On your marks!

It's a good thing I have fun friends, otherwise my poor children would be bereft of even more than they think they are in their self-pitiful moments. Our friends and down the street neighbors decided to start a bike race tradition for New Years' Eve morning. The kids helmeted up and grabbed their bikes and took off on a 2 mile loop behind our houses. Some were competitive, riding so fast their muscles still shook after finishing, some suffered mechanical malfunctions and cardiovascular limitations, all had tons of fun, earned their very own shrinky dink medals (yes, they still sell them!) and some Gatorade and enjoyed a crystal clear Vegas winter morning outside on their bikes. Thanks Eborn Clan! (we won't talk about the resulting trouble of realizing all the Fears kids had outgrown their bikes when we weren't looking. I swear they grow by the foot during their sleep!)

Things I need to do: 2012 what will you do to me?

2012 is around the corner. There are several things I want to be different this year. I want to have control. I want order. I want health. I want peace. I want balance. I want to be mindful and purposeful. I know these are a lot of wants and a lot of the same wants I search for, seemingly without result, every year. My dear friend, posing as my secret RS sister, gave me a calendar of ways to grow closer to the Savior. It's wonderful, really. But it's got me bugged, strangely. I know there is something awry with my worship and devotion, but still I'm not picking up my scriptures and changing things. I know there is definitely something awry with my personal care. I need to exercise. I need to plan and eat better. But even though this Christmas break has afforded me extra time and DH even home, I've only been running once (with a resulting return of the cold that will never leave) and no other forms of exercise at all. My kids need to find self-motivation. My only success on this point has been buying a 3DS for Christmas, for me, with which I am rewarding them with minutes to play in exchange for family work completed, piano practiced,etc and pulling minutes for peskiness and general bad behavior. The boys seem most motivated. CE has been in a major funk this break, complaining about everything. The 3DS seems to have limited effect on her motivation. Because of changes in DH's job, we will now have a great deal more paper juggling and budgeting to do. We want to really stay on top of things this time, but the best I can seem to manage is to open a budget file on my computer and stare at it. I need to sleep and wake at better times, but have dug myself and my entire family into a Christmas break upside down hole of Alice in Wonderland proportion that will bite us all in the butt in a few short days. And I have this cold, where I don't breathe, sleep fitfully and generally feel grumpy, unwell and filled with this ridiculous malaise. Happy New Year!

Jesus Is Born!

Christmas has not gone up easily this year. I just can't seem to coordinate my energy levels with actual time to do it. This morning, since Z is finally feeling better and back at school and other activities have waned for a bit, I decided to push myself to finish what I had started with my lame extraction of the advent calendar on the first of the month.

Miss M has been a fabulous helper, bringing all the enthusiasm a four year old girl musters best in the world. With every nativity I unpacked (I have four), she yelled out with glee "Jesus is Born!" Yes, Jesus is born, with all the wonder, glory, peace and comfort that brings. He is born! I wish I could make myself remember that supernally important fact better on a daily basis. President Uchtdorf reminded us so powerfully in the General Relief Society meeting how we need to remember the why of the gospel and not just the some times crushing "whats." Christmas often brings more crushing whats these days than at other times of the year. DH is gone more with his church responsibilities; we know of so much need and want to address it all with toy drives, subs for santa, secret Christmas jars, and on and on. But in quiet moments, if I can just touch back to the good news of the gospel that Jesus is born, the why can wash over me and the whats settle themselves.

Last year for Christmas, we were surprised with the twelve days of Christmas from members of our ward. I can guess at some of the families who participated, but others I still, a year later, have no idea. The treats were yummy, the surprises each night (especially on nights that DH was gone) were lovely for the children, but the best part of the whole experience was that each family wrote these tender thoughtful notes to us; thanking our family for sharing DH with them. These thank yous were, for the most part, very specific, very tender and have become, without exceptions, touchstones that I turn to when I need to get back to those "whys." Gratitude is funny that way. When we receive it, when we give it, we remember, we feel, we know in greater detail why we do the things we do.

Jesus is Born! Hallelujah! Jesus is Born!

Four, Glorious Four!

M was sure this day would never, ever come. Being the end of the family as well as the last birthday of the year is rough going. She tried to wait patiently, well as patiently as someone who really wanted to be four could wait. But the day came! She was so happy for it to be her birthday. We celebrated with a barbie cake, that she and her CE decorated, once I put the thing together. We played with family on her actual birthday and with friends today. The birthday party was a bit tricky. She wanted a pool party, she wanted water balloons, she wanted ice cream cones outside. I had to tell her that she just didn't have a pool birthday, that really only Z and CW in our family do have pool birthdays. Once we got past the disappointment heaped upon M by the weather, she settled on a Dora party. And it was lovely. We had so much fun that M is already awash in plans for her party next year! We made maps and backpacks, played silly games and sang songs. And ate cupcakes, of course. And now, we are done with birthdays for the year. Imagine that! 4, 6, 8, 10, and 12. What a family, what joy, what insanity and I wouldn't have it any other way, and definitely not with Miss M and her birthday!

Bam and his Birds

Oh dear Bam and your flights of fancy, your love of Angry Birds, birthdays, cakes and parties! This birthday has been in the works at least since CW's party in June. And finally it arrived; Bam is six. The cake posed architectural problems in addition to the artistic problems I usually have with birthday cakes. But my CHS friend Suz came to my aid via FB with her mad cake skillz, a recipe for marshmallow fondant (to make the top feathers) and the geometric breakdown of Mr. Red Bird's face (triangles and circles). I am proud of how the cake turned out, but my heart is warmest at the smile on Mr. Bam because of the cake.

We shared Bam's cake with family on his birthday and then commenced to planning his "friend party" for later in the week when we had a school holiday. In keeping with the Angry Birds theme, we had ourselves some Angry Bird fun--with 12 of Bam's friends. We had a blast and lived to tell about it.


Here's the King Pig Castle the boys built to demolish (pretty impressive architectural feat for 13 6 year olds!)


Angry Bird sweets for the angry bird boys.


Angry Bird bowling

I'm always amazed at party dynamics--seeing my kids and their friends out of church, out of school. It was both delightful and exhausting to spend this angry bird time with Bam and his buddies, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world!

Imagination, Flights of Fancy and Growing Up

This is really the best Halloween picture I could get. CE was a ghost bride. Z was Where's Waldo, CW was Harry Potter, Bam was a Red Mystic Force Power Ranger and M was a Ballerina Cinderella (very fancy dancy, she said when she saw the costume).

As usual, Bam was planning and replanning what he would be for Halloween from the beginning of summer. I had to find his costume on ebay, but thankfully it was inexpensive. Z really didn't want to dress up, so his costume allowed him to wear mostly real clothes and carry his candy around in a backpack. CE had to dress up for school, since she's in Leadership and they were in charge of the dance. As a result, we found ourselves trolling the Salvation Army thrift shop and Hobby Lobby in order to pull together the look she was hoping for. M was easy, we walked into the scary store (those pop-up Halloween stores that appear in otherwise vacant strip mall spaces), found the fancy dancy costume and we were on our way within moments.

