting on the time since last meetings? I find myself musing on bits of Robert Frost and the Road Not Taken. Funny thing is, though Anne and I have taken wildly divergent paths in our lives, I think we both took the road less traveled. How many forks in that road are there really, I wonder?

One Week Down, seven bazillion to go!

School has finally begun.

Some of you may know of the troubles we've had this past school year. We used to go to a school we loved, but once we moved up the hill, we continued there only on a zone variance. Well, last year, we lost the variance due to overcrowding at the beloved school and were required to attend the school for which we were zoned. It was not a good fit (major understatement) for our family and resulted in a year long battle with policies that we didn't understand and that we could not support, but more importantly, I had to watch helplessly as these policies effectively sucked the excitement and desire for learning my children had right out of them. School became a boring drudge; few new skills were learned and many skills were actually lost. Ultimately, we just bided our time, waiting for the end of the year.



We looked into a variety of different schooling options for this school year and ultimately settled on a brand new charter Montessori school. The downside is that the school is a 35 minute drive each way. The site the Board thought they were securing when we first looked into it (which was considerably closer) was lost, but despite the drive, this school remained the best option for our family. The change in school means we are on a traditional nine-month schedule for the first time in the kids' public school experience. Because the school is new and fledgeling in so many respects, there is no cafeteria, so we are juggling thermoses for milk and trying to mimic some aspects of hot lunch (hopefully not the yucky ones). Also, because this is a Montessori school, the style of learning is completely different than what my children are used to, but the philosophy of "child-led learning" is one that I hope will allow them to soar as they regain their waylaid enthusiasm for learning. (this geeky mommy can't bear another year in which her children learn next to nothing and enjoy the school experience not at all--it's heart breaking!)

So, we gathered the new supplies (reminder to self, never take five children to Office Max by yourself. It's just not pretty!), purchased some jazzy new school clothes, shoes and bags and we were off!




And while the big kids embark on this new adventure (as we round the end of the first week, the spark is coming back, so far so good!), Bam and M will have their own adventures.

Bam will begin his first preschool experience at Miss Karen's Learning Center next week (he can hardly contain himself.

And M will get some alone time with the mom, a rare commodity in the life of child number five.

Sounds like win win (x5) for everyone!

Shark Teeth

Both CE and Z had a set of shark teeth to begin their interactions with the tooth fairy. Shark teeth are when permanent teeth come in behind the baby teeth and the baby teeth, as a result don't get loose and fall out. Because nothing is getting loose or falling out without professional intervention, my children have never been the one to lose their first tooth in school, or to be the first to lose a tooth.

CW's turn at this whole childhood milestone arrived and true to Fears family form, two shark teeth began to peek through the wrong place in his mouth. Shortly after school let out for our two week "summer", we made our semi-annual trek to the dentist, having scheduled in some extra tooth extraction time. This was our result:



I have never seen a kid more excited to have a dentist pull teeth in my life! I guess he was willing to take this important milestone however he could get it.

"Discovering" new friends

I got an email a bit ago from an old missionary friend, hoping our families could meet up when he rolled into the desert with his vacationing family. What resulted was a fun time at the Discovery Children's Museum during the day and a swim at home for dinner with some new friends--they have kids that are the right ages and genders for almost all my kids (which is not always easy to find in one family) The result was hog heaven for us. It's such fun to find new friends, and what a great way to inaugurate the short summer break.

The wind tunnel--fun within and without (note Bam's voluntary presence inside the wind tunnel--I guess the wind is no longer scary. Silly mom, what was I thinking?


A new take on the idea of pulling your own weight (seats that raised and lowered with ropes and pulleys)--Z proved his strength with this one!


M's great love of all balls (air propelled balls through chutes, etc) made this exhibit particularly attractive at various times of the days (she's not very good at sharing though)


You can never have too many flotation devices in the hot tub:

The end of an era

CW is an officially graduated kindergartener. First grade, here we come!

Ever the ham during the graduation assembly performance:


CW and his sweet teacher Mrs. Ramos (there were an average of 39 children in his half day class all year. This woman is a saint!):


CW has been ready for first grade from day one, so for him, this day is a LONG time in coming. It seems strange to me that more than half of my kids will now be in all day school. Time flies!

One Thing

Have you ever woken up and realized that you need to change everything? That the key to better health, physical, emotional and spiritual well-being was to be found in changing nearly everything about your life and routine from breakfast, to bedtime and everything in between. That's where I am. This revelation is not helped by my sleep deprived brain (oil lacking, dried up bearings and all), by sick children or overworked husbands, but all those things attest to the need for change.

I know about baby steps and how if I try to change everything, it will all go bad. I went to Enrichment last night to hear one of my favorite women speak on nourishing our souls (I didn't cry too much and I did not succumb to the ugly crying). And of all the things that she said that I know I need to do, to change, her final words are the ones which resonated and gave me the most hope. She said, just change one thing. Make one change and just see. I can do that, even though it means restraining my deep desire (and long known character flaw) to start a grand new sweeping change everything program (always followed soon after by exhaustion despair and a return to everything that was wrong in the first place). I can change one thing for now and just see.

Not Going Anywhere

It's been an interesting summer for me.

