Christmas milk with Grandma

Grandpa was allergic to pine, so instead of Christmas trees, my grandma collected ceramic Christmas houses. She eventually collected quite a village's worth of houses and other village buildings and each Christmas, the village would overtake her living room. When she passed away this April, mom divided up the houses among the grandkids. The houses came home with us and sat in the bottom of my closet until today. December has been quickly spiraling around me and the kidlets have complained vigorously about my decoration delinquency this year, so today, I forged ahead and got everything unpacked and placed--even the cumbersome Christmas tree (7' to my 5'4" self and DH is out of town), except those two white boxes.

The minute I opened the boxes it was all over. Grandma must really be gone if I have her houses. Funny how grief sneaks up on you in the strangest places. Funnier still how I placed pretty much everything in my house just like I did last year and there was a place just waiting for these two Christmas houses, just waiting for Grandma to take her place in my home. And so I sat on the couch with only the little ceramic windows to light up my Christmas milk (egg nog) and cookies. Missing Grandma, really missing Grandma.

Princess M who is now Three

Perhaps the most dramatic of changes between last year and this is that the candles didn't move you to hysterical tears. You were still quite timid and we actually had to re-light them a few times to overcome certain brothers' overeager desires to "help" you blow. But at any rate you are now three. You are so easy to please with this birthday. If it is pink or a princess or girly in any way, you love it. Perhaps the best part of the day today was that you got to spend some rarified quality time with just you and dad at the Build-A-Bear store where you got "Fluffy" and her "house" (the cardboard box Fluffy came in).

You have so much to say and so many subjects on which you willingly hold court. And dear Sissy is the answer to almost any problem. It's a good thing Sissy still remembers how long she waited for you to get here because you are three and you do love to eat her "gums" (and anyone else's), to liberally apply her "lip-its" and do all those pesky things that little sisters do to annoy their bigger idolized sisters in the name of hero worship.

You danced your way into our lives and hearts three years ago and you've been dancing ever since--with a beat and sass that no one else in the family can equal. What fun three will be for you and those of us who tag along!

A New Feeling

I woke up this morning completely rested, at 5:45am. I'm still feeling great, with no crashing or hoping for a nap. I hardly know what to do with myself, since I can't remember feeling this way, not even once, since early morning seminary started the fall of 1984. I've long become used to the negotiations done on my early morning knees, the planning when I can get a catnap, the pointing in my mental calendar to when I might possibly be able to sleep in (possibly being the key, since nothing ever really happens as planned). But since the summer of neuro adventures where my trusty neurologist and I try to figure out my headaches and make them not be strokes or migraines too often, the exhaustion has been a non-stop wall of sludge I wade through each day, where no amount of sleep is ever enough and no matter how early I go to bed and how many naps I squeeze in, I am still just dying of exhaustion and praying to make it at least until the kids fall asleep.

And so it comes as no surprise that my prayer this fast Sunday was for answers, a way to make it better. My desk (and by "desk" I mean the large Costco size folding table in my room where I gather craft and scrapbooking projects to gather dust, papers to file and bills to pay and projects that need doing) is awash in each new week's attempt at simplifying, scheduling, searching and I have come up empty so many times. But I really must finally have reached this phase of "after all you can do", or maybe I was finally just ready to listen. Because, as I sat in church, I thought about nutritional deficiencies and timing of nightly meds and when (if) I eat breakfast and on and on and on. And because I am the queen of biting off more than I can chew, I tried 3 new things this week: move my nightly meds up by one hour, eat breakfast before I am allowed to touch the computer, and take a multivitamin with 100% RDA of iron.

These are not big things. I have not been blessed with the opportunity to sleep for a month in the last 48 hours to compress in at least some of the sleep deprivation I have experienced over the last 26 years. But I feel different. I feel better. I feel like these are changes I can maintain and use as stepping stones to the next level.

Elder D. Todd Christofferson spoke in General Conference last month in a talk titled "Reflections on a Consecrated Life." Many of the things in that talk resonated with me, but the idea that to consecrate my life I need to respect my body, whispered to me that my notions of self-care were not very nurturing and things needed to change. These are small answers, but they are huge because I know I cannot do what is needful when I am exhausted, when I can't see straight, when my weeks are filled with the disturbed vision and speech of "complicated" migraines. From this vantage point, not being tired is nothing short of amazing. A tender mercy.

It's Nice to be Five

That is what Bam said to me this morning when he snuggled into bed just after DH and Z left for the early morning football game. He has looked forward to this day for a long time--an eternity for a boy who was not quite five and desperately wanted to be.

Me and the Scoobster went the rounds:


I even looked into purchasing one of those Wilton form pans, but they discontinued Scooby.

Bam was happy and it still tasted good.

*NOT actual dog treats, they are Keebler Scooby graham crackers.

Last year for preschool, Bam could never quite get the concept of "carpool" and dreaded all the times I didn't personally drive him. He loved school and his teacher and classmates, but truly was even happier on the days he could just stay home. Now that he's five, he's got the carpool thing down (thank goodness) and he loves school and playing with friends, but he still runs in the door with a smile--happy to be home again. He is my cozy boy and I dread the minute he is too old and too cool to cuddle with me. We have until fall before kindergarten, thanks to a late birthday. Bam has a young soul and would not have been ready to go this year anyway. Until a few weeks ago he barely even expressed interest in it. Recently, however, he began talking about "when I go to kindergarten when I'm five" and we've had to clarify that he needs to be five AND it needs to be September (more or less) before he can go. We will see in the coming months if that explanation is enough or if he becomes wistful about kindergarten from now until next September.

Until then, we will try and be content with Scooby, assorted superheroes and ignore the occasional disappointment that mom will NOT buy a great dane. It IS nice to be five!

Success in October

Success in the last month has been defined in a variety of ways.

Success is surviving the PTA Family Fun Festival with only one angry call to police for disturbing the peace (we weren't), only one folding table lost, only running out of chips for the nachos and only requiring two days for my legs to stop throbbing for being on them for many many hours. And it didn't rain (it threatened).

Success is returning M to this--post meltdown:



after she didn't get a ride in this (it broke down after Bam's ride):



at the parking lot pumpkin patch.

Success is gathering this motley crew:

(she's a vampire girl and she struggled with her wig all night)
(he's Harry Potter wearing CW's glasses)
(his "muscles" kept denting in throughout the night)
(he got sweaty, since he was inside padded fleece)
(she is M, need I say more?)

to attend out ward trunk or treat, especially when Z said no to Halloween at the last minute (he conceded to the outfit for picture taking purposes only). My sister Tiff was in town and was a vampire slayer. She helped with the kidlet wrangling. But I didn't get a picture of her. Success at the event was measured by our stellar guesstimation of treat purchases. We ended up with only a gallon sized ziploc bag of treats after the Halloween weekend. This was, in part, because we didn't trick or treat Sunday night, but then usually we take the gatherings from the trunk or treat and hand them out to the revelers who knock our door and we didn't have that option either. But, since we have an exceedingly large Primary (135 active children), many many of whom brought friends, we were able to hand out all of M's candy and much of Bam's before the evening ended. The net candy received was perfect because no one felt robbed of sugar, but there was little gorging or sugar comas and an extra plus was that no one handed out the dreaded fun dip!

Success is buying a new box of 64 crayons (because I donated our mangy bags of imperfect crayons to the coloring table at the festival) and finding the two that M lost before they were used in any new murals.

