Taking a Sick Day

It's been a while since I've been sick. Not that I'm really all that sick right now. It definitely could be much worse. I could feel it coming on at the end of last week, but it just stayed there in the back of my throat, and tickled the back of my nose-- teasing me. Honestly, I knew what was happening. My body was holding it at bay, giving me enough time to hang on through stake conference and needing to direct the choir. And it worked. Monday morning I couldn't stop blowing my nose and my voice got a little deeper with a bit of that rasp.

I think my body has been holding on to health for dear life for the past couple years. It always seems like there's that one event, that one activity or concert or field trip, I just cannot be sick for. Once that event passes, I think for a fraction of a second that I'm in the clear... till I look once again at my calendar.

Well, for once in a long time, right now I can allow myself to get sick... at least, for another month. Then I need to get better.

I have a concert on March 2nd. Not to mention all the rehearsals until then.

See what I mean?

But we got through the Fall and Christmas. Eve was the only one who battled germs on a regular basis. I don't know what her deal was. She would catch a cold, get over it, and then a day later catch another one. Seriously, for, like, a month.

I think within the month of December I counted twelve performances of some kind for our family. Twelve! Choir, orchestra, band, and dance. So I was praying (more like begging) for good health to make it through.

Then right after Christmas we took a road trip to Boone, NC. It was glorious. We know NO ONE there. And I don't even care that it didn't snow like we had wanted it to, or that it rained the entire first day we were there, or that it was super foggy on top of the mountains and we couldn't see much. We were together. And we knew NO ONE there. We played board games and watched movies on Netflix and drank hot cocoa. We visited Mystery Hill, hiked in the mud, and walked the Mile-High Bridge on Grandfather Mountain. And did I mention we knew NO ONE there?

A week after we returned home, I left for Tampa with the girls for the Florida Music Educators Association conference. We definitely needed to not be sick for that because both girls were singing in an All-State Chorus. Allie sang in the high school mixed chorus, and Sami sang in the middle school treble chorus. And I walked all over Downtown Tampa, from rehearsals to sessions to concerts. Miles and Miles. And I felt pretty good. Wasn't even on the verge of illness.

Then this past week came. First Drew, then Eve, then Sami, then me and Allie. Drew blew through it pretty quickly, so by the weekend he was fine. Sami and I felt it coming on at about the same time, but it hit her harder faster. But Saturday she was a red-nosed, snotty mess. And Allie was able to make it through her All-County concert that day, too, without problems. Her body was holding out, too.

So the past couple days, I have been lazy while the kids have been at school. I figured I needed it. I've been going 100 miles per hour for years, so I think this was the Lord's way of making me take a break. Well, my ailment isn't really all that bad. But I think He may be trying to get me to slow down, and if I don't, He might have to send the plague to make me rest. So I'll take the hint and rest now.

A entire season of "When Calls the Heart" on Netflix should do the trick!

Hope

I can't shake the feeling this morning. I love my church. I love my ward. I love the gospel.

My heart has been heavy this week due to the sudden and tragic loss of a friend from our ward. We feel the pain of loss, and our hearts are breaking for his wife. His children are grown, but their grief has been profound. And yet, they are buoyed up by their faith. The power of prayer is real, and they are finding solace through the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

I spoke with a friend this morning about the incident on Tuesday. Kevin and I were were two of seven people over at Carolyn's house that evening. She found out about the helicopter crash on the news that afternoon. She had a bad feeling and tried to text and call Gregg, because it looked like his helicopter. When she received no response she decided to drive down there. God only knows how long it would have really taken for her to be notified had she not taken initiative.

So we sat with her, held her hand, hugged her, listened (and sat in silence), as she tried to grasp the reality of what seemed a surreal experience. Her brain was in a fog, and she traveled between periods of shock and despair.

At one point her oldest daughter called, and both wept. I could hear her daughter cry that she felt awful her mom was all alone, since she and her siblings were all out of state. Then Carolyn looked around the room, smiled, and said, "I'm not alone! I have a room full of people!"

That. That is the blessing of the Church. The blessing of the gospel.

And in that moment I couldn't help but be reminded of what Alma taught it means to be baptized and take upon ourselves the name of Christ-- "to mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort..." Truly we all have mourned with Carolyn, even the children. She may have not had her family here at that moment, but her ward family was there immediately. She didn't even sleep alone that night. We have all brought love and sustenance, and have lifted our voices in prayer for her and with her.

And I come away from this tragic experience overwhelmed by the beauty of hope and faith. The beauty of charity. The beauty and reality of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. He hears her, and He grieves with her. And He gives her the peace that she needs to carry on, knowing that this life is not the end. Gregg's spirit went home to "that God to gave him life," and we are all positive he has been put to work.

Truly, this life is not the end. 

