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.