Success is openly denying Z the ball python he "MUST have" as a pet (when he asked for a snake, his original concession was "I'll pick a non-venomous one!") AND denying Bam a real live Scooby Doo dog (a great dane) in the same day (Bam is as terrified of real dogs as I am of snakes) and not causing a complete offspring mutiny.

Success is also making it to the end of October, when I promised CE and Z they could quit swim (it's getting cold and coaches are getting mean and teammates are lane hogs . . .) without killing anyone during the daily onslaught of whining and recrimination until October finally ended. I'm thinking that all those negative campaign slogans were written by an angry 11 yr old. And now, for our exercise and skill development, two moms and I have formed a running club. The other two moms take the kids (half a dozen or so right now, but strangely more have expressed interest) for a 2 mile run after school on different days and I make them run hill repeats, sprints and intervals. Z continues with flag football and CE is learning tennis. That gives them about as much exercise as swim was giving them without the fees, the whining, or the carpooling.

And that brings us to November, a month which started with two staff development days, to be followed by a two day Veteran's Day holiday next week, one full week of school and then Thanksgiving weekend the following week and we will be well on our way to Christmas. And I am not ready, not ready not ready.

What was your definition of success in October?

Going Going and Almost Gone

There is something delightful and fleeting about discussions with my almost 3yr old Miss M. This is her chosen Halloween costume. Every day, I find her putting it on and I have to re-explain that it's not time yet.

We were talking about being big, as we often do, and how big girls wear panties and go pee-pee in the potty. Yes, she says and princess panties with Ella, and Sleeping Pooty, and Snow Wipe, and Jacksimine. Yes, all of those.

I used to listen to a Billy Joel song in the maudlin days of my teen aged years. The chorus went like this:

This is the time to remember
'Cause it will not last forever
These are the days to hold on to
'Cause we won't, although we'll want to
This is the time,
But time is gonna change

Every season has its moments lost forever. The moments of my baby's babyhood seem particularly slippery these days. She's talking so much and with so much authority. She asks the RS president for licolish from the jar on her kitchen counter. She begs the piano teacher for purple lowlipops. She is a woman of her own mind who told me this morning that she is six. Isn't time flying fast enough already without skipping 3 years?

Be still my heart, Pink Batgirl. Six will be here before we know it, but can you just stay almost 3 for a little while longer?

The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat

In a thrilling game this week, Z's flag football team had their first win (3 losses preceded) against a previously undefeated team. Z contributed with an interception in his position as middle linebacker. There was much cheering, exultation and jumping for joy.

In other news, tonight Z received his Wolf award, 1 gold arrow point, 3 silver ones and a bead. And the pack got to retire a flag by burning it.

Unfortunately, CE did not succeed in her bid to join leadership at the middle school. She wrote her best essay; she had a successful interview, but when many many 6th graders apply and there are 6 spots, most will not make it. And, she isn't allowed to transfer to the higher math class because there are no spaces. It's been a rough week of disappointments with the single solitary bright spot being I'm letting her babysit for a ward member in advance of her 12th birthday.

One child gets to see the hard work of weeks and months finally rewarded. Another has her hopes dashed despite hard work. CE and I have had long talks this week about not getting what you want as a valuable and necessary training ground for maturity. I had to keep telling her it was okay to be sad, to be frustrated, but that it was not okay in her frustration to impugn the qualifications of those who succeeded where she failed and it was also not okay to make those around her pay for her disappointments. Such adult lessons to learn at the ripe old age of eleven. I don't know if my momma heart can stand the roller coasters.

Cause and Effect

This week I've tried some parental experiments designed to foster my children's autonomy, help them to see the natural consequences of their actions and bolster their feelings of self worth as they contribute to the work of the family. In other words, we've been working on chores.

Z has been studying different sorts of writing (descriptive, persuasive, etc) and literary devices. This week they've been talking a lot about cause and effect. It was interesting to sit in the back of the classroom grading papers and hear the connected and not so connected events in the books they're reading as the teacher tries to help them truly understand cause and effect. While this is an important skill in reading, it is far more valuable in life and I am continually appalled at how many adults misread true cause and effect--true natural consequences.

All summer long, we worked on some new house cleaning skills. Some chores were met with disproportionate resistance, but that's not surprising: we all have jobs that we don't mind and others for which we have a visceral dislike. School with its giant scheduling changes began and I didn't want to lose our progress. It took me a few weeks to see how our schedule was going to settle out and since I was tweeking things anyway, I decided it was time for kids to take on more responsibilities and to feel the consequences of failure.

In theory, the boys are supposed to wipe down their bathrooms daily. All summer long I did the deep cleaning of the bathrooms, which meant when the boys didn't do their daily work, my weekly work was worse. That's now changed. Now the boys are in charge of the deep bathroom cleaning as well. I put a very detailed instruction list on the inside of the medicine cabinet and walked them through the difference between daily wipe down and weekly cleaning. This week they didn't do so well at the daily wipe down. This morning, CW went to clean his bathroom and commented on how gross it was. Cause and Effect.

Z is supposed to clean out the dishwasher in the morning, and if he fails he must wash all the dishes that accumulate due to his failure. There were several days this week that were not his normal dish day where he had to do dishes anyway because of this rule. Cause and Effect.

We try to practice the piano before school in the morning. I find that their brains are fresh and the practice goes far better then than after school sandwiched in between low blood sugar haze, homework and swim practice. But more importantly, the brain activity that is piano practice--math and music, rote coordination and art, precision and expression--serves to order and prepare brains for school better than any other thing. From my vantage point, particularly with Z and his attitude, piano in the morning is like passing a magnet over metal shavings--his brain cells just stand up and take notice. Last week, however, piano didn't go so well and by the time piano lesson time rolled around he was scowling and fuming and spewing piano hate with every breath. He did not tone it down much for the long suffering piano teacher either and we talked about how if he wasn't respectful of his teacher, he would lose the practice incentives he might otherwise have received. We tightened our flak helmets for another week of practice. This week he practiced better and something miraculously clicked in his head. He got it. And at the end of his lovely lesson he thanked his teacher, told her he LOVED the piano. Cause and Effect.

Kids are supposed to make their own lunches in the morning. They have the option to purchase school lunch and sometimes the unsavory lunch choice becomes a great incentive to get their lunches made in a timely fashion. But if they are running late and ask me for help (and I am not also running late) I will help them out. One morning this week, CE began to yell at me that I hadn't made her lunch and she was going to be late. Puzzling. I reminded her of the family practice and her option to buy lunch. She fumed, threw her lunch together and stormed out the door. I got everyone else off and ran to a PTA meeting where I was met with this lovely text "u made me late. i hate u." Cause and Effect is not for the faint of heart.

This evening was the General Relief Society Broadcast, a worldwide meeting for the women in my church where we hear the inspired words of the prophet and other leaders. Sometimes I am uplifted and learn a lot. Sometimes I am just too frazzled and tired. I think last year I may have even unwittingly fallen asleep. A few days ago, I started pondering what I need to know, what needs to be different in my life, what heavenly inspiration I am seeking. Instead of hurrying to the church building to watch the broadcast with my fellow sisters in the church, I locked my mangy self (no shower today--more cleaning trench work with the kids) in my room and watched the streaming video on the computer, I had also had an unwitting nap with M earlier, so I wasn't dozing. And, as is often the case when I am prepared and ask the questions, the talks seemed tailored for me. I heard clear formulas of what I need to do for my family; I heard chastisements for my petulant behavior of the past few days. I heard what I needed to change. Cause and Effect.