We are in various Halloween stages--Bam and M are still in the throws of Halloween wonderfulness, costumes, candy and all the (non-scary) stuff the holiday holds. CW is edging his way out of those years. His costume was easy--we had everything. He was casual about the whole thing and just seemed to love to run around with friends collecting candy. Z is pretty much done. He likes candy and he likes walking around with friends, so that's why (I think) he suffered through the costumed aspect of the event. I don't thing he and Halloween are in it for the long haul though. CE has passed into that second stage of Halloween, that of parties. She worked her school dance, she hung out with friends at the ward trunk or treat and on Halloween night she went to a party.

As much has Halloween isn't my friend (I don't like to dress up; I'm not creative; I don't get into creepy and I HATE the candy haul we end up with, even though I "redistribute" what we get at the trunk or treat both during the trunk or treat and on Halloween night), I am a bit wistful about this change in how things are. It seems another marker of how my family is aging way too fast to even put a finger on it. For now, Bam is more into Halloween than any of my older children ever were. I wonder how long that will last and how the holiday will morph for him once he begins to believe less fervently in the power to become whatever he is wearing. And then there's baby M who is no longer a baby at all really. How will it feel when she is no longer placated by anything twirly or pink?

Never thought I could get wistful about a costume. Motherhood does strange things.

Stupids of thought and other dubiously helpful things

I know that the scriptures with respect to seeking spiritual answers refer to the stupor of thought a "no" will generate. I've just always felt that stupid of thought was far more descriptive, far more accurate a description of how things go for me.

Every time I've tried to figure out how to reconfigure my schedule to include the exercise which got booted out of its slot by crazy non-self-motivating family members, I get nothing. I have no idea that works. As a result, I have not exercised since the triathamom. And that stinks! It also does nothing to keep the insanity at bay. My children are far too egocentric to understand the adage "if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." Z even commented that he just thought I didn't want to exercise anymore, that I wanted to follow them around trying to get them to make the leap to self-motivating individuals. That was a very discouraging conversation.

I went into the weekend of General Conference with specific questions in mind, many of them focusing on how to help my family be where they need to be, how to take care of myself and how to not go crazy in the process. I felt that many of the talks spoke directly to me, that they gave me counsel and advice, just nothing easy, nothing "insert tab A into slot B and your project is done" easy.

Basking in the glow that words from heaven always give me (even if nothing is fixed, it sure helps to feel seen and listened to by the God of Heaven and Earth), I branched out, started listening to old talks I remember getting inspiration from, reading BYU Women's conference talks, etc. One such talk (I think it was Virginia Pierce, Pres Hinckley's very eloquent daughter) spoke of a woman who decided to go to the temple more frequently, seeking answers and how to help wayward children. She said, ten years later, that going to the temple did not change the problem, did not change the behaviors of her children, but it changed her. That ten years part was very discouraging; that no change in behavior part was exceedingly discouraging. But the part about the woman being changed for the better touched my heart. It made me see perhaps that the goal I have--non-crazy children who are self-motivating--while a good goal, is not the project I actually signed on for, although I didn't know it at the time. That doesn't mean I don't need to find a way to help my children to not be insane, to understand and implement the concept of productive family work and self motivation. That doesn't mean that I don't need (desperately) to find a way to exercise in a new time/way/place. I suppose that just means that all this seeking is really for a deeply more eternal purpose, one that has me chanting to myself another quote from the same talk "Keep it small, keep it simple, give it time."

Too much

Wordsworth said it like this.

THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

While the schedule of school is a good thing, all the other things that begin with school are slowly killing me. We added soccer and football, resumed piano and threw it all into the schedule of school, scouts and YW activities. We are a family that needs large margins, margins we don't currently have. In theory, we should be able to keep our home running with a decent morning and evening effort combined with some more concentrated tweaks on the weekend. Instead, we seem to have a family wide inability to get anything done unless I am personally following everyone individually giving line-item instructions. Add to that the exhaustion of too many "things" going and we are running on constant meltdown, flameout, chaos and it isn't pretty. Out of tune is an understatement.

So, upon returning home from the triathamom, I made a drastic change. For the last 6 years or so, I have run 3 mornings a week with my friend Jenn. We use this time to exercise, to chat, to vent, to seek and offer advice on our lives. Each year, fitting in the run became more difficult--she has kids in early morning seminary and super smart math classes. I have young kids and kids who are seemingly unable to get themselves successfully from bed to school. I kept hoping that small tweaks would fix things, that I wouldn't have to give it up. But when I came home, I knew what the sad answer was. It seems ironic that my response to the physical endeavor of the triathaMOM would be to stop my regular exercise schedule. Irony should probably be my middle name.

I still need exercise. I still crave time with my dear friend. Perhaps answers will be forthcoming soon?

Because I always wanted a tattoo . . .

A while back, I read about this sprint triathlon geared toward moms. So geared in fact that they were calling it a triathaMOM. Perfect. My baby sister and I needed a challenge. We'd both tried to get ready for a half marathon and it just wasn't working and she has wonky joints these days too. Our cousin Laurie is the super fitness guru of the family and always up for a fitness challenge (several marathons under her belt among other things). So the three of us registered for the race. BT and I rented bikes because I didn't want to ship mine up to Utah and I didn't want to drive either. Laurie lives very very close to where the race was being held and she had a bike, so she rode that.

All summer long, I swam and biked (often stationery to avoid the summer heat) and ran. It was a good mix of options and got me more active, but out of the heat unlike training for a long run would have done. The day of the race came, we came, we fought, we finished and we had the temporary tattoos to prove it. (you write your bib number on your biceps in triathlons and your age on your calf--usually it's done with a sharpie marker, but because this race was run by Utah women, the race numbers were emblazoned on our skin with big number stamps. Yes, a crafty race!)

And I was back in my house, tired and sore again by 8:30 that night. There's something about doing something that pushes you physically, doing it with people you care about, it's a wonderful thing for the heart, in more ways than one.



And because it was a triathaMOM, the post race included bounce houses, face painting, balloons and cotton candy. My kids would have loved it. My nephews and my cousin's kids (first cousins once removed) certainly did!

Baby goes to Preschool

For days and days before school started, M would put her "pack-ack" on and ask me if today was her school day. And it wasn't.

And then suddenly it was. Hallelujah! Preschool started. M had a blast. These are some of her besties. We spent tons of time with both of them before school started. School is just an extension of wonderfulness as far as M is concerned.