Only a few times have I been to a viewing before a funeral. And every time I couldn't help but feel that the body lying still in the coffin was not the person. Not only had life been removed, but light as well. And I say "removed" purposefully. Not "diminished" or "extinguished." Removed. Moved elsewhere. That life and light still exist. I think most people on earth can feel that, even if they don't understand it. There has to be more.

And so I cherish my knowledge of the The Plan of Happiness and Salvation. I cherish my association with my brothers and sisters in the Gospel. I cherish my testimony of Jesus Christ. And I cherish the time I have with my loves ones in mortality, finding comfort in the knowledge that our family is eternal.

Gregg's parting with Carolyn and his children is temporary. While it may feel like an eternity till they meet again, it is fleeting when compared to an eternity together. Their marriage was sealed on earth and in heaven, and death cannot sever it. And until they meet again, their family will be working on both sides of the veil to build the Kingdom. Talk about influence!

Tragedy is turning into triumph... It's just stunning.

She's 12

It has already been over a week since her 12th birthday. I had tried to write about it last weekend, and had meant to post about it on Facebook, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't find the right words. Honestly, this milestone for Allie (and our entire family) seemed almost sacred-- like the sentiments that went through my head just seemed trite compared to how I was feeling.

My emotions were taking me on a roller coaster-- nostalgia, relief, pride, fear, excitement, sadness. I couldn't ever just settle on one. All very real, and all valid. 

Our firstborn-- she who blessed our lives after one of our darkest hours-- is a young lady. She is tall and lovely, with braces, glasses, and dangly earrings. She and I can share shoes, and I have even given her some of my shirts. 

Last Sunday was her first day with the Young Women at church, and the day before they "kidnapped" her for breakfast to welcome her into the fold with the "older" girls. There are so few of them, but I think she fits right in. She loves them. And two of them have even been our babysitters before. 

And now Allie is our babysitter..., which, truthfully, is pretty fantastic. She is responsible and cheap. Plus, she stresses little and is slightly over-confident, so she has never had any fear of being left alone. 

She has been a great sport as I have "forced" her to try new activities. Choir, dance, piano, tennis, orchestra, soccer, Youth Leadership Team. She came to love and pursue some, leaving others behind. But as her talents develop I can see the amazing woman she is growing to be. 

This sweet girl has truly blessed my life. She has made me proud. She has stolen my heart. 

I do miss the days from when she was little, but, truthfully, she is much more cooperative now. Plus, she doesn't scream at me from the confines of her room anymore. She's actually fairly amiable. When I assign her a task she'll do it. It may take her a few hours to get to it, due to a good book that "happens" to get in the way, but at least she will do it without objection. And she doesn't laugh at me when I cry anymore. On the contrary, she will put her arms around me and hug me. 

How on earth did I get the privilege of raising such a choice spirit? I certainly don't deserve her. But I am humbled and thankful. Eternally and infinitely grateful.

3 mos.

13 mos.

2 yrs.

2 yrs.

Change

I have a natural aversion to change. I hate it, actually. Maybe not completely... But I hate change when it comes to something I care about, I guess.

And today change smacked me in the face again. I knew it was coming, but (for some stupid reason) didn't anticipate it being this hard.

Being the Young Women's president has been really, really hard for me. Of course, it's a challenge for anyone. But for me, I struggled with feelings of doubt and inadequacy constantly, second-guessing every decision I made, worrying that it was the "wrong" one, worrying that I was letting down the ward.

Right from the get-go I made major changes. Not that the previous president was doing her job wrong-- not in the least! But because, from some counsel our stake received from Elder Bednar back in June, I knew we needed to make our program "youth led"-- they plan, they lead, they execute. And making those changes was hard for us and it was hard for the girls. Although, the girls embraced their new-found leadership opportunities better than I thought they would.

We stressed missionary work, and we shared testimonies. We grew together.

And, yet, I never once felt like I was doing a good job. Adequate, maybe, but not nearly good enough. And honestly, I don't even know what "good enough" really means. In my mind, it means anything better than what I'm already doing.

Then a change in January. Kevin was no longer the bishop leading Ward Council and BYC. I couldn't attend mutual with him anymore, because he was no longer required to go. His new calling took him away from the ward, and I wouldn't see him anymore throughout the day, even for a brief moment. It has been like he disappeared on Sundays. I am just the lady up in the front of the chapel with no husband, the kids with no father.

And as of today, I have no calling. No responsibility. I was released from being the Young Women president, after only seven short months. We all wept as we met during the third hour today. I love my girls-- Alicia, Meredith, Bregan, Sydney, and Amy-- and now I have lost my weekly connection with them. I knew it was coming, though. It needed to happen.

And now I feel... completely unneeded.

There, I said it. Unneeded. No place to serve, no place to go. Feeling like no one knows me and like I don't "belong."