What a tender mercy to be able to see the cause and effect in my life, to draw attention to those connections for the instruction and protection of my children, to be able to know how to seek an outpouring of revelation. Cause and Effect is all around us.

A boy and his Mario shirt begin school

Bam loves Super Mario. So, of course, he had to have a new Super Mario shirt with which to begin preschool this year. Bam has a late birthday. He is not going to kindergarten until next year. He does not currently seem to even notice. I hope that holds true even when he turns five in a couple of months. He has a Super Mario backpack and, since he started school a week after his siblings, is rarin' to go.

M is not in school. But she is child number 5, so of course she had to have a backpack too! It is a princess backpack and has glitter. It is handy for the many PTA planning meetings she gets dragged to at the elementary. It holds a water bottle, goldfish, coloring books and a pencil box with crayons. And with it, she is fabulous and big.

Nine

Z was a big squishy baby. Somehow, in the intervening years he has stretched and stretched and is now this long tall boy with no end in sight to the growing.














Just a year ago, he was getting baptized and so anxious to be a cub scout.



Also around that time, he started to evolve into the kindest boy ever. He's always been tender-hearted, but now he is developing some social skills to act on those tender feelings. For example, for birthdays, we have always sent doughnuts or some other school approved treat to school for the class. This year, when I asked Z's teacher how many to send, he told me that was a moving target since they have received an additional child each day of school since opening. So, I sent some extra doughnuts to be on the safe side. After the birthday school day ended and Z and CW came home from school, CW was angry because there were no extra doughnuts. Z said, yes there were but I gave them to the janitors to eat instead of saving them for later. Wow. Z is learning to be a delightful gentleman and is quick to express gratitude for things done on his behalf. He chose this simple cake this year because he said he didn't want to make extra work for me!













This year is quickly filling with new interests and new ways in which this man child of mine spreads his wings, tests and tries his testosterone and chooses which activities will describe him. There's swim, and now there's football: he's so very excited to play on his first flag football. We'll see how excited he is after the first game.









Regardless, I can't help but get the impression that this kid is going to continue to blow me away, more and more with each passing year. Nine seems like so many years away from that squishy baby, but it's really only the beginning. Blow away, dear boy, blow away!

A Whole New Level

This is the girl that started middle school (sixth) yesterday. She just started kindergarten with her pink back pack and yellow shirt and khaki skirt just a day before that, I am sure. Time does a number on moms. It expands and contracts like the worst of funhouse mirrors, making days seem to stretch out forever--far beyond the exhaustion of our last bit of energy--and then the years seem to fly by while we catch a few winks before the swift return of morning. Crazy.


These are the boys that can now walk to their brand new elementary school just around the corner. The school is shiny new, smelling of new books and fresh paint. Z is now in the fourth grade and is quickly entering the phase where the only acceptable public parental interaction involves begrudging scowls. CW is in second grade and will, for the time being, still smile for pictures. Summer has flown by and it is all of a sudden crazy quiet at my house for several hours a day, punctuated only by the occasional bickering of M and Bam--which will be further diminished once Bam begins preschool next week.

Yesterday I also helped out with my first official PTA function. It was a "BooHoo Breakfast" for the kindergarten parents, many of whom just sent their first born to school for the first time. We have a very young neighborhood and kindergarten is by far the largest grade at our school. It was so fun to see classes walking through the halls of the school, learning where everything is. The fun was heightened by recognizing so many kids in so many different classes. The elementary school boundaries mirror exactly the ward boundaries--what outliers there may be are zone variances, many of whom I know from former wards or time at former elementary schools. This school really feels like it is ours. We have waited and wished and wanted so very much for it and now it is here; it is close and it promises to be wonderful, with its shiny newness, its stellar teachers and its promises of close knit student body.

CE's school is large; it is largely unknown, but it is an adventure, the next frontier, the future world for our family. Just moments ago, I was the one in school, with notebooks and blue books and assignments to juggle. The juggling remains; there are always assignments, but thankfully no blue books (and by the time my quickly growing little ones make it to college, knowledge of blue books may be proof their mother truly educated herself in the dark ages). I have friends who mourn the return of school each year. Now, I don't like the passage of time, the advancing ages of my children or the spiraling complications of the world with more than one school, more than one activity, assignment, and deadline. But, I love fall. I love learning. I love that my kids are just as geeky as I am and were over the moon excited to be returning to those school books and pencils of school and I want them to forever believe that school, that learning is something about which to always be excited.

Choice

I got this nifty new laptop a while back and I have been marveling a bit at the metaphor that it places before me. You see, I have to charge its batteries regularly. Every time I attach the power cord, I find myself thinking of the other things I need to do to charge my batteries regularly. If I don't charge my laptop's batteries, it begins to shut down programs so as not to lose stored information. When I fail to study my scriptures regularly, my Spirit begins to operate on reserve power as well. I suppose if I failed to nourish my Spirit further, it would begin to shut down, to wane and die. I have to choose to nourish. All of life is a choice, if only a choice in the attitude we will bring to a challenge placed before us. I must choose to nourish my soul so that I can always choose faith over doubt, hope over despair, joy over pleasure. I have known people whose testimonies I thought were solid and find out that they have waned, that they have in recent times chosen differently, chosen not to nourish those seemingly solid testimonies.

Some of those people whose testimonies have faltered lately have left me mourning and somewhat sucker-punched. I began to think that certain sorts of people found faith more difficult, that a person of science might find it eventually insurmountable to remain a person of faith. But that is not true. God is the ultimate man of both science and faith for it is His world those of science set out to discover, to prove and disprove. A person, any person, must choose faith and joy over doubt, must choose happiness. How am I choosing happiness over despair? Faith over doubt?

I've gone through a gambit of emotions lately. Self-righteousness has, unfortunately been among them. It is too easy in my pride to say that certain choices I would never make. But in the better light of some humility and self-knowledge, I need to examine all my choices. More than ten years ago, DH and I were assigned to give talks on Joshua 24:15--choose you this day whom ye will serve. Somewhere in the preparation of that talk, I got stuck on the word "this" and that became the focus of my talk--choosing this and every day to serve the Lord. That a daily recommitment to serve the Lord is necessary in order for it to stick. There is an adage, that where our time is spent belies whom our master is. If I look honestly at how my hours and minutes are meted out, it may not be so easy to see that I have chosen to serve the Lord. I give a lot of lip service to finding a way to more purposeful living, but I still find myself mired in happenstance. I get stuck, I get lost, I am forever on some tangent or other. And I fear, that it is in these small happenstance choices that the big "never going there" choices have their beginnings. In fact, I know that is how these things happen, both for good and ill. Truth be told, I am fat because I choose to eat more calories than I expend. I choose not to plan my nutrition better. I choose to embroil myself in happenstance. Truth be told, I needed to get rid of the TV just as much as the kids because it is far too easy to get stuck watching any old worthless thing when there are far more worthwhile choices piling up for my time.