When I picked M up at the end of the day, I asked her if she'd had fun. She said, "no, I couldn't, there were no questions." She was very serious about these questions. Her teacher couldn't figure out what she was talking about and neither could I. And then she changed her answer just slightly: "there were no white questions and suddenly I had my preschooler epiphany! The big kids bring their homework home in white school logo folders. So, I said, "M do you need a folder with homework?" And she grinned, "Yes! white questions! Except, I want pink" So, we went to Target and bought her a pink folder and she did some "homework" on starfall.com and she could finally tell me about all the fun of school.

Wouldn't it be nice if Rosetta Stone sold a course in "Preschooler" language?

And, because life truly is grand in the world of Ms. M these days, she has also started her first dance class. M has moves. She always has, more than anyone else in the family and more rhythm too. So, when we found a cute little class that she and a few besties could take in the middle of the day, M was in hog heaven. I should have taken a picture at the beginning of class, because this was the result at the end.

Launching into the next decade!

When you are ten and a boy, a birthday may involve water balloons. It may also involve feats of sumo wrestling strength in the pool with your friends. It definitely will involve pizza and cupcakes and ice cream cones. Lest you think this sounds like a redux of a certain eight year old's party, this was the choice of Z. It did make planning easier for me and I didn't complain. I did learn that seven ten year olds play much differently than fourteen eight year olds. Strangely, the eight year olds were far more self-entertaining and inclusive. The ten year olds required interaction, ideas and guidance away from certain dangerous topics. But fun, LOTS of fun was had by all.

Then we moved on to the family celebration with the cake decorated to Z's specification. He's been overly interested in chocolate cake and frosting the last several weeks, so for his birthday, Z just wanted chocolate cake with chocolate butter cream frosting and nothing else. Thankfully I was able to find a frosting recipe I like, since I haven't ever really liked my efforts on this front before.


In general, this tenth birthday was a fun time for everyone. Icing on the more proverbial cake however, was that DH was about to spend the long weekend with us. DH spent time playing games (board and wii), assembling birthday puzzles and special time shopping to spend birthday money. We're still recovering from all the fun :)

Things go a little haywire

These are the things I failed to plan for in my day:
1) that Bam would be categorically unable to go to school without a red shirt and blue shorts, that this inability would extend to eating breakfast and any and all other portions of the morning routine. I dredged up a last minute somewhat mangy red shirt and strong armed the poor child (breakfast-less, since he didn't tell me he'd been unable to eat until we were halfway to school) to school, peeled him off my leg and into the arms of the kindergarten teacher and prayed that he would recover his mojo (he did, apparently quickly and the rest of the day was uneventful in his eyes) I went to Target and bought their last two red shirts. I still need to find some more blue shorts.
2) that certain children overstating their family job completion and understating their homework load would gain friend time passes and then fail to return in a timely fashion, that this failure combined with my failure to fully assemble dinner in a timely fashion before football practice would set our family organization clock on its head and that things would never fully recover.
3) that certain other children would have sufficiently faulty honesty and responsibility meters fueling the caterwompus of disorganization.
4) that the child with dish duty would require "proof" that it was his job before beginning (never could nail down what would constitute sufficient proof in his eyes--notarization? affidavit? sworn testimony under oath before a judge?).
5) that this same child would, in a manner still mysteriously inexplicable to us all, would head down the stairs, lean suddenly and end up end for end on the bottom level of the stairs with his glasses thrown from his face. He was not permanently damaged (no, we don't have our third cast of the summer, thank heaven) but was never able to explain what happened, nor has he been able to explain a few other things.

I have never attempted to deceive anyone into believing that we have any sort of well-oiled machine of organization and precision running in our family scheduling. We pretty much run on a mix of calendaring and seat-of-your-pants engineering. But I do try to plan and be timely, feed people, keep them alive and fulfilling their school and family obligations. I am trying to come to grips with the reality that my life seems destined to involve the creation of a certain amount of unintended rules each day (including, but not limited to,"do not fling yourself from the stairs to your near death to avoid doing dinner dishes"). My abilty to grasp this comes and goes. But when DH asked me upon his evening arrival home what went wrong with the day, I couldn't exactly say and I got grumpy as a result. Ultimately what it seems to boil down to is that I failed to plan for the unfathomable. I hate it when I do that.

First Day of School

I did everything I could to prepare for this day. Clothes and shoes were laid out. Lunches were prepared. Supplies were purchased, divided and loaded into backpacks (and even turned into teachers ahead of time where possible). And still, Sunday night found me hunting AWOL water bottle tops after the children had gone to sleep. How can water bottle tops disappear over the course of a summer? Oh the black hole that is my house.

Because this weekend was stake conference, we got extra time with Dad--a grand and unusual blessing indeed. We had grilled burgers and corn on the cob and each child received priesthood blessings from their dad to begin the school year. We resuscitated our daily scripture reading with dad (the summer had become catch as catch can since dad's schedule didn't intersect with the family's loosey goosey one). We ate frozen custard and once and future students were trundled off to bed at a responsible time (and there wasn't much complaining since we had to be up early for the stake conference--another blessing!)

The next morning,

everyone dressed for school and we began the return to routine. CE had her one late morning--middle school will now begin after elementary school by 55 minutes, but she has an early leadership class that begins on the second day of school, so today was the only day the lateness really affected her. M, the boys and I walked to school. CW could not be bothered to stay with the group. You'd think he liked school or something . . . Z dutifully stayed with the rest of us, since he will have the responsible job of dropping and retrieving Bam from his kindergarten dot each day. Bam chatted amiably with a friend and neighbor about backpacks and quarters for chocolate milk. Once we arrived at school and I deposited his brothers, Bam began to get nervous. The luck of the draw has Bam in a class with NO ONE he knew previously. This boy here with Bam:

--never met him.

These children lined up with Bam to go inside:
--never seen any of them before.

But, true to the resilience that is Bam, despite the fact that he still knows no one's name, he said he had a good day at school with many new and exciting things to tell me about lunch, PE and homework that he didn't have today.

School was relatively old hat for everyone else. CW came home and immediately did all his homework for the week. Yes, he scares me sometimes. Z did the bare minimum and CE set about doing homework and organizing her supplies for the rarified world that is middle school. M and I are in new territory. It is just us all day until her preschool begins next week, but even then, with preschool only two mornings a week, we are alone together most of the time. I don't think she knows quite what to do with the mommy time. She told a friend of mine today that we were going swimming and then groceries. So, we went swimming and got groceries, made after school cookies and then it was time to retrieve boys (the first day of school is the only day I go get them, otherwise they're self-sufficient). I wonder what she has planned for us tomorrow!

I like school. I love that my kidlets adore learning and school and the structure that school brings. I have never yet been that parent who cried when the kindergarten teacher read The Kissing Hand. For me, I found it strangely liberating that this time at the kindergarten drop off, I only had one child to take home with me--usually it's two, or one with an enormously pregnant belly. One 3 year old to sit quietly through a story with is cake. I went to the Boo Hoo Breakfast because Bam told me to and because I knew M would love the teeny tiny pastries Panera Bread donated for the occasion (really, who doesn't love mini chocolate croissants and orange frosted pastries and tiny fruit tarts?)