I watched the new presidency come together and smile and laugh after church, and I hung my head and my eyes filled with tears. What a wonderful friendship they will develop. Stefani stayed with them, and I will miss her. Cathy was called in the Relief Society as the secretary. Dear friends called off to new, great work.

And here I stand.

I just picture myself out on a plain-- a muted-brown, barren plain. Alone. Looking around for something, someone that needs me. And finding none.

And then... Over the horizon come four people. Four people that do need me. They giggle and run to me, throwing their little arms around me, smothering my face with their kisses.The oldest puts her head on my shoulder, the next wraps her arms around my waist, and the two younger ones grab my legs. And I weep... "Are you okay, Mom?" "We love you, Mom." "Mom, you are beautiful."

How I love my children.

Oh, "change"... It is just hard. And I only know I have much more of this to endure throughout my life. But, as for right now, at this very moment, I don't know how much more my fragile heart can take. All I can do is pray, really.

And I can focus on those little ones clinging to me in that open field. More than anyone else on this earth they need me.

They. Need. Me.

They need me to take them to church, to help them with their talks, to work with them through Faith in God (and soon, Personal Progress), to read the scriptures with them, to teach them what the gospel means for them. They need me to keep our home a safe place-- where they can find refuge from the world. I must provide consistency when change abounds all around them. And in that sense, I am their rock.

If I am not mistaken, I can't think of a greater responsibility.

For the first time today, actually, I am feeling some glimmer of hope-- like just maybe there really is an important place for me, for which there is no quick replacement.

Maybe I could even come to like change...

... Nah.

Sunday Ramblings

So. Kevin left for the Sebring this chilly morning. It's a two-hour drive southwest of here-- pretty much in the middle of nowhere. I know this because the kids and I went and visited the members there three weeks ago.

And, yes, it has been chilly today, for Floridians. Within the past three Sundays I have had to wear tights and boots to church twice! I NEVER wear tights. But when it's cloudy, windy, and in the 40's, you do what you have to do to stay warm. Sami was whining this morning about her clothes not matching. I said, "Hey, it's Florida... Nobody has matching winter Sunday clothes. You throw on what you have, and nobody's gonna judge!"

So, anyway, Kevin visited the Sebring ward at 10:00, and then stayed to visit the Lake Placid branch at 1:00, which means they should be finishing up their Sacrament Meeting right about now. From there he will drive to Vero Beach to take care of some interviews there, and he probably won't be home till the kids are getting ready for bed.

Since it's Fast Sunday, I just pray he will be all right traveling without sustenance. But the Lord will bless him... I'm sure he will be fine.

I'm wondering what is going to happen with my own calling now as Young Women President. I have only had this calling since July, but Kevin told be it is very likely that I will be released. I think the Lord is carrying some of my weight right now. I thought I would feel more burdened, and some ward members have expressed their concern for me, but I'm doing okay. I'm actually doing a bit better mentally than I was when Kevin was the bishop. In thinking through the demands of our callings, from a logical standpoint, then, yes, this is too much for our family. But through Divine intervention, I think, I am actually still sane!

I mentioned to Allie this morning on our drive to church of the likelihood of me being released before she turns twelve in March and joins the Young Women. She sank down in her seat and hung her head. She nodded when I asked if that made her sad. "I really wanted you to go to camp with me..."

I'm glad she not only loves me, but still wants me around! (Of course, when we walk to school, she makes it a point to walk ten feet behind me.)

But I do realize how much the kids need their mom around, especially with Dad being gone.

On the upside, though, he no longer has to go to mutual on Wednesdays! This past week was the first time he hasn't had to go in well-over ten years! It was a little lonely for me driving over to the church alone, but I was sure able to get home faster! When 8:15 hit, I picked up my stuff... and just... left. Woah...

I have really enjoyed my time with the young women, in spite of my many inadequacies. They have been good to me-- very forgiving of my weaknesses. Their faith has strengthened mine.

No More Plans

I didn't anticipate the sadness I would feel as Kevin read his own name in Sacrament meeting. I forgot that, as the new stake president of the Vero Beach Stake, he would need to release himself as bishop. He choked on his own words, as he fought back the tears. 

The calling as bishop has been, to this point of our lives, the most challenging and yet rewarding calling. Of course, I hardly know of anything he actually did-- he kept so much of it away from me, so as to not burden me. But I can't even count the number of times a member has called or stopped me in the hall or sent me an email thanking me for giving him to the ward. He listened, he counseled, he loved. And I appreciated that these thoughtful members took even a brief moment to share that with me, especially since, for me, it just meant his absence. 

He loves talking with people, and ministering is his gift. He just knows how to talk with people, and for many of them, his listening ear and compassionate heart is what they needed the most. 