Sometimes when I am good about learning from the scriptures and not just allowing them to pass before my eyes, I write thoughts and questions in a little book. A week or more ago, (and this is where perhaps a tangent can be a good thing), I started out reading in 2 Nephi about feasting upon the Word. That led to a topical guide search of the word study and to D&C 26:1 where the Lord admonishes Oliver Cowdery and John Whitmer to "let your time be devoted to the studying of the scriptures." Those words haunt me in a good way, when I let them. I don't think, by quoting them here, that the Lord expects or even wants us to spend our days and hours and minutes devoted solely to the actual reading of the scriptures, like the rabbis of Orthodox Judaism for whom study is preferable to the exclusion of all other pursuits. I do think that the study of scriptures can and should encompass where our hearts our, what words and phrases and thoughts and ideas occupy our minds and that in this way our time can be devoted to the study of the scriptures even as we change diapers or file motions, solve equations or teach Biology 100. If and when I can focus my mind in this kind of study and pondering, drawing my whole soul out in prayer and study, even among the mundane and necessaries of life, my choices become more eternal and I can more fully protect my heart from doubt, focusing my mind on eternal joy.

One thing I talk a lot about with my kids is choice and consequences. The idea I share frequently is that what we choose determines whether we get further choices or whether our options become limited and foreshortened due to our own less than stellar use of agency. I want my children to understand and love agency and freedom. But in understanding, I want them to know that our ability to choose does not extend to the consequences that come as a result of our choices. Agency is not a cafeteria plan. Cause and effect is real, even when the effects are temporarily hidden from view. My goal is to firmly entrench in them the concept while the consequences of their choices are small: throwing a frisbee in the house might mean you break mom's vase--and even if you didn't mean to do it, it's still broken. Hopefully if they really understand agency now, when choices become very serious like those of chastity and honor, obedience to laws and integrity in business and personal dealings, their understanding of eternal cause and effect when combined with the Holy Ghost, will help them to make the best choices.

And ultimately, I know that my children will best understand these concepts of choice and accountability by my actions, by the choices I make and own. I choose one way or the other every day. I'm trying to choose more consciously the things I really want, the outcomes I dearly desire. I want to choose light. I seek light.

Cool Mountain Breezes and Rushing River Sounds

We just spent a week in mountain cabins surrounded by my sisters, their families and my parents. Repeatedly, CW asked why we have to live here, why we can't just stay in the cabins. CE said she didn't think she could remember being anywhere else. We had the wonder of the cabins themselves only because of the kindness and largess of my sister's Lisonbee in-laws. Being able to be mostly together was a wonder none of us could have afforded otherwise.

There is something lovely about having my nephews who normally live 3,000 miles away come upstairs to ask what my kids are doing or to see if we have better breakfast cereal than they do. There is something delightful when my sister organizes sleepovers for various collections of cousins in her room. There is something just right when my sisters, my mom and I sit around T's kitchen table with sweet pastries and just talk and laugh. I love that BT's twin boys constantly verified my location and CE's location and others' locations throughout the week. It was so wonderful to hear T's twins squeal and chase after Z, calling his name and begging for his attention.

No vacation is perfect. Children's medications were dosed a few times. There was excrement and vomit and the need for both Benadryl and the BRAT diet. There were plenty of time-outs for children and probably a few times when the grown-ups needed a time out as well. Having so many in such close proximity probably wasn't the most restful of vacations, on a physical level. But it was definitely soothing to my heart to have the people I love best all together, perhaps more so because it was so hard won to attempt to sync 20+ schedules, arrange for travel for six families and plan and execute meals for 27 differing palates over the course of a week.

And now, like a dream all the planning and execution is over and we are home again. I am awash in laundry and an empty fridge. I have paid the bills and sorted the mail. My kids are running amok, happy to be home and anxious to begin new schools and schedules. And even though it is nice to have everyone sleep again in their own beds and I do have a very nice bed, I am missing those cool mountain breezes and rushing river sounds, but especially the warm embrace of family so close, knowing how tricky it is to plan and wondering when we can do it again.

*photo "borrowed" from BIL Adam's iphone via FB--view from our window, said window courtesy of A's parents*

When you don't actually like your children

M had me up from 2:30 until 5 this morning, which was when I was supposed to get up and run and I was frustrated enough to know I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, so I went running anyway. This made me a very tired mama to begin with. Then, I was trying to talk to my mom, make dentist, orthodontist and well child pediatrician appointments which meant I was upstairs because that is where my calendar is. So I didn't see this developing. My older boys, who were within feet of the whole unfolding of massive amounts of gluten, also claim to have seen nothing because they were playing games on the computer and could have been visiting Mars for all the good it did me.

So, I came downstairs and saw the mess that M and Bam made, neither one willing or able to take responsibility. A six gallon storage bucket holds a lot of flour. They didn't just dump it, they threw it, so that I had flour on the fridge, flour in the nooks and crannies of all my canned goods, boxed pasta, a box of oranges and even in between the coloring books and the bread maker (that still has cinnamon almonds in it from the last banner pantry event M engaged in)

As I began to scoop up the mounds of flour (too deep to just vacuum), I found several packages of baking chocolate--M had been thwarted by the packaging of most of them and discarded them into the flour. Several times, I had to walk away from the mess. I was tired to begin with. I am not good at looking at an enormous mess and not being overwhelmed to the point of flight feelings overtaking me. Eventually, with the dustbin and my trusty dyson, I got the mess cleaned up. M is exhausted and whiny but won't nap. I have no desires to actually do the productive things I'd originally planned for this day. The only upside is, my floor wasn't clean to begin with, so I'm not feeling that bitterness of work thwarted.

At least it wasn't sugar.

The Power of Story

I am a book geek. I have stayed up all night to finish a gripping story more times in my life than I am able to count. I am compulsive about finishing books. A book really has to be bad or fail to grip my interest in a phenomenal way for me to fail to finish it. Failing to finish a book usually has something to do with overdue library fines too, because I don't really want to pay for a bad book on top of waste time reading it.

Z belongs to a book club. It is the coolest book club for boys that I could imagine, entirely because my friend is a very cool mom and she works hard each month to make this book club rock. Today they will meet to discuss the book Where the Red Fern Grows. Z is a very tender-hearted guy and I knew that this book would slay him. I don't know anyone who hasn't been slain by the end of this book. As of yesterday, Z was still about halfway from finishing this book. Usually, he flies through books but he was having a hard time getting into this one and it had taken a while for him to get this far. But the power of story finally grabbed him this morning and he crawled into the guest room and shut the door to block out distractions and he read and read and read. I wanted him to finish before book club because I knew he'd find out the ending one way or another then and I wanted him to have his own quiet time with his emotions and not be stunned by them in the open club, surrounded by a dozen 8 and 9 year old boys. So, I'm the mean mom who hovered around, waiting for him to get to the sad part. Eventually he got there--about lunch time--I checked on him and his face said it all. Tears streaming down his face, he asked for some tissues and then he asked to be alone to finish the book. This is the boy that cried when Sirius died at the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. There was no way around his emotions getting the better of him at the end of Where the Red Fern Grows. I wasn't excited for him to go through this emotional pain, not really. But I was excited and I am always excited when my kids get so into a story that it takes them beyond our little stucco house in the desert. It tickles my momma heart pink when my kids sleep with books, when they can't take their noses out of them, when a trip to the library is THE coolest thing we could do of a summer afternoon. Story is transcendent, story is power and story deepens our humanity and helps us to understand places and ways we will never otherwise experience. And there are certain stories that I think every person should get lost in at least once.

Yes, I am a book geek and few things would make me happier than to find I have raised a new generation of proud book geeks, with the circled eyes from getting lost in a story to prove it.

Swimming

We've embarked on a new venture this summer. Swim team.
CE has been more reluctant than Z But both are benefitting from three times a week spent in the pool doing drills and laps and perfecting their strokes. They also get to compete in low key swim meets every couple of weeks. Each meet offers only two strokes for the kids to compete in.