Now I don't love homework (and some years are worse than others for wrestling with the dreaded H word) but I love seeing my children discover new bits of knowledge, wrestle with grammar and penmanship, master long division and quadratic formulas and inhale literature and artistic endeavors. I also love the forced structure that school brings: we have to have the backpack packing, lunch making, homework doing, outfit planning down to somewhat of a science or our world with 5 students would become chaotic and unsuccessful.

Despite all my mother's best intentions, I do not take easily to structure. Too little and I am lost, like anyone, but too much scheduling, too much structure and I begin to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. Intrinsic structure isn't something I manage well; it has to be extrinsic. School seems to provide the perfect ebb and flow of structure. Hopefully it will be a welcome nudge in our search for order this year.

No Words

First this:


Now:


Will they be safer once school starts?

The Summer Wanes

I put all the orientations, open houses and back-to-school events in my calendar today. This comes after completing the school supplies and clothing purchases at the beginning of the week. School will officially begin on the 29th, but on Friday we begin the run-up of activities that will get us there in a hurry. So, I thought it as good a time as any to evaluate the summer, such as it was.

June was a birthday, a baptism, the end of school activities and a little vacation for DH and I. Throughout these activities we did a pretty good job of keeping family work, routines, piano practice and such going.

July was filled with girls' camp, scout camp, and high adventure camp--nearly all of which DH had to attend, at least in part. CE attended girls' camp for the first time too. The rest of us had swim lessons, a short trip to Utah and general laziness. Levels were mastered on the Wii. Books were read. Things were drawn and colored. Games were played. Movies and vintage TV were watched courtesy of Netflix. And there was swimming, a great lot of swimming. We completely lost the plot where piano was concerned and family work and routines took a bad beating.

And now here we are mid-way through August, trying to pick up the pieces left after do-nothing July, returning to routines, better executed family work and piano, all in an attempt to ease ourselves into the scheduling wallop that is the school year (since football, soccer, dance, leadership and piano all begin at the same time). We didn't do any of the things on our to-do list; we didn't visit any of the places on our to-see list (not even the library, unless you count quick dashes to pick up reserved books). We reveled in doing nothing and going nowhere. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

In some ways, it was a rare treat and one which won't likely come our way again. There are drawbacks of course, because my children didn't go anywhere, they never left me alone. I quickly learned that one of the reasons why I hardly looked at the piano was because I never had any quiet moments in which I could play without "help" of one kind or another. My children are finally old enough that the oldest two are available for sibling care (CE even sits for others now, Z can trustworthily watch younger siblings for an hour or two before forgetting he's in charge), but they are young enough that they don't schedule themselves in social activities hither and yon yet.

I guess that fleeting sense is why I don't feel more remiss that our summer was an unscheduled monument to stasis, because stasis is really hard to come by, especially in families, especially when those families have growing children. I'm not dreading the beginning of school, nor am I counting days. It's been a good do-nothing summer and has lasted about as long as it ought. We have enjoyed it.

Hail Summer! Long Live Fall!

Captain Moroni was a "good mom!"

While reading this this morning, one thought seemed more clear to me than any other: Captain Moroni was a good mom! He too had to deal with the drawbacks (saying threats when referring to a scriptural hero somehow seems wrong) of outlining consequences that he then had to back up. I make no pretense of suggesting that life as a mother to my five hooligans (bedlamites, children: potato, potahto) is the same as leading the Nephites against the never ending evil threat of the liberty stealing Lamanites, but somehow it just warmed my heart to see in print, in scripture no less, the concept that threats must not be empty, that consequences must be fulfilled that if I promise no screens for a week for an egregious infraction of family rules, I have to survive that whole week, even though I am punishing myself along with the fractious children.

I am always amazed as I plow through the war chapters that comprise much of Alma how much they apply to my life as a mother of little ones in the desert. Captain Moroni has been making a lot of fortifications lately in my reading: digging up a lot of earth, building what must have been menacing and backbreaking protections for his people. I see in those descriptions my need to protect my little ones with similar backbreaking protections--scripture reading, church attendance, FHE, good nutrition, good sleep and study habits, piano practice, healthy work ethic, respect for self and others (and on, and on). It never ends, but it never ended for Captain Moroni either. Our pediatrician always goes through a selection of questions about safety during well child checks--does our pool have a gate, does the child in question understand about stranger danger, does s/he know not to approach strange dogs, what food is healthy, wear a helmet. Those questions are easy. The more difficult questions are, does my child know how to access the powers of Heaven? Do they all know how to listen to the Holy Ghost to make important decisions? Can they say, with Nephi "I know in whom I have trusted"? Pediatrician doesn't know to answer those questions (but he did mention the missionaries he saw on his recent trip to the Ukraine!) Those are my safety questions.

Later in the same chapter in Alma, Captain Moroni doesn't kill the drunken guards, because he doesn't delight in bloodshed, he just wanted liberty for his people. I have in a pencilled note at the bottom of the page--linking verse 19 with verse 28 where it talks about the Nephites being able to begin to reclaim their rights and privileges. My note says that perhaps because Moroni was seeking a great blessing--the liberty of his people--he wanted clean hands to be worthy. I am seeking great blessings--the eternal safety of my children--are my hands sufficiently clean? I worry about this, about genuinely doing all that is needful, about choosing the better part, what is essential, so that I can worthily call for the blessings of Heaven to be showered upon my family.

And I marvel at the continual, unplumbable depths of war chapters in the Book of Alma.

Now and Then

Once upon a time, there was a two year old Z who fell on his wrist rather than let go of a special toy to break his fall. That wrist broke and he looked like this for six weeks:




Fast forward eight years and we have a nearly ten year old Z who fell due to some brotherly mayhem, once again breaking his fall with the same wrist. He's going to look like this for three weeks:



Times have changed and breaks are different and Z will be able to shower and swim with his cast, just not do most of his chores (which will be covered by CW, who was responsible for the brotherly mayhem). Before we knew what sort of cast Z would get, I contemplated whether the "good mom" thing would be to ban CW from the pool as long as Z was banned and I looked forward to weeks of two boys pool-less with a great deal of dread. I have never been so grateful for such a thing as a water-resistant cast! Parenting is tricky and punishments often punish the mom at least as much as the wrong doer. I'm glad that our summer will not include this sort of whole family punishment for some momentary mayhem. Yeah for technology, for good insurance and good doctors.

*thank UT alum Aunt Tiff for keeping all boys and their sisters in burnt orange over the years.