So as he cried as he read his name, I cried with him. I know how much this calling has meant to him. It has been exhausting-- physically, emotionally, and spiritually-- and yet our whole family has gained strength in each of those aspects. That's how the Lord works, really. As we put ourselves in His hands, He stretches and molds and puts us in the fire, almost to the point of breaking. We cry. We pray. We don't fight back or resist. And then He lets go for a moment. We breathe and find ourselves stronger than before. 

And then He takes hold and stretches us again. And again.

Kevin and I talked the other night. I spoke about how in the first five years of our life in Florida, I was frustrated. We had planned to live here five to ten years, but then then the housing market took a heavy hit and our home value decreased significantly. The financial loss we would have taken to sell our home and purchase another would have been devastating. I felt trapped, like I had lost my agency. I wondered why the Lord hadn't stopped us from buying our home, why we both had good feelings about buying our home in the first place if it was going to put us in such a position.

Then he was called as the bishop, and I thought, Oh. This is why... It was humbling.

Over the past five years while he has been bishop, when people have asked us if we are planning to stay in Florida, I have always responded the same way, with a smile and a chuckle. "I have no idea. I have learned not to make plans anymore."

And as Kevin was called to be the new stake president, I realized that it's really no longer about my plans, but the Lord's. He is stretching and molding and putting us through the fire again. I can either fight back with my own plans and desires, or I can allow Him to make us grow into whatever He would have us to be. That is the Law of Consecration. 

I must admit that it was I was a bit sad to walk by the bishop's office after church today, knowing that it was no longer his-- knowing that he wouldn't be standing there near the door, waiting to say goodbye to us as we walked out to the car. Instead he sat in the sacrament meeting of the 2nd ward. 

But I am thankful to Doug Markos for accepting the call. He will be a wonderful bishop. 

Once again, I am in tears. Sad, yes. But so grateful. So humbled. 

I am so thankful to all of Kevin's wonderful counselors through the years-- Mike Watson, Doug Samuels, Rick Turner, Bro. Vonn, Mike Weatherspoon, and Russell Flamm. The wisdom and guidance and support they have given to Kevin has been invaluable. 

President Humphreys and President Fowler were wonderful mentors and friends to him. 

These changes are going to take some getting use to.

But I hold fast to my testimony. I know that this gospel is true. I know that Jesus Christ is at the head of this Church. I know that we are led by a prophet of God. I know that the power of the priesthood is real. I know that my Savior lives and loves and knows me. He knows my weaknesses and struggles, and He knows my strengths and triumphs. Through it all He is with me as much as I allow Him to be. 

The plain and precious truths of the gospel will sustain us. 

No More Babies

The past few days have been hard.

Too many reminders lately that I am no longer a "young" mom-- that I no longer have babies.

* The emails I still get from the Wiggles, even though Drew hasn't been interested in them in nearly two years. I just can't bring myself to unsubscribe.

* The "play dates" the moms in the ward plan for their toddlers. I'm not included anymore-- no need.

* Walking through Publix or Sam's Club alone in the morning, passing by the cookie counter, knowing there is no one with me eligible for a free sugar cookie with sprinkles.

* The bulk-box of baby wipes sitting underneath Eve's bed that hasn't been touched in nearly six months since her last diaper.

How on earth did I get here? How did this happen so fast?

Needless to say, I've been a bit weepy today... Okay, maybe A LOT weepy.

I was so excited to go and help out in Eve's preschool class today, since I've never been able to do it before without having to find a sitter for the younger one left behind.

This was the first time there wasn't a younger one. Convenient, right? And sad...

Young motherhood, of which I've been a part of for the past ten years, has been so incredibly exhausting, physically, mentally, and emotionally. And, in spite of the prophesies I received from nearly every elderly person that walked by, I sort of felt like it was never ending. And, yet, here I am. All four in school without a baby to nurse and cuddle, and contemplating taking the child safety latches off all the cabinets.

I have always had a hard time with change, so this comes as no surprise to me. I bawled like a baby at my last Ensemble concert in middle school, or at my high school graduation, or when I left for BYU... I cry when I think about packing up and moving into the house we are building a mile away-- after all, three of the four babies were newborns here.

Memories mean so much to me. Geez, I hope I don't get Alzheimers.

And my memories (the good ones, anyway) of my children as babies and toddlers and preschoolers, I don't want to leave behind. I really don't think I'm ready for all that to be gone.

Before putting Eve down for her nap thirty minutes ago, I made her promise that she would never grow up and I would stay a mom like I am forever. She threw her head back and laughed with that look of mischief. "Mama..."