They are designed mostly to give the kids experience standing on the blocks,
starting at the gun, doing flip turns and
stopping at the wall.

One of CE's friends didn't know that touching the wall was important and couldn't understand why everyone was yelling at her during her first race--the officials couldn't stop the clock until she touched the wall. At the last meet, one of the littlest girls thought she was racing a 50 m (it was a 25) and the official was heard asking her to return to the finish line because she was already done. One entire heat of small girls uniformly didn't start at the gun and instead looked at each other and cannonballed into the water to start their race. It's moments like these that give us giggles in the rarified, humidified air of the indoor competition pool. Other incidents (like the extra 10 seconds forced onto CE's breaststroke time because of the girl in the lane next to her who crossed CE's lane as she was approaching the wall--because she was done and so completely self-absorbed that it didn't occur to her what her action would do to the other racers) help me to remember that the lesson of sportsmanship at this level of play is just as much about being forgiving as about being gracious in winning and losing.

So far, I like swim a lot better than other team sports we've tried. Since their efforts are theirs alone, my kids are learning to focus more on their personal record improvements and less on the wins, losses or goals scored that are more apparent in team sports. Since their efforts are theirs alone, they let no one down but themselves when they fail to show for a practice or a meet.

From a spectator standpoint, swim meets aren't exactly a picnic. Usually DH is unable to attend, so it's me and the kidlets at the swim meet circus. Our meet last Friday gave us the following climate choices: sit outside (in between races) in 115 dry heat or inside in 90+ exceedingly humid heat. Neither choice was terribly appetizing and we all had heat induced headaches by the time it was all over. But both CE and Z had new PRs in each of their two races. I love that part of the meet. The other part, where I pack snacks and water and the portable DVD player and notebooks and coloring books and hope for the best is not my favorite, but it's worth it. I love to see my kids develop a skill that helps them to care for their body. I love to see the gleam in their eyes as their muscles become more coordinated and they gain strength as they plow through the water. At times swim is another thing on the list of things the mom fights about: that list peopled with piano practice, sweeping the kitchen floor and cleaning rooms. This is a list I feel passionately about--that some skills are valuable enough to fight for their mastery. I'm glad though, that swim is not always on that list, that sometimes swim is fun, it breeds power and skill. I'm hoping swim is something our family will continue for years to come. I don't have delusions of Olympic grandeur, but I do have hopes of health and well being, both mental and physical, that come from training both body and mind. And I'm willing to bet the sunscreen, spandex and fears of green chlorine hair that come as a result on it. Wish us luck!

How I have spent my summer vacation thus far

Apparently I have a wonky brain. The migraines were, perhaps, my first clue. Turns out though, that my brain may be doing Transient Ischemic Attacks (TIAs) as well. These are also called warning strokes. TIA sounds far more innocuous.

Since anything that is called a warning probably should be checked out, I went to the neurologist. Since modern American medicine relies firmly on the might and right of testing, the neuro scheduled me for many tests in an attempt to determine if I just have "complicated migraines" or if I am actually having TIAs. Thus far, I have had vats of blood drawn (I actually stopped counting at twelve vials--it was called "a stroke panel"), I have had an EEG, an MRI, a Transcranial Doppler Study (TCD), a Carotid Artery Ultrasound and a TCD with Microemboli (the last three were performed by a technician who travels once a month from Houston just to administer these tests). I have also had a round of physical therapy to what end I'm still uncertain, but it seemed to result in more and nastier tension headaches and combination tension/ migraine headaches, so I stopped the PT. All of these procedures have required that I either have stuff put in my hair and on my neck or that I arrive with no hair products, lotions, make up, caffeine, extra water, less sleep etc etc. All I have to show for the process thus far is more headaches, I think we may have reached our out of pocket yearly maximum on the health insurance and I have an increasing distaste for testing and doctors' visits. I won't even have a follow-up visit with the doctor for another 6+ weeks. The upside is that CE is a pretty decent babysitter these days and has been holding down the fort since DH has been working his tail off more so than usual. The downside is that I know nothing specific about the wonkiness of my brain and it has actually been worse. I have no assurances that Obamacare will make such experiences as mine better or worse. If I had no insurance, none of this would be possible which in the short term sounds pretty good right about now, but if something could actually be found to help my brain or otherwise prevent it from throwing a cranial rod or whatever it is brains do when they cease to play well with others on a long term basis, then I suppose having health insurance and all these crazy tests could be a good thing. But maybe when all is said and done I either will still know nothing or will know something I wish I didn't, but will still have to pay for.

And, I have substituted for CW's teacher so she could go on vacation, for Bam's teacher so she could go on vacation and now two weeks for M's teacher so she could have a cold and go on vacation. And if I'm lucky, our vacation this year will be a family reunion with my parents, sisters and families but there is a very real possibility that DH will deposit us there and go off to do some more crazy work. So once again, I find myself firmly in the camp of avoiding certain FB posts and certain blog posts of those people who have vacations so that I can mitigate bitterness that my summer is filled with acronyms, headaches and an overworked, overexhausted husband and five crazy kids who want to be entertained.

Promises

Had an interesting time with the family scripture study this evening. I must first confess that our family scripture study has been intermittent at best for several months. Each night that I'm alone when putting kidlets to bed, my only goal becomes to get them sequestered as quickly as possible, to avoid further headaches and any bloodshed. Sadly, in my lack of forward thinking, that has often meant foregoing scriptures because I just haven't the energy to fight the wrestle fest that is scripture time with small children, some of whom are boys. So, when I hear conference talks about the power of the Book of Mormon in our family, I get antsy and guilty. I know my family needs that power. I just get shortsighted when the choice becomes, scripture power or children safely and quietly in their rooms (and away from me) a few moments earlier at night. But we're trying again.

And because we're trying again, we decided to start at the very beginning (always a very good place to start) with First Nephi. The ruckus was legendary (underscoring why I haven't been attempting it on my own), but we forged ahead. We met with surprising resistance from CE, not to the idea of scripture reading, but because she wanted us to read the Old Testament instead. I found myself telling her of the promises our prophets and apostles have repeatedly made to us regarding the power a study of the Book of Mormon will have on our lives. We need that power. I trust in the promises made by the Lord's mouthpieces. They have never failed me. I know if I can show those same promises to my children and they can see my testimony of their truth, they can develop the same trust in prophetic promises. Somehow our reading of First Nephi 1 turned into a discussion of the fiery serpent and the children of Israel and the type of the Savior that is. CE read the story in Numbers, DH then read the doctrinal interpretations by Nephi and Alma. My children (well some of them at least) are finally getting old enough to have an impromptu gospel discussion. The whole fiery serpent discussion really isn't that far removed from the discussion of prophetic promises. For it is a small thing to read the Book of Mormon. It is a small thing to experiment upon the truth of most prophetic promises--akin to looking at the brass serpent Moses held to cure the afflicted children of Israel. But looking, obeying, though it be a small thing, always brings the promised blessings, the promised power.

First Nephi 1 closes with Nephi's promise that he will show to us the tender mercies over all those whom the Lord chooses because of their faith. I suppose that verse was the segue to the serpent discussion, for aren't we looking to those tender mercies, to the promise of power unto deliverance if we have the requisite faith?

Still alive in the Fire Swamp

The children have not killed me. We are, in fact, surviving the lack of commercial television just fine. DH grumbles when he passes through because it's World Cup and he has to watch it on the computer. Thankfully watching it on the computer is a viable option.