We haven't gone anywhere. People have come to visit us. This has been fun. But their visits were thrown into our regular routine where school must be attended, work must be done, callings must be magnified and life must happen. It is very different to go on vacation than it is to be someone's vacation. I need a break. I feel petty even making that statement. But as the days and weeks pass on, the summer ebbs in its never ending heat, I find myself avoiding the need to buy school clothes and backpacks. Not buying school clothes and backpacks will not magically send me to a spa weekend, send our family to Hawaii for two weeks or just get me a break from the inimitable whining that is the current soundtrack to my life. I think my brain is stuck, making the same ineffectual whirring sounds my a/c is making which the repairman attests to insufficient oil in the bearings. Thankfully the a/c is still under warranty. I can't say the same thing for my brain. I know I need oil--there's that year long metaphor from Christmas staring me in the face. But, I still feel like I'm treading water, just barely keeping my head above the waterline. Not so pretty.

So, as I look long into the future and see no point at which we can have any kind of meaningful vacation, the water treading gets slower and I just feel more tired. I feel like I'm standing at the bottom of a wicked hill up which I must run. So I run, slowly very slowly--you know that slo-mo run where it really feels like you're not moving at all and the crest of the hill grows no closer.

I'm reading fewer and fewer blogs though because everyone wants to talk about their fun summer trips and that just makes me bitter and sad. I wish there were an option on Facebook: "Hide fun summer trip pix" but there's not, so I rarely facebook for the same reason. I know it's petty to be bitter and sad when we have much for which to be thankful. Pegging my own pettiness has yet to make it disappear any sooner, it just makes me feel guilty and petty. So yeah, not going anywhere.

Whirlwind Summer Fun

Once again, I am behind. Perhaps at this point, I should just post a bunch of pictures showing you bits of what we've been doing.

Circus fun with cousins: (The actual circus, Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey and everything. And no, I made no inquiries into how to sell any of my children into service as circus performers.)




Have I mentioned a month of swim lessons?

CE perfects her crawl stroke (she even learned flip turns this summer):


CW learns to float on his back (no small feat for a guy with no body fat!):


and Z worked on his elementary back stroke (timing is everything!):


As swimming lessons wound down, we were visited by DH's brother and family. Two weeks later, we have this to show for our crazy fun with four extra boys and their parents:

CE becomes a great junior lifeguard and pool playmate to M:


Grandpa learns that pool noodles do double duty as light sabers:


Cousins learn the fun of playing in the waterfalls:


and cannonballs, we had LOTS of cannonballs:


Probably my favorite part of the 2 weeks with cousins was seeing the cousins interact in endearing and not so endearing ways. Let's face it, these are boys, there was a lot of wrestling, both with junior and senior boys.

Uncle B puts the smackdown on CW while Z ducks out:


These two (Bam and his cousin B) are only a few months apart. Their age proximity brought constant daily battles where each took equal turns tormenting and being tormented, thankfully interspersed with periods of genuine play.


After the first night the cousins spent away from us (their mom tells me) Cousin B awoke to dismay that Bam was no longer around. He peppered his mom with frequent comments and questions: "where's Bam? I wanna Fight!"

Baby A is the youngest cousin. The only one under 1 year old. He is adorable in his pasty white redheadness. It was especially fun to watch the rough and tumble boys interact with him. Z was especially fond of seeing A smile and giggle during frequent peek-a-boo games:

Feats of Amazing Progress, or the Life of a 3 year old Bam

Part Two

Bam is his own man. He always has been. He knows his own mind and there is little I or anyone else can seemingly do to change that mind once made. Not the most heartwarming trait in a three year old, but I'm hoping it will make him a bullet proof teen and a strong, honest, ethical man some day.

Last summer, we thought that swim lessons would be a good thing for Bam, especially because of the 10,000 gallons of chlorinated water we keep fenced in the backyard. Despite the obvious safety perks and the really cool teacher we found for him as well as home pool advantage (she came to our pool), Bam had other fully formed ideas on the subject: he would have none of it. I argued and cajoled him; nothing. I bribed and bargained; nothing. Finally, I threatened: either you do swimming lessons or you go take a nap. Bam's answer? I go take nap now, mommy. And he did, willingly, every time he saw his teacher round the corner to our house to teach the other more malleable children, Bam would go upstairs and voluntarily take a nap. All summer long when we would have family fun time in the pool, he was iffy on the subject of water. At best, he would sit on the top stair of the unheated hot tub, clad in a life vest. At worst, he would refuse to even come outside. The downside of this behavior of course was that he still had no clue of basic water safety. The upside was that he wouldn't go near enough to any water of consequence to make that a concern. I didn't push the issue.

This summer a member of our ward volunteered for swimming lesson duty. He had the children come to his home for level assessments early in the summer. I asked him to "assess" Bam as well. Bam's assessment consisted of seeing whether he'd even get in the water. Imagine my amazement when Bam willingly climbed in the water with his new teacher. He loved swimming lessons. Each Tuesday and Thursday throughout the month of June, Bam has spent a half hour in the pool with Bro. K having a delightful private swimming lesson (Bam's classmate bowed out after her mother couldn't get her in the water at all--we sympathize) I attribute the success of these lessons to Bro. K's amazing gifts as a swim teacher, (as underscored by how he teaches and encourages the bigger kids and their classmates) although the fact that he was Bam's nursery leader at church last year can't possibly hurt.

We've finished the month of lessons now. Bro. K apologized for not actually teaching Bam to swim. I don't know that I have been successfully able to convey my gratitude for what he did teach Bam (and no, I didn't expect Bam to grow from complete pool avoidance to master of the 4 major strokes in 8 lessons). In 8 short lessons, Bam has gone from scowling at the thought of getting in the pool to this:



this:




and this:


Amazing!