On Friday Kevin and I went to the temple, deciding to do sealings of couples and families. The sealer, an 80-something-year-old Brother Allen, would give us a break now and then, since Kevin and I were the only couple (and kneeling across the altar for too long can get tiring). During those breaks he would chat and counsel and teach. He testified of how important families are, and told us, with tears welling up in his eyes, of how he would "Do it all again. In a heartbeat." And I thought how grateful I was that I was living it right now.

The Lord has truly blessed me, although I'm undeserving. My family means absolutely everything to me. They have truly taught me what it means to love deeply and unconditionally. They have given me the slightest, albeit poignant and powerful, glimpse into the love Heavenly Father has for me. And them. And the lady in front of me in the check-out line at the grocery store. And the guy at the intersection panhandling.

My heart is bursting with gratitude for that love. And for the way it has completely changed me.

I guess it's comforting to know that although my phase of life is changing, that love will not. I can keep it with me, along with my precious memories.

I think about those sealings we did... Couples that had passed on a century or more ago were given the chance to seal their marriage beyond mortality into the eternities. Children long ago deceased were sealed to their parents for time and all eternity. Families forever. What a privilege to give others the same blessings given to me the day over fourteen years ago when Kevin and I knelt across the altar.

Although times and seasons change, our family is an eternal unit. Eternal.

I can be okay with life changing. Of course, it's normal to mourn. It's normal to resist change, especially when there has been so much goodness that has come from what has been. But the change will bring goodness, too. Maybe not the same kind. But still. It will be good.

As it is, all of my kids can communicate with me at a relatively intelligent level. None needs a diaper, which means I don't have to carry a diaper bag around with me wherever I go. I can wear whatever I want without having to worry how it will work with a nursing baby.  I can get grocery shopping done in half the time because I don't have to break up any fights or banish anyone to walk behind me because they are messing around (a-hem, Allie and Sami...). The kids can walk home from school by themselves. I can feed all of them nuts and popcorn.

See, it's all good.

And Drew and Eve are still little enough for cuddle time. So I will soak it in while I can.

A Confession

I confess.

I don't run marathons... or triathlons. I don't even have a gym membership. It expired six years ago.

I don't eat solely organic foods, and I don't care a hoot about GMO's.

I don't make my girls' Christmas dresses, nor do I know how, do do I care to learn.

I don't can my own food or make my own beef jerky. I suppose I could learn, but I know myself. It would never get it done. Again, I don't care.

I don't homeschool my kids, or teach piano to my preschoolers.

I don't read books all that much. Shocking, considering I taught English, for crying out loud.

I don't build anything or sew very much, and I am no gourmet chef. And I have no prospects with which to start my own business.

I don't decorate my house with clever odds and ends, purchased from a garage sale and refurbished to look "shabby chic". Truthfully, my house isn't really "decorated" at all.

My house is nearly always a disaster, my carpets are always stained, and my walls are are all the same color (well, except for the scratches and scuffs).

I wear the same flip-flops everyday, my make-up sits in the case lonely and practically unused, my hair always needs trimming, and my clothes are generally made up of sale items or hand-me-downs.

So, go ahead. Look down on me if you want. Seriously, have at it.

Because I just don't care anymore. Or at least, I don't want to care.

No matter whatever few things I accomplish, somebody will always accomplish more. Someone will always be smarter, prettier, more talented, clever, or handy. But life isn't about me. Even my own life-- it isn't about me.  And yet it is. The challenge is to just get over myself... while remembering how important I am.

I think about some of the most positively influential (and happy) people in the world-- Mother Teresa, the apostles, even our Savior Jesus Christ (who once was mortal, remember)-- and their impact was so far-reaching because they lost themselves. They didn't put themselves at the center of their own world.

(Ironic, really, in the case of the Savior, considering He created that world...)

Such people don't need constant validation. Such people don't need to compare or criticize or boast. They aren't even looking at themselves anyway. They aren't even the type to dwell on everything they aren't, because such thinking is vain. It's a waste of time and energy to dwell on such things.

Such people understand that their value is not truly equated with what they accomplish.

Their value is defined simply by the fact that they exist at all. That they are truly unique sons and daughters of God. That each is one-of-a-kind royalty-- from a mold that was broken the moment they came to be.

All of this temporal, superficial stuff just doesn't matter. Of course it does matter to always try to learn new skills and develop one's talents, but the extent to which I do that, or in what manner, really doesn't matter. It does not, because is should not, influence my view of my own worth.

So back to my challenge. Yeah, it's time to get over myself. I'm not Wonder Woman, and I never will be. Heck, I won't even come close really.

I will continue to just do the best I can... which may be different than your best. And I won't think twice about it. I need to do a lot less dwelling on me (for bad or good), and look past my own nose.

After all, it's not about me.