The boys barely reacted and have been far better for the lack of Cartoon Network in their lives.
CE told me I had ruined her life. Forever. I think the melodrama of tweendom is upon us. But here we are and she too is still alive and, from all appearances, unruined of life. But then what do I know? I'm just the mom.

In other frightening news, CE has a phone. She's never had one before. She has lobbied hard for at least a year and finally came up with the monthly means to pay for one and found a free phone that she could be happy about. But, like many hotly anticipated purchases, phone ownership is not all she dreamed it would be. There are limits. I won't let her take the phone to church or to her room at night. I monitor her usage and set limits (and she, after not quite a week is very nearly at her monthly texting limit). I get after her when the phone overtakes her ability to participate in real life exchanges and since none of this is going to change, this has added fuel to her melodramatic "mother will ruin my life" fire. She is still, however, getting an almost palpable glee from saying the words "just call me on my cell." So it must not be a totally wasted purchase.

I don't know that I'm quite ready for all the limits and vigilance that motherhood in the modern age requires. The more I learn, the more I realize that although I can't bubble wrap my children or keep them locked up (DCFS would eventually come calling), I have to watch, I have to learn and research and watch and keep tabs and teach and watch and pray pray pray. My job isn't just to keep them physically alive, but to keep them spiritually alive. My job is to teach them the snares and pitfalls that endanger their souls, to give them the tools and limits so they can learn to watch and stand vigil themselves. It was so much easier to keep them from swallowing pennies than to keep them from all that is scary and dangerous and soul destroying in this life.

So, we no longer have TV and my daughter has a phone. Life in the Fire Swamp is more high tech than when Buttercup was here, but no less treacherous.

To be Seven

When the migraine came rolling in as CW's birthday morning began, I didn't think I was going to survive the day. But thanks to medicine, dark rooms and Caillou on Netflix Instant, I was able to ride the worst waves of pain and commence to cake baking.

CW has definite birthday ideas. For about a month before his birthday, he had wanted a bakugan cake--red cake with toys stuck in the frosting. I could not have been happier. And then, a few short days before the actual day, he changed his mind. He wanted Yoshi. Yoshi is a Mario Brothers video game resident character. I don't play the Wii games my children and husband play. I needed to be shown Yoshi. And then, I went to Google and found a template for a gift bag that I thought I could use to construct Yoshi. I was grateful to find green and black food coloring already in my cupboard and so, the Yoshi construction began. I think it turned out pretty well, but the birthday boy was in love and that's all that matters.

I can't believe he is seven. He's a little guy, so that helps fuel my delusions that seven years really haven't passed since he joined our family. In so many ways, since his arrival our lives have never been the same. CW is our family's very own Bart Simpson--with all that entails. He is often the subject of my prayers. And I have the most heartfelt love and appreciation for his teachers--the ones who take him as he is, all that he is, and love him. There is no greater gift to a mama than to love a challenging child unconditionally.

CW has had a busy school year. I can't believe it's almost over. He began the year barely, not quite, but almost reading. And now he is gobbling chapter books. His teacher, Ms. M has seen exactly how to motivate him--with extra Fun Friday minutes earned for good behavior. She proudly told me how he sometimes earns 60 extra minutes. He continues with his crackerjack love of math and legos and full body contact boy fun. He has learned so very much and will be sad to see this year at Silver Sands end. I can hardly wait to see him take the new school by storm!

For his birthday today, there was the obligatory pizza, swimming, cake and presents. We have one more week of school and then it's full summer. I can't imagine the adventures this newly minted seven year old is going to have. I'm on the edge of my seat waiting to see what adventures we will all have on our CW ride! Seven. Wow!

Doing Dangerous Things

I have arrived at my semi-annual restless dissatisfaction with my existence, with the state of my home, the state of my children with LIFE. I have to restrain myself from the very powerful and wholly unproductive desire to change absolutely everything.

But things are going to be different this summer. My children have always been on a year round school schedule. We have had track breaks of 4-6 weeks peppered throughout the year and only 2 weeks between one school year and the next. But this year, my children are on a traditional nine-month schedule. This means that in six mere school days, we will have summer. We will be done with school. I may very well want to kill them soon after that. But, because I want to change everything already, I have visions of a summer boot camp for my children, where things are organized, good habits are built, and bad habits are uprooted, where we swim a lot and ride bikes in the morning before it's too hot, where my children learn to clean right this time and where we de clutter our home and our lives of what doesn't work.

And so, unbeknownst to my children, between 10 and 1 today, the cable man will come to take the box away and shut off cable TV to our home. We still have TVs and the internet and movies and Wii, so we still have all the makings of a sedentary lifestyle, but I'm hoping that without the cable, we will be moved just a little bit more to action, to positive change. But in case none of that works and my children mutiny, tie me up and lock me in the pantry, you'll know why

Parental Overtime

Despite the fact that parenting is a 24/7 gig, I have somehow bought into the notion that I should get off hours. This has resulted in me getting increasingly grumpy with every minute past bedtime that my little darlings are still. not. in. bed. Don't they know that I should be able to "clock out" by now? Why don't they respond to the same sorts of stink eye looks I used to so skillfully give customers who came into the store where I used to work at closing time? Why, despite the multiplicity of clocks and watches in my home and on my children's actual bodies, do they seem completely oblivious to the time? Apparently they don't understand how tired I am, that I don't get overtime pay (unless you count the ice cream that calls to me from the freezer especially loudly on nights like these). They don't understand how DONE I am about 2 hours before bedtime so that every nanosecond they try my patience after really seems like hours of patience tried. There is always one more fight to referee, one more story to read, more water to dispense, and of course, the panicked "timely" notice that something must be purchased or made or had for school in the MORNING that no one mentioned until after bedtime.

But all this does eventually end and oh, the blissful, peaceful silence that results when they are all finally asleep. When they have succumbed and are quiet, at long last, there is so much I want to DO and I have energy for none of it. And the ultimate exercise of my own self control is to go to bed myself in a timely manner. Perhaps I am not so different than my children after all?

Why I like FB

I don't play any farm or pirate games. If you give me "flair" and ask for some back, I will ignore you. I don't do quizzes or lists or notes. I only friend people I actually know. But I like Facebook. Because of Facebook, my lunch date today was possible.


I have dozens of notes from Patty from high school (I actually have all the notes sent to me during high school). We shared chem class and drama and the woes and angst of your average female high school student. And then she went off to one college and I went off to another and we lost touch. An average tale told a million times. But thanks to Facebook, we have renewed contact and because of FB, I knew when she would be in my crazy town preparing for a big meeting and we were able to get together for a girls' lunch date. What fun.

I have replicated this experience or will replicate it in the future with other long lost friends newly found. It is why I FB. Yeah FB!

Not the PTA president

Several weeks ago, a friend from our ward called me wanting to find someone who could be PTA president because he was worried about who seemed to be getting involved in our fledgeling school (it's not quite completely built yet). I consulted with my very own PTA guru (current and past PTA president of our old beloved school), fully expecting that she would tell me that it was too much for me at this point in my life. Instead, she told me that if I had a good, committed bunch of people with me that it was doable. And so I said I would be the "face" if we could get a good group together.