Heavy and Light

DH and I had a rare treat this weekend. We left the kidlets in the capable care of MIL and my aunt Debbie and we flew to Kauai for a few days. It was a Bar convention, so DH had continuing education classes to attend in the morning, which, by virtue of my license being inactive, I didn't have to attend. But for the rest of the time (and all the time for me) we had sun, sand, and glorious island scenery to take in. It doesn't take much to impress me either, a few days to hang out and be a grown up without being at the beck and call of my dear ones is a vacation for me, even when the scenery isn't glorious. This was a rare treat. The last time we went to any Hawaiian island, CW was 1 and we went to Maui and we called it our honeymoon, since we'd never really had one--getting married mid law school like we did. This trip was much shorter, with its own limitations, but in its own way quite effortless.

Meanwhile, back at home, dearly loved ward members were giving birth to a baby who would be whisked into open heart surgery to have two of his valves swapped out. Other dearly loved ward members continue their battles with troubles from RA and kidney failure to financial reversals and job losses. Mortality seemingly has no end of ways in which to test and try us. I suppose because I was sitting in a lovely hotel listening to the sounds of the ocean while checking into FB to see whether this cute newborn baby responded well to his surgery and how he has fared each day this first week of his life that the juxtaposition of things seemed in sharp relief for me. I know there are ebbs and flows to everything. I know we need the times of lightness to gather strength and energy in reserve for the times of heaviness that will come. I'm trying to see this time of lightness and embrace it for the glittering treasure it is instead of bemoan its lack when it's gone, especially when others regale me with talk of their fabulous vacations and I am stuck in the thick of thin things. I'm trying.

It was a lovely weekend.

The Great CW is Eight!

What a big day we had! On Saturday, CW turned eight and celebrated with family first at his own baptism and then in our backyard for cake, ice cream, swimming and barbecue. We played with cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles. It was a lovely day and a grand way to usher in the eighth year of such a great kid. The cake posed some problems, however, because CW couldn't make up his mind. We went through three different ideas before he settled on the race track above. Eventually it occurred to me that his rolling indecision may have had something to do with the Cake Boss reruns playing in the family room. Miraculously, once the TV went off, we were able to settle on a theme and move forward.



It is a continuing marvel to me as my children age and make the choice to be baptized. Not that they make the decision, but how much their brains and spirits and entire aspects change in the months leading up to this auspicious beginning of a disciple's life. Being baptized at eight is an inspired thing. Guile begins to change things and the world seems to have more access, more cachet than it used to. Without making the decision to be baptized, my sweet CW wouldn't be entitled to the gift of the Holy Ghost he (and all of us) so desperately need to be able to make the better choice in the swirling array of options that beset him.

It was difficult to see such a wonderful day end. We were able to surround CW with loved ones on his special day.


We were able to have tons of cousin fun in the pool.



But all good days must eventually end.

Since this was a special year, CW also got a friend party today, the day after school ended for the year. 14 eight year old boys in our pool for 3 hours. They all had a blast.



And the rest of us survived :) And now, on with the wonder of summer!

Lunch with Friends

Today I went to Nordstrom Cafe with Bam and M. We met up with this friend who was in town for less than twenty-four hours in the midst of some wicked crazy traveling she's been doing. Our lives could not be more different.

Patty is single, lives in the East Village in New York City (when she's not traveling the globe) and works in the high powered world of multi-national companies. I retired my lawyer shoes three years ago to work full time with the bedlamites whose antics color this blog. I rarely travel and never for business, except that my family IS my business, so I guess I always and only travel for business.

Patty was kind and dear with Bam and M, listening about pre-school graduation, favorite colors and hero factory bionicles. She actually ate the strawberry M handed her with her grimy fingers (she'd just eaten a brownie). She endured the unfortunate way smallish children sometimes treat furniture as their own private jungle gyms and laughed at how M kept wanting to go up and down "exavators"--and when she did, looking like she was surfing a wicked wave.

I got to hear about Patty's recent trips to Paris and Rome, to commiserate with her about too much travel, too many travel bugs and too much time spent nowhere near her own home. She showed us a picture of her darling niece, who M asked about the remainder of the afternoon, despite me explaining that L lives in Chicago. She then kept asking why L is in Soucago. Why indeed.

At one point, I muttered about the varmints who wake me in the middle of the night with their bladder needs and fears. Patty said, "yeah, but that's kind of part of the whole deal, isn't it?" and then she asked me if I was having fun, despite all of it. I know she would love nothing more than to find her own special someone and have a little bedlamite or two, but those cards have yet to be dealt her way.

Sometimes I joke about the things I never would have imagined myself saying, the "rules" I have to articulate (No lawnmowers in the kitchen, no sitting on your sister's face, no flashlights in the microwave, etc.) But my life is more or less exactly how I always wanted, even though I always imagined this life involving more sleep. I am richly blessed with a husband who loves me, who loves the Lord, who has a job that provides for our family's needs sufficiently so I can stay home chasing bionicles and Barbies, Harry Potter legos and Polly Pockets. I get to spend my time feeding the hungry and clothing the naked (although why in the scriptures does it never mention that these sort will ALWAYS be hungry, and might prefer to be naked?) Some days it seems that my day is filled with Sisyphean tasks that no one notices, that may not even matter. But really, I know that I am doing the most weighty things possible. I am teaching, molding, loving and shaping precious, insane and wonderful children that God trusted to my care. I am showing them the way HOME. I am giving them the tools they will need for life. What I am doing matters in terrifying ways.

And yes, Patty I am having fun.

On the Road to Kindergarten

Bam's preschool graduation was yesterday. How a year flies! We have dearly loved Miss Alisha and her awesome preschool. Bam has learned so much and has truly blossomed. No more is he super-psyched to stay home all day when it's not a Bam school day. I didn't even have to force him into the carpool car every day. And after the graduation program wherein much was said about school being over, about them being ready for kindergarten and about Miss Alisha going to miss seeing them at school each day, Bam asked me about school on Monday, and when he was reminded that he's done until kindergarten, he wanted to know if everyone in his class is done too, or just him. Graduation really meant only saying his poems in front of parents and having treats with friends in a funny hat with a cool shirt.

And now we have a dozen or so weeks of summer vacation and Bam will be a full fledged, full day kindergartener. He is so excited, planning and re-planning what his back pack and lunch box will look like. He is growing in other ways too. For the last several weeks, blankie has not gone to preschool, not even in the usual place in the bottom of his back pack (never to be taken out, but there just in case) and travel blankie was lost with not even a whimper of concern. Hopefully blankie will never go to kindergarten and Bam will be able to focus on the wonder of learning, the excitement of eating lunch in the cafeteria, and the status of walking to school with the boys instead of staying home with mom and M. And M and I? Who knows what we will do with ourselves? Only time will tell!

Sorting

This mother's day we spent with family in Utah celebrating 1) a baptism, 2) a birth 3) my mom's birthday and 4) Mother's Day. Busy weekend with family. Lovely.