My Kids

Allie had to stay up a bit late tonight working on her homework. One of the assignments took her entirely too long to do, which was her own doing. "Write a story that includes the word 'pilfer'." That's it. One word. I asked her what on earth was taking her so long. I mean, come one, it's one dang word. She said the story could be as long as she wanted it to be. Translation-- write a novel. Okay, so it really wasn't that long, but still...

So, yes, she had to stay up a wee past her bedtime finishing up a math assignment, when I came across two graded reading tests in her folder. Both marked with a "C". Ouch. Although, I already knew about these grades after having seen them posted online the day before.  But considering how much this kid loves to read, and knowing of her sharp "thinker", grades like this must have a story. When she finished her assignment I sat down to talk with her.

I told her I had seen her grades online and that she had all A's... except for one. She scrunched up her face, a sheepish smile crossing her lips. She muttered, "Was it reading?" I nodded and I showed her the tests. We talked about what happened, and figured she was reading the tests the same way she reads for enjoyment-- lightning fast, and without attention to detail. She also confessed that she tended to hurry through tests so that she could spend the extra time leftover reading. That kid would live in a library if I would let her. As long as she had a never-ending supply of quesadillas she would be good to go.

We took a few minutes and discussed some strategies to help her get through the tests. She seemed to feel better. More hopeful. I gave her a hug, and she looked up at me with her sweet blue eyes. Love poured out of them. No, it gushed out. She wrapped her arms around me and then off she went.

Earlier this evening, before I gathered the troops to the kitchen to clean up, Sami, the ringleader of fun (and mischief), had convinced Drew and Eve to dress up in socks, knitted caps, scarves, and gloves, to "ice skate" around the tile in the entry way. They looked absolutely ridiculous... and absolutely adorable.

And I thought, "I sure love my kids."

My house is a disaster, with a large refrigerator box "playhouse" practically smacking you in the face when you walk through the front door. Toys are scattered far from their "homes". I did straighten up the living room after all the kids were in bed, which means I just moved the mess-- threw some stuff in the toy room and set the rest by the kids' bedroom doors.

The mess used to really both me. I mean really bother me. Then I realized, finally, after having been told a zillion and half times by older friends and strangers alike, that this time of life passes way too quickly-- to just take time to really soak it in and enjoy it. When, at the end of the last school year, I saw that Allie would be soon moving on the fourth grade, I sort of panicked. Where did the time go? She is almost ten... I was then that I decided (yes, I made a conscious choice) to not let the mess bother me. I wouldn't allow it to depress me anymore. I knew that all too soon that mess would be gone. Forever. And, yes, I would miss it.

I remember years ago on one of our visits to my parents' house, when, after having only been there a day, the kids had managed to scatter every toy and book in their house from one end to the other. My dad walked in after work, looked around and started laughing. I apologized. He waved it off and said, "Nah. It just looks like there is life here again." And he smiled. It makes me teary to even remember that. I didn't get it at all then. But I am starting to get it now.

Too fast. It's all too fast.

My family brings me so much happiness. Yeah, I feel a lot of anger, too... along with frustration, sadness, and discouragement. But the happiness is unmatched. That is what I want to take with me. I want to look back on these days and say I loved it. Realistically, I could never love every moment, but I can choose to make more moments to love.

My four sweet babies... If any of you ever read this, know two things-- that I love you forever, and that I love being with you. You are happiness.

School: The "Right" Path

This morning I hopped on Facebook for a few minutes, which I tend to do here and there throughout my day. I have loved seeing all of the pictures lately from the first days of school. I smile, because some of these kids I knew when they were babies, and others I never got to even meet. It's fun to see my friend's families grow.

But as I went to the website this morning, a came upon a post from a college friend from years ago. The post was about home schooling, and it rubbed me the wrong way.

Let me step back for a moment to say that I greatly respect those that home school. Their reasons for doing so vary, but their common dedication to their objective is admirable. They stick to it, even though it is difficult, and, for the most part, their kids thrive. They are smart and curious and talented. They will be able to provide a great service to their future families and communities.

Now let me bring you back to my friend's post. She said (I just cut and pasted), "In a couple of hours, all of my local friends will start posting pictures of their kids' first day of school. For a moment, I wonder what my life would be like if sent my kids to public school. However, there is nothing that can compare to watching my kindergartener write his first cursive words (using wrist instead of whole-hand movements!), racing my eight-year-old to complete our Latin worksheets, or watching Logan learn from his older siblings."

I admit it. I was sort of angry. To me, this post sounded elitist. If I read into what I thought this post was really saying, I would conclude that because I send my children off to school I am lazy and am not involved in my children's education-- that home schooling is all-around the far superior choice in education, and that, yes, those that home school are superior mothers in intelligence and nurturing.

Now I am quite aware that this may not be the message my friend was sending at all. Perhaps she was merely trying to say how glad she is that she gets to actually witness every moment in her children's process of education-- that the sacrifice of a quiet house is worthwhile. 