We began to attend meetings and be involved. I helped draft the brand new PTA bylaws. Several friends were on the nominating committee and nominated me to be president and other good women for other offices. We helped out with registration; we participated. As this process continued and more people found out I was willing to do this, more people went behind my back to chastise my friends, assuming that I had been bullied or cajoled into getting involved. I have been surprised at how many people seemed so very protective of me. That part was quite flattering. Ultimately, the whole nominating process came down to a series of interviews the committee held with each candidate. The presidency slot was between me--a woman never before involved in PTA, but someone who has been a part of each of the feeder schools, has kids in multiple grades with experience with gifted classes, with getting and maintaining an IEP (special ed), and with juggling (oh so much juggling)--and another woman who is coming from our former beloved school on a zone variance, has only 2 kids, no experience outside said beloved school, but she has been involved in the PTA. She was chosen.

When the principal called to tell me the decision, I had (and have continued to have) mixed feelings on the whole subject. As it turns out, only one of the women our little group put forth succeeded in being nominated. (apparently, we needed to have more people on the nominating committee in our camp!) She will be wonderful. All the women chosen will be wonderful and it will be a good school and a good first year and we will build a community of involved families. I feel relieved to not have that additional thing on my plate. But I feel a little like the kid who was dragged to the play date and then not chosen for any of the games. I didn't want to do this, but felt like it needed to be done and then they didn't pick me after all. Hmph. Yeah, that about sums it up. Hmph.

This month

This month has been more than I could get my brain around.

First there was conference with all there is to be done, that I need to do.

Then, the following Sunday, my grandma passed away after a massive stroke and a life of pain. Even though she is at peace and pain free, finally. Even though she had been missing Grandpa so much since he passed away. Even though I have a strong and abiding testimony of eternal families, my heart hurts. I miss her and that makes me miss Grandpa anew as if they had died within minutes of each other instead of years apart. And I want to find something wonderful and moving to say, to write and can't.

We went up for the funeral and I found myself surrounded by extended family that it will not be easy to see again, because Grandma was our easy link to one another. That was an unexpected hurt. People I love are just too far flung and it is too difficult to keep close to too many of the people I love. We actually rolled into town for the viewing several hours later than we had planned (always later than we had planned), needing a place to change clothes and unable to find one. The one friend I still know in Orem wasn't home. We used to know so many people in Utah County and now it's down to a very few, so we ended up changing clothes at the mortuary. Lovely. Another unexpected hurt to find Orem so empty, underscoring the raw fact that Grandma is gone and I can't pull into her driveway and hug her anymore as we're passing through.

We were in town for about 36 hours total, including the viewing, the funeral and a few precious hours spent with family. And then we drove home again to take DH back to work, Z to cub scout day camp and CE to her first swim meet. Oh, and somewhere on the drive home, DH informed me that the firm retreat was the next weekend so I needed to get a plane ticket and we needed to find childcare!

DH's parents stepped up to take care of the kids that following weekend and we had a lovely respite in Arizona for a couple of days and brought home some kind of stomach bug that nearly killed us for the next several days. Sometimes the kharmic "payment" for fun is far more expensive than the fun itself = five days of dying for 2 days of rest? Somehow doesn't seem fair. But we survived.

Oh and the fridge went out in the midst of this month and the repairman is finally coming to fix it today. And April is gone. I think that's a good thing.

Drinking from the Fire Hydrant

Maybe because M is still not sleeping at night. Maybe because DH has allergies that have him snoring unusually loudly at night. Maybe just because it's been spring break and my quiet re-grouping without children time has been zero. But I have been extra tired this week. So, as I sat with my family (family being loosely defined in this instance as those people we could bribe to sit through any portion thereof) to watch General Conference this Easter Weekend, I was tired and as each talk rolled forth with its timely messages and pointed lists (pointed by the Holy Ghost bearing witness that yes, this applies to ME) of the things I need to be doing more diligently, I became more daunted and almost thunderstruck by the end of the final session on Sunday. My dear friend described it on her FB update--drinking from the fire hydrant. There is just so MUCH that is required.

This morning, I am no less tired, but thanks to the IT staff that the church employs and my trusty iphone, I am already re-listening and slowly processing each talk. It will take me more than once. But in each listen, no matter how daunted I feel at the essential eternal tasks ahead of me, I feel so blessed, so drenched in the love of the Lord. That He would provide this near constant stream of guidance to us, for us, directly from His mouthpieces is so uplifting, so ennobling, so empowering (word used in a way NEVER used by the popular PC culture).

Having conference fall on Easter Weekend is a delicious blessing to me for in addition to the embarrassment of riches that is an entire weekend to drink in direct and timely counsel, my faith in and testimony of the divinity of my Savior is reaffirmed and my deep abiding belief that it is He and no other who leads this church is underscored. Jesus Christ lives. He came that we might have life and have it more abundantly (John 10:10). Perhaps to focus on that search for an abundant life instead of slogging through must do lists is the better plan of attack at this point.

Running out of teeth

A little while back, I took the kiddos for their semi-annual dental appointments. There were the usual x-rays and CE came out of her exam with the dentist telling me that her mouth was poised to lose about 8 teeth in the next month or so, because of which permanent teeth were formed and ready to erupt. I tried to take the picture above to show you her mouth. (note to self, taking pictures of missing molars is not a skill I have!) She has lost 5 of the 8 teeth already, 3 in about 36 hours. Combine this with the state of CW's mouth:



And our tooth fairy might soon be forced to declare bankruptcy. (although, if the debts are secured by teeth, then they can't really be discharged . . . can you imagine getting a monthly "payment plan" from the tooth fairy?--yes, I am such a geek)

No Sleep

Sometimes at two-ish, my kids begin to do this no-sleep thing for a while. They will go to bed fine, and then wake up ready to par-tay somewhere around 2 and it will take HOURS to get them back to sleep again. M had been such a beautiful sleeper up until now--always willing to go to bed when I told her. But those golden days are officially over.

First, she's in a big girl bed now, well "in" is a bit of a loose term, since she lasted in the bed for a week or so and has since insisted on sleeping on the floor near the bed. Whatever.

Second, she climbs, breaks locks and can pretty much barrel through all barriers in her path. This is bad on so many levels.

There have been nights of no sleep for me (and for participants of this house depending upon their ability to sleep through banshee wailing)--oh so good for my brain always verging on a migraine. There have also been days of essentially no nap, which result in late afternoon snacks like the one pictured above.

All of this iffy sleeping has resulted in a change in our hopeful plans for spring break. We had hoped to go to Conference in Salt Lake. We had thoughts of spending Easter with Utah family members, but when the no sleeping began, we nixed those plans in favor of ever being asked to visit anywhere again. CE is NOT happy. She really wanted to go to conference (I tell her it will happen again in six months) and she really likes to play with cousins and other family (I tell her it's not nice to make family unable to sleep). I do too, and someday, Miss M will again sleep somewhat reliably and we will be able to hazard traveling. Until then, each time I wake up having slept through the night seems a new gift. Trust a non-sleeping two year old to encourage gratitude for ya!

Roses and other things with names

I was listening to the radio this morning on the way home from running. One deejay was relating his major faux pax (only recently discovered) of calling a nominal acquaintance by the wrong name for a year and a half. A caller instructed him to apologize IMMEDIATELY that there is nothing more important than a name and he had breached that. Okay, maybe a little intense.

But names are very interesting and they do have power. I have loved as my children learn to say and then spell their own names. CE learned early on that her name started with C (a name commonly spelled with an S). When teachers or other adults would write her name for her and misspell it, she refused to accept whatever item carried the misspelled name. If there was an S, it was NOT her, end of story.

A few months before CW was born, a new family in our ward had a baby boy with the same name. They are so close in age and have enjoyed best buddy status. They always refer to each other by first and last name, to avoid confusion, I guess. They run their names into one very quickly articulated name, often difficult for new people to understand what is being said.