Some of my children gave me their prepared gifts before we left town, some brought theirs along. CW didn't realize the confluence of the weekend until we got to Utah and then he was rather upset to not have his gift ready. ("upset to not have his gift" of course meaning that he blamed me for leaving his school backpack at home, obviously on purpose). When we returned, he immediately fished out his gift to give to me. It was a book filled with pictures and statements about me, the sort where there is obvious teacher prodding as to subject matter but the actual blank filling is up to the child.

CW likes it best when I take him to Golden Spoon, he said. I've only ever done so once. It was part of my grand attempt at spending quality time with my children over spring break. They each got to pick something to do with just me. CW likes Golden Spoon because the spoons are gold and you get to put whichever topping you want on top. That time with him was golden for me, with each of my children because we were alone and I could actually listen to one person at a time. Sometimes, I feel like the meaningful things I try to do with and for my children are lost in the clamor for and denial of toys and big ticket items (trips to Hawaii, gaming systems I will never buy, phones and other electronic devices that are not age appropriate, no matter what their friends' parents say). Sometimes the simple things that my children need and want are lost in the capital I important things that I am trying to teach them. Sometimes it helps to have a little folded pink booklet with pictures to help me sort out the difference and to give me hope that they are also sorting effectively and that, somehow, when and where it really matters, we are arriving at the same place.



(This is M at Panera for her outing, where we shared an M&M cookie and where she told me when I was allowed to take bites. Then we went to the park)

Not Easter

This is my brood in their Easter finery, not on Easter because that was a bad head day for me, but on the morning of H's baptism in Utah in front of my sweet Aunt Deb's house (who always lets us stay with her). I gave up trying for a more sedate pose. Really, this was the most sedate I could get and still avoid someone running into the street.

Leaving the Happiest Place on Earth

Pictures with me in them at Disneyland are few and far between. This one we can thank one of the cast members at Matterhorn for, which even M was tall enough to ride. When last we went to Disney, we didn't even try Matterhorn because Bam was too little and Z and CW were afraid of the monster. Everyone except M loved it this time and she was certain that if she just sang the right song that the monster would get happy and not scare us. She has been singing her versions of Yeti whispering songs since Thursday.

We shot at aliens.


We met princesses and space rangers.

We rode dolphins


and super fast coasters. We caught up with Captain Jack Sparrow and the folks at It's a Small World. We ran the Grizzly River Run until Z was drenched and then again until DH was chilled to the bone. We drove cars, dove in submarines and watched padowans learn the ways of the Force. DH rode Space Mountain for the first time in his life (bad timing every other time) and found he preferred Big Thunder Mountain Railroad or even California Screaming.

Disneyland remains a magical place where every detail is attended, every bit of pixie dust ordered to make it a time of enchantment for young and old (although the grown women wearing froofy tutus and tiaras were a bit much for me). But, sometimes it is hot and humid. Sometimes it is Cesar Chavez day and everyone in the great state of California decides that the best way to honor migrant worker activism is with a few princesses and some roller coasters. Some times there are lines. But the best ride was the vacation itself. We had time as a family where Dad was ours, just ours, not bishop or attorney, for a few short days. That is truly magic.

It is hard, sometimes, to balance the type A need to get done all that must be done--even if it will never all be done--with the very real need to infuse magic and timelessness into the life of a family. All vacations don't need to cost money or involve time away, but some times there must be time away, even if it costs money to run away from the press of life and run toward the idyll of time together, just us among the crowds, if only for a minute.

It's not an easy thing to leave Disneyland (okay, so we left at ten that last night) but it renewed in us a desire to do better at finding family magic on a regular basis, with or without trademarked characters.

Some time with Walt

The last time we went to Disneyland, Bam looked like this:


Yeah, it's been a while since we visited the happiest place on earth. Vacations are not an easy thing for our family of late. Even on trips that we plan for more than a year, like the family reunion last summer, DH usually ends up having some dire deadline that has him feverishly typing away in the car, in the hotel room, or on the phone and otherwise not "with" us. That doesn't really work for Disneyland; it's really a whole body experience and definitely not the sort of place I want to go with the five overexcited kidlets on my own. So, we have waited.

DH turns 40 on Thursday. He had a trial beginning this week, and then it settled, so guess what? We are about to go to Disneyland!!! When we told the kids Saturday night, M put on her shoes and walked to the door. She sobbed and sobbed when we told her not yet. Every morning since then, the question has been "Now? princesses now?" Soon. The kids are so excited that they have been pouring over disney.com planning and choosing, hoping and dreaming. Everyone has been measured to determine who can ride which rides. We have made lists of snacks and purchased many of them. We have evaluated footwear and the weather. The trip is almost here and we are all so very excited.

One thing we are not packing, though, is diapers. I have never been to Disney without diapers or the need of a pack n play. This is weird. We really only need one stroller--and even then, more for it's storage capacity than for M's dire need of transportation. We are aging as a family and I am not so sure how I feel about it.

I'll tell you when we get back.

Fears

Bam is a fearful soul. I think he's always been this way. He is the only one of the five who ever had a security object of any kind. He has a blankie. It is a receiving blanket my mom made for him when he was born. He became very attached to it when M got here and it has rarely left his side since then. We have had full meltdowns in church because blankie had to stay in the car; each morning we reiterate the rule that blankie can go in his back pack to school, but it must STAY in his back pack at school.

A few months ago, blankie started to show some dire wear. (it's five years old, it retains none of its original flannel demeanor. It is largely threadbare and no longer remotely white.) Some of the serged edges began to separate from the dwindling weave of fabric and they caused knotting which led to tearing and Bam came frantically to me to fix it. We decided that since we can't actually return blankie to its glory and trying to stitch the torn section would further weaken the fabric, that we would cut off the ripped section and thus "travel blankie" was born. The idea was that now Bam could carry this pocket sized blankie around and leave the bigger remainder at home. Somehow that idea did not make its way into Bam's brain, because what has happened is that travel blankie AND blankie now go in the back pack, in the car, in the bed, into negotiations as to where else they will NOT go.

Bam also has worries with bugs (among other things). He has woken us on many occasions to clarify the exterminator's duties, to verify the unlikelihood that there are ants, spiders, mosquitos and/ or scorpions now making their way to his bed. We talk a lot about how washing our sheets and clothes and keeping our room clean will help keep bugs away, that mostly bugs want to be outside as much as we want them to be outside. We resort to small stretching of the truth (fleas don't usually go on people because we don't have fur, failing to mention the month or so on my mission where I was personally infested with fleas). Every night for the past month or so since CE found an infinitessimal scorpion in the kitchen, Bam has worriedly asked us his entire crawly litany of questions, much to our exhaustion with the subject and the only thing that eventually calms him is reminding him to pray about it and, well, blankie.