But, the fact that she even said it at all suggests to me that she feels she made the right choice-- as if there is only one right way in education, and she took it.

I know a lot of mothers that home school. Some even do it reluctantly, because they just felt it was the right thing to do for their kids. Did you catch that? For their kids. 

But I do sense a bit of this elitism from some of my other friends. As if their children are going to turn out so much smarter than my own because their home school curriculum is far superior to that available in public school.

Maybe it is superior. I will give them that. And for some, that alone is a selling point against sending their children off to school-- public or private. 

But just as those mothers that home school have their reasons that are right for their families, those that choose the traditional classroom have our own.

Let me just fill you in on why I don't home school. 

I had considered it. When it came time for Allie to join the ranks of the Kindergartners I was suddenly afraid. I didn't like the idea of her being mentored a good portion of the day by someone I didn't already know or trust. I didn't like the idea of relinquishing that much control over her environment. But then I remembered something I had decided long ago.

Years before I had come to the decision that I wanted to send our kids to school. I truly felt that for them that would be the best way in which they, specifically, could not only learn, but be a good influence, a force for good, in a world with ever-increasing evils and temptations. I knew that meant they would be exposed to those very evils and would probably even succumb to them at times, but that ultimately their good examples would help other children along. I knew we would have to be vigilant about family scripture study and Family Home Evening-- that we would have to talk with them often about their experiences and relationships. But, ultimately, good would result.

And as I faced the moment to register Allie for school, I was reminded of this decision-- one I had not made lightly. It brought me peace and comfort that for our family, we were making the right choice.

I won't even attempt to dissect and criticize the reasons some mothers home school. Doing so would make me no better than the home schoolers who attempt to do so to my own. 

I only wish I understood why women are so critical of one another... Why women so often take light jabs at one another to assert their own "superiority". Why we feel this need to be competitive. It's baffling, really, because most of us seem to understand that tearing another down does not really put one on a higher plateau. 

But I do suppose that this criticism is a reflection of the self-criticism that occurs. So, really, if we all stop being so self-critical and self-doubting, much of the dissonance between us would most likely dissipate. 

If each of us truly loved ourselves, looking in the mirror each day to see only a beloved daughter of God with tremendous capability for good, we see such worth in others. We wouldn't need to criticize to make ourselves feel some pseudo-self-worth. We would have the real stuff. We would actually believe that we are valued because of who we are and who we are capable of becoming, and not because of our talents or capabilities or accomplishments.

When it comes to mothering, very little is cut and dry. There's the obvious-- be loving and nurturing, teach them to be honest and moral and hard-working, and be a good example. But the rest of it is pretty gray. The Lord gives us an awful lot of leeway... with guidance, if we seek it. So, really, no mother's path will be the one-size-fits-all "right" path. And in that case, how on earth can we judge one another's chosen paths? 

So, to my friend, I'm not angry anymore. I'm over myself now. But you go rock that home school! Your kids will do great! 

Meanwhile, I will sit here and enjoy the last thirty minutes of quiet before my precious girls walk in the door and spill their guts.

Grandma

It has been nearly a year and a half since my grandma's passing.  And I miss her often.  She rarely called me, for fear that she would catch me at a bad time... which she claimed to be every moment of the day with all my kids running around.  And truthfully, she was right.  But I loved the times that she did call, usually to ask me if she could purchase a box of frozen steaks or chicken breasts to mail to me, just to help me with quick meal prep for when I'm too spent to make anything myself.  I loved those gifts-- something practical, thoughtful, and consumable, for which I didn't have to "find" a place to put it.  Those phone calls were usually quick and to-the-point, with a few anecdotes to makes each other laugh.  Grandma had a great laugh, even though it usually ended with her hacking up a lung.  A consequence of smoking most of her life, although she had quit ten years earlier.

I do miss her.

Although, on Friday evening as I stood dressed in white in the temple's baptismal font with Kevin by my side, I could feel her near.  Her name came up on the monitor in front of us, and Kev and I looked at each other smiling, with tears in our eyes.  It was an honor to be her proxy.

Earlier in the week I called Gramps and asked his permission to take her name to the temple.  He said, "You know your grandma was sort of a religious philosopher... I think she would be pleased...  And I'm fine with it, too.  I'm what you would call a 'liberal Catholic."  I had to chuckle.  Grandpa cracks me up.

But I think he was right.  I think she really was pleased.  My mom used to joke with her, "You know, Mom, that you really are practically a Mormon?"  After all, Grandma had finally quit smoking, she didn't drink anymore, had read and believed in The Book of Mormon, and she faithfully watched General Conference.  She just never wanted to "take the plunge" into the baptismal waters.  Thought she was "fine".