Bam has been my only kid who heavily identifies with his WHOLE name--first, middle and last. He was asking a buddy what his middle name was and the buddy looked very puzzled. I'm sure he has a middle name, but I don't think he really knows what it is yet. And Bam could not understand how that was possible.

I'm the Sunday School teacher at church and we've been talking about the Old Testament: where Abram becomes Abraham, Sarai becomes Sarah, and where Jacob becomes Israel and names places and builds a lot of rock towers. (that's as far as we've gotten) In traditional American culture, when women marry, we take our husband's last name. I was in law school when I got married and I had a professor/boss who had married later in life and kept her name--as it was the name under which she had built her career. She advised me that it had been the easier choice at the time but infinitely more difficult ever after, as they had a child together and as it was confusing and requiring of explanations every time she went somewhere, took her child out of school, etc etc. I just added my new last name onto the end, since I never had a middle name before, now I do. It never occurred to me to worry over this decision, but I didn't have a body of professional work tied to my first name. And over the years, it has seemed to me that becoming a wife and mother is such an identity change, an expansion of self that a new name seems fitting to commemorate the newness of this life that I have now. Perhaps that's why the Lord went about changing names in the Old Testament, to commemorate the vast changes of the lives of these prophets (well, Sarah wasn't the prophet, but boy howdy, a post menopausal child is definitely a CHANGE), to allude to them and those around them that NOTHING would be the same because of covenants made and paths taken/not taken.

While my name alludes to my marital status, I am the one that has to remind me of covenants I have made and paths taken. I know that the choices I make change me and my future in ways as complete as a name change is, though one not requiring a visit to the Social Security office. I want that. I want those decisions to change my heart in such ways that though my name may be the same, nothing else about me will be. I want to be as proud of those changes as CE was of the spelling of her name, as clear as CW was on who he was in relation to his buddy and as completely embracing of all that my covenants have made me that I don't want to leave anything out, like Bam and his whole name.

Digging Out

DH has exchanged the big ugly cast and the "no weight" admonition for a new boot (very similar to the old boot) and a "careful weight" admonition from the doctor. He is back at work and back at bishop stuff full time. We are back at school and all other events and I am forty years old.

Forty is a bit old to be running around on no sleep with people I love who are visiting and people I love who are invalids.

Today is the first day since my birthday that I do not have a headache (knock wood, the day ain't over yet!).

This is the first time I am mentioning (outside my head) that the rolling migraines (where as one seems to be waning, the next one begins the cycle of disturbed vision, tinglies and other things I don't remember the words for) began on my birthday and did not leave until Monday night. That the ensuing week was filled with sinus headaches sprinkled liberally with migraines. That each day I would put M down for a nap and connive and bargain and beg until Bam would take one too (or at least be calm in front of Scooby Doo on the portable DVD player in his bed) and then I would take a nap too until I had to go pick up the big kids from school. We have been subsisting on leftovers--from our weekend of yummy food and from the kindness of ward members who ignored me when I said we didn't need meals because of DH's surgery (I'm still very bad at accepting help, but I'm trying to be gracious at least when I'm ignored and help is given anyway). And I have purchased bread for my kids' lunches instead of making it and then I have been making white bread in the bread machine when I couldn't even get to the store because I was out of ground wheat flour and too tired to grind more. My house has been messy and dirty and I finally got last week's clean laundry put away on Friday, just in time to start washing again Saturday morning.

I have not wanted to say anything about this past week because it would be possible for someone to believe that the cost was too high, that my mom and sisters should not have come. And that is so far from true. I began to think that part of putting on a game face may make me dishonest, making me look like it's all easy to me (when it's not). That this game face business may also fail to show those I love how much I value them and may really be sending a far more flippant message than I really intend by allowing my pride to cover up my frailties.

So here is the honest truth. This last week was exhausting and painful and rough and I have been treading water badly for most of it. I've just about got my head above water now. If I can just have a day or two of no headaches, I might just get in my groove again. Might. But I would not trade the headaches for spending time with my family for my birthday weekend (or for any other time spent with family). I have a friend from high school who lost her mom last fall. She turned forty a few days after I did, but she did so without her mom. Others have difficult and painful families. I am not so naive as to believe that I am anything other than amazingly blessed. I don't want to let little things like leftovers, dirty houses and laundry and a few lingering headaches keep me from precious time with my loved ones.

Um, where to begin?

Shameless backdating will begin again shortly.

Forty or where there is wool and it is over my eyes

My birthday has unfortunately been the magnet on more than one occasion for calamitous and unpleasant events (illness, accidents, scabies, to name a few). DH is not good with occasions. He knows this. He doesn't know what to do, what to get, how to celebrate so he does nothing. (there was the year when he told his boss he'd forgotten Mother's Day and his boss sent him home from work mid day to FIX IT and not come back until he had fixed it--and as a future admonition, this Stake President said that if it were ever a question of breaking the Sabbath because he forgot or doing nothing for Mother's Day again, DH was strongly counseled to break the Sabbath) So, knowing he was bad at birthdays and knowing that 40 can be a big deal, DH started asking me (somewhat at the behest of my baby sister) what I wanted for my birthday. And then other people began to ask and I got seriously bugged. Because the list of what I really wanted went like this (what I sent to another sister):

Things I want for my birthday: to be 50 lb lighter, to have time and money to spend, a macbook, a vacation, a husband who can come home, children who don't whine, fight or lose their belongings, more hours in the day, sleep, all of my loved ones to move in on my street so that they will rename it people who love Ang street and then we can all play together. So basically, all things no one has the capacity to give me.

Yeah, just a wee bit grumpy. Eventually, I was just hoping to get through the weekend, have a quiet dinner and cake with family, care for broken husband and move on. Then, shortly before the surgery, my mom called and asked if she could fly in for the weekend and 1) help with husband, 2) celebrate my birthday and 3) get some weather relief (much snow and cold in her neck of the woods and her asthma was bad). I was excited. So, after getting kidlets off to school Friday morning and picking up DH's shiny new handicapped placard at DMV (because it was handicapped, I avoided several lines and it only took 45 minutes), I picked my mom up at the airport. Yeah! Friday night, DH had made arrangements for his dad to help him with a birthday pick up (because despite his new placard, I said he was in no condition to drive, what with the Lortab and all) and so he and CE and Grandpa Bill went off to get whatever it was and I put kidlets to bed.

This is what he picked up:



and this is what I did (with the sister who had been taking the first picture and then with everyone else):


All of us together:


There could not have been a better present (well short of everyone actually moving here) for me. Their visit was short. DH was still an invalid. But we made the best of it. We hung out in the hot tub:



We got pedicures (well, mom got a manicure):


We even dragged the invalid out to dinner with us to Maggiano's, a yummy family style Italian restaurant that even Brooke, the former Italian missionary sister could approve of. That night we watched a late chick flick and fell into bed.

Sunday morning, my actual birthday, dawned with my sisters making me breakfast, my mother curling CE's hair for church. Cakes and dinner were made, we went to church (even DH went to sacrament meeting, although he paid for all this frolicking later) and then we came home to have yummy food and time with family. It was too short, but it always would be. I took two loads of sisters to the airport last night and my mother to the airport this morning. I cannot think of a better way to spend my fortieth birthday, despite the ensuing exhaustion of which we will now dig out. I love my family. I can't imagine a better girls' weekend. What a lovely lovely surprise!