Well, one recent Saturday DH and I had a date night--the first in a long long time. We had left the reasonably mellow kids with CE and run some errands and made our way to dinner. We had barely put in an appetizer order when CE called to tell us that Bam was frantic. Blankie was ripping more; he was inconsolable and he demanded that we come home to fix it. I told CE that Bam could choose to sleep with blankie as is or leave it in my room on my table, say his prayers and go to sleep and in the morning we would decide what we could do. She didn't call back again, so we figured either reason or exhaustion won out. When we got home, blankie and travel blankie were in a gallon sized ziploc bag with the following label written by CW: "sowr [sew] [Bam's] blanky back together again." I imagined in my head Yul Brynner from the Ten Commandments: "So let it be written, so let it be done." And somehow the writing allowed Bam to sleep, even though it hasn't made it any more possible for me to reattach bits of five year old worry worn flannel back together.

I keep thinking that eventually Bam will outgrow his need for flannel comfort, that he will be okay on his own with less tactile sources of reassurances. It seems, though, that the world increases in its scariness (scorpions in the kitchen, bugs in the world that might come in his bed) and he seems to need to seek the comfort of blankie more as he gets older. I'm trying to nudge the direction he turns for comfort to the Source of all comfort, to remind him that he can always pray, even if mom isn't around, blankie is gone, Heavenly Father is always there for him. All that remains for me to do is to be ever diligent in teaching the eternal truths, the very nature of a loving Heavenly Father, the way to fill our home and our hearts with His spirit and His peace. For Bam is right, really, the world is a scary place. The very ground shakes beneath us; oceans rise up to envelop our homes; people die; disease and difficulties beset our every day. And yet. "Fear not, little children, for you are mine, and I have overcome the world, and you are of them that my Father hath given me; And none of them that my Father hath given me shall be lost." (D&C 50:41-42)

In the Details

DH asked me what I wanted for my birthday several times this year and got exasperated when I couldn't give him an easy answer. I could think of things he could buy, but none of those things did I want as much as time to myself. And since he is crazy busy with work and the business of being bishop, time to myself was not something he could offer. The other thing that I wanted so much was a shower of attention from him. And again, not anything he could give me. The poor man barely comes up for air, feels desperately guilty for it, but he is truly trying to do what is needful. It's not as if he's off playing and leaving our family alone.

The birthday came, heralded as it was with banshees and spectacular acts of public clumsiness. DH had to work and my day was spent with my kidlets. We made cupcakes and hung out in that way where your children know you are there but are completely unconcerned except when they want something. All through the day dear friends stopped in with thoughts, cards, treats, plants. Faraway friends and family called and sent FB wishes. It turned into the greatest shower of attention I can remember ever having on my birthday.

The next morning, I headed off to the temple with one dear friend accompanying me and another watching my two youngest, only finding out on arrival that my recommend was expired. Not wanting the friend with me to miss out, I agreed (she didn't want to, I had to insist) to sit in the lobby while she attended inside. What resulted: two hours of time to myself to study, ponder, pray in the most divinely peaceful setting that is the house of the Lord.

God is in the details of our lives. Sometimes I forget this. How rich the tender mercies are that surround me and my family and bless us in ways I can't articulate. We aren't special, either. I believe that if we only look, any of us can see how our lives are dripping with infinitely personalized blessings, though they may at times be disguised as annoyances or even trials.

Because I am desperately forgetful, I've taken to keeping little notebooks. They started out as study notebooks for me to write down questions, answers and the directions my scripture study takes me. That way, even when I have very small pockets of stillness I can still learn something. Then, I started using those same notebooks to take notes in stake conference and other important meetings where inspiration would be distilling from the ceiling--if I would listen. I have tried to take these notebooks with me to the temple to write of impressions after I leave. But, I keep forgetting the notebook itself. I do, however, always have my phone and its notes app. Now my notes are filled with impressions from meetings, from temple worship, from quotes hanging in the ELWC at BYU. That way, I can return to things I have learned and wrap myself in those tender mercies when I need them.

"We are not alone. We are members of the Lord's church." That was part of the testimony of a colorfully dressed African sister in my parents' ward over Christmas. That note in my phone feeds me and reminds me when I feel a little neglected, a little transparent, worn thin by the necessaries of life. God is in the details. When I look for those details, I am in awe.

Good bye 40

On this the last day of my fortieth year, I had simple plans: go to church, come home, rest and go to bed early, hoping to sleep in on my birthday, because this year, it is a holiday.

Instead, banshees replaced the boys and they were screaming, yelling, running and fighting from approximately eight until we left for church at 12:30 (blasted afternoon schedule). I seriously considered running away at this point, but there were no rooms at the M (hotel nearest us). Yes, I checked.

There is a loving family that usually sits with us and since the couple are both in leadership positions and must attend meetings, they usually save a long pew for us all to share. They were out of town. I knew this and knew we needed to arrive with enough time to get a side pew sufficiently large enough for us all--side because I needed that wall to help me corral the banshees and their sisters.

Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, the only side pews left were the shorty ones at the tapered end of the chapel. CE whined that I wouldn't let her sit with her friends. Bam whined that he couldn't sit with the kind ward member he sometimes does because he had lost the privilege due to his part in banshee-ness (following through on threats, to my own detriment you know, trying to be the mother who means business). A very kind (and smaller) family offered to trade places, allowing us to sit in the slightly less tapered pew. CE complained she was squished, like Alexander and his terrible horrible no good very bad day. She sat in the very middle of the pew and wouldn't budge-squishing everyone else. Bam sat on my lap and whined and wouldn't budge. M happily sat next to me chatting with the baby behind us until the meeting began. As the sacrament neared, M wouldn't stop turning around to chat with cute baby, Bam wouldn't stop whining and then, M, being denied one too many times began to cry that fire siren cry that says "get out now, get out of the chapel RIGHT NOW." So I picked up both children on my lap and tried to quickly and gracefully get out, tripping instead on CW's shoe (he swears it wasn't there on purpose) and I fell all over the aisle, children and smushed pride flinging themselves irreverently in all directions. Kind ward member sitting behind me picked up one child, I had the other, I thanked him and took remaining child hoping to be able to get out of the chapel before the crying began. Yeah, fat chance.

I ran down the hall by DH's office and sat with my crying babies, crying too. Sobbing for my decimated pride, my headache of all week, my splintery nerves from the banshees, crying for my inability to fool anyone that I have anything together on my own. Just crying because I couldn't stop. Not when kind ward friends offered me tissues and hugs, not when DH came (as I can only imagine) flying off the podium to my side. I couldn't stop until my concern finally became more about the mess of black mascara and eyeliner with which I would have to weather the remaining hours of church (thankfully, limited to that glued together eyelash thing that happens when you cry).

Then we just had to get sheepishly through the rest of the meeting, to endure the well-meaning "are you okays" from everyone who had seen my fall for the rest of the three hours. We survived, I even managed to keep my head from spinning right off my neck when the banshees picked up precisely where they had left off the moment we got in the car.

I hate being the public spectacle. I really hate it. I wish that I could believe that this was the last unfortunate display of imperfections I would suffer from. All I can be certain of is that it was the last of my fortieth year, but only because I came home and didn't leave the house the rest of the day!

Blowing through life, a dozen years at a time

We seem to be blowing through milestones at an alarming rate these days. CE is now twelve. She was so excited that her birthday fell on YW activity night that she asked if we could celebrate her birthday for FHE the night before so she wouldn't miss YW. I hope she's always this excited to attend YW that she makes the necessary compromises.

This is the cake that CE made. (I baked it, but the rest was her direct design and execution, despite the hovering interest of her brothers and sister)


We have entered that crazy age of birthdays where life seems to schedule right over the top of everything. Her birthday "dinner" was, by her own choosing (again, to avoid interference with YW) take out from her favorite Japanese restaurant. Her party is being scheduled for a week or so from now, the better to accommodate both her friends' schedules and the grandiosity of her plans. Presents are less toys and more things she wants like new sheets and clothes.

The days ahead promise to bring great excitement, some of CE's own making. Right before Christmas, her beloved Primary teacher became the YW president. Sis. B held a Christmas party for the YW and her primary class (the incoming Beehives for 2011). The invitation said to wear your ugliest Christmas sweater. CE didn't have one, so she made herself a Christmas tree.


And that's my darling girl, ever the girl planning her next party (quite a logistical dilemma for the mom who never really does parties well), setting herself aglow when the occasion warrants it.

Fingering

One of the things I never seemed to grasp during the piano lessons of my youth was the importance of fingering. I wasn't a good sight reader as a result, scales were iffy--if they came out well, it was purely chance and were just as likely to be muddled up the next time around. Somehow adhering to those little numbers above the notes seemed entirely too constricting.

When I was preparing to leave on my mission, the one thing about which I worried most was the rules. Missionaries have rules for everything, from when to get up to when to go to bed and everything to do in between. I thought that all the rules would be very claustrophobic. Imagine my surprise when I found that the rules, once I embraced them, made my life easy. There was a whole list of things I didn't need to waste brain space deciding because I had already decided to obey all of the rules. Upon my return from the mission and the release from the proscriptive rules, I was completely at sea. There was an innumerable list of things I suddenly had to decide and the rules were ironically one of the parts of mission life I most missed.

I'm taking piano lessons again along with my three oldest children. It is my attempt to use my brain, to dust off skills I once learned and refine them so that I can be of more service and to set an example that even Mommy has to practice the piano every day. I have always said that piano practice orders my children's minds. I suppose my own mind needs some ordering these days. One of the things that I sought out when choosing a piano teacher for my children, was a teacher whose methods were very theory heavy. I feel like my lack of theory hampered the sticking power of all those piano lessons I had as a youth. So, naturally, when I decided to take lessons again myself, it was the theory I was seeking. My teacher makes me learn scales and chords and progressions and plenty of theory and then she finds lovely pieces that I enjoy playing and that use the skills she's teaching me. And top on her list of necessary skills is fingering. Finally I get it. When I follow those pesky little numbers, my fingers are where I need them to be when the song requires them. I find comfort in the fingering and find the scales and arpeggios in my pieces soothing to play and not painful drudgery.

By the same token, I find myself looking for patterns in the scriptures, ways to order my home and family, our choices and lives so that we have what we need when we need it and the tricky passages of life don't trip us up disastrously. As I search for these, one of my favorite scripture passages is in the Book of Mormon. 2 Nephi 25:26 talks about the things we do to teach our children the way Home: We talk, rejoice, preach, prophesy and write of our Savior. I am slowly learning to fall back on this pattern when things don't seem to be working, to schedule our family life and set up our house rules with these guidelines in mind. Another pattern comes from the Doctrine and Covenants. D&C 88:119 talks of order. I love this verse; I aspire to it. My sister gave me this fabulous wall hanging of it for Christmas. It reminds me that I am seeking for a house of prayer, fasting, faith, learning, glory, order, a house of God. Order is part of that equation, but it is NOT first on the list. So, maybe if my family is doing a decent job of the prayer, faith and learning, we will be better able to lean into the order and glory? That's my hope and the plan to all my organization. This passage also reminds me, because it was originally written about building temples, sacred houses to the Lord here on earth, that my home is sacred. As the place where my family begins and ends, sallies forth and retreats to daily, it IS sacred. It doesn't just become sacred if it is spotless, it is sacred in its purpose. When we follow the rules, patterns, the fingering the Lord has set out for us, we enhance the sanctity of our home, our lives and focus ourselves more on the Savior, more on Home.

All of this takes far more planning, organization, practice than come naturally to me. I still don't take easily to fingering, even though it finally makes sense. But at least now that I finally see why, I can see the value in seeking out the patterns and learning to follow them and the safety, whether musically or eternally, in doing so.

Getting Old

Christmas came down today. Since I was already being held prisoner by the HVAC repairman, I figured I might as well be productive instead of fuming while I waited. Usually, when I take down the Little People nativity I have to do a fair amount of sorting and searching. Because this is the nativity my little ones can play with, things tend to get confused. But, this year there were no Clone Troopers guarding the manger. The farmer's cows had not replaced the camel and no reindeer were in with the sheep and donkey. The angel remained atop the roof. The only wandering that happened was that M seemed to think the wisemen (with their crowns; they are 3 Kings, you know) needed to visit the castle, otherwise known as the ceramic church from Grandma's village, but even these visits nearly always resulted in the wisemen returning to their places aside the baby Jesus. My babies are growing up. Christmas is quickly leaving the phase of trying to protect the decorations and the children from each other and entering the era of expectation where the children have memories and plans of how things should go each year. We are quickly leaving the land of big and cheap presents and entering the land of expensive and tiny presents with the wish lists that would break Bill Gates (and I suppose it's also a sign of the times that when searching for the thing to "break" I couldn't say "bank" because too many of those have already been broken of late and instead I had to come up with some independently rich and seemingly unbreakable entrepeneur, what a world we live in!).

I don't know how I feel about this. Christmas is a complicated holiday. There are so many commercial expectations, past traditions to live up to, Joneses to keep up with. And all that is a dangerous aside from the Savior we are to be revering and celebrating in the first place. I suppose this aging of Christmas is just a snapshot of the aging of my family. M is a Sunbeam now; I have no children in nursery. CE will be in YW in less than a month and is having a difficult time processing, let alone following her grandmother's sage advice to be the age she is instead of wishing to be older, sooner. And that is sage advice for the aging of my family: to enjoy the ages we are instead of longing too fervently for the future or being overly wistful of what has past.

My kids asked a lot this year about Santa. They've heard rumors, read allusions in their chapter books. I don't want to dash illusions or trample magic so I merely say "believing is a choice." Believing is always a choice. And still I do find myself somewhat wistful for the recent past when questions seemed limited to when and why and not if. Getting older is a mine field and there are no clone troopers to guide our way.