Before Kev and I had left for the Youth temple trip that evening, he had asked if I would sit in the chapel with the Young Women and talk with them following the confirmations.  He gave me some paper and pencils, and wanted me to give them a chance to write as well.  He gave me very little direction... which bothered me.  I like to feel like I have a purpose, and I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say.  But as I stood in front of them, all I could think about was Grandma, and how grateful I was that I could take part in this beautiful, essential ordinance on her behalf.  And I thought of how each of the deceased sisters for whom each of these girls had entered the waters of baptism had family members who loved them just as much as I loved Grandma-- that these women were just as loved and treasured, and of just as much value to their loved ones and to the Father as my grandmother.

One day we will be reunited.  Some people believe that this life is it-- that death is the end, so might as well live it up while we are here.  How sad.  And empty.  If only they understood that the Spirit does, in fact, live on.  How might that change their thinking, their choices, their lives even?

I can miss my grandma... but I know I will see her again.

Until then maybe I should order some frozen chicken breasts or steaks.  You know, for old-time's sake.

A Seed Has Sprouted

Sunday morning actually went pretty smoothly, compared to most normal Sunday mornings getting the kids off the church without Kevin.  There was very little fighting, very little complaining, and we actually were able to leave the house exactly when I wanted.  I was even able to get stew cooking in the Crock-pot for dinner.  This was all quite welcome considering I had a choir concert that day, for which I would need to leave church early, right after Sacrament Meeting.

Then we pulled into the parking lot.

In unbuckling Eve from her car seat, I found she had pooped.  I sighed and walked everyone in, bags hanging from my arms, as well as a gallon jug of lemonade in hand, which I was needing to put in the fridge to chill for the reception honoring our retiring conductor after that afternoon's concert.

I had just made it through the door into the foyer when my new visiting teaching companion saw me and wanted to talk to me about visiting sisters, as well as give me her correct phone number, etc.

Eventually, I made it to my seat, looking a bit frazzled.  I mean, I still had bags to unload, a baby's diaper to change, and a drink to take to the kitchen.

By the time I got back in the chapel with a fresh Eve, the meeting had already begun and the congregation was singing the opening hymn.  And both girls were crammed to one side of the pew-- the side closest to the aisle of course, leaving me to room to get in.  I whispered for them to scoot over.  They argued with me.  "I don't want to!"  "I was sitting here first!"  "I don't want to sit by Drew!"  I repeated to scoot over, in a more "firm" whisper.  The arguing continued, and I could feel all the eyes upon me.  I said, "Get out.  To the foyer."  They stared at me, and I repeated it, my whisper almost not a whisper anymore.  Sami was slow to respond, so I grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the chapel.  Allie followed.  Once in the hall, I noticed all the seats in the foyer were full, so I pointed to a spot on the wall on the far side of the foyer.  "Sami, you sit there.  Don't move."  And I pointed to a similar spot on the near side of the foyer.  "Allie, you here.  Time-out."

And I walked back in the chapel.  Alone.  They were out there for maybe five minutes.  And as much as all three of us were embarrassed, at least I had those five minutes of peace and quiet.  Well, except for the "epic battle" noises Drew was making with whatever toy he had.  I really shouldn't let him take toys to church anymore, but I digress...

I eventually went and brought them back in the chapel while the congregation sang the Sacrament hymn.  I eyed Allie as she entered the pew and sat right where she had previously.  I looked at her and again said, "Scoot over."  This time she was wiser and made room for me and Sami.

Since it was Fast Sunday, the testimonies began after the Sacrament.  Member after member walked up to the stand to testify of what they knew to be true.

And then Sami turned to me.  She whispered, with a bright smile, "Am I old enough to bear my testimony?"  Shocked, I responded, "Of course! Do you want to?"

"Ummm, sure, but I have to think about what I would say first."  She leaned back in the pew, looked up pensively, and put her hand on her chin.  A minute later, she shot forward and said very matter-of-factly, pointing one finger in the air, "Ah ha!  I know what I would say!"  Again, I asked her she wanted to go up.  She agreed, but only if I went with her.

Minutes later it was her turn.  She walked up to the microphone and looked at me worried.  "What do I say?"

"Whatever is in your heart.  Say what you know."

She whispered, "But how do I start?  Do I say, 'I'd like to bear my testimony...'?"

"Sure, that's fine."

She put her mouth to the microphone and began.  "I'd like to bear my testimony that I know that Jesus is real... and I know that this is the true church.  In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

All her own words.  All from her heart.

Suddenly the frustrating events from earlier in the meeting didn't seem so annoying.  In spite of the arguing and pettiness, they are learning, they are listening, and seeds of faith and testimony have been planted in their hearts.  And, by golly, they are even beginning to sprout.

Sami proved it.

A Bathroom with No Mirror

Someday, if I ever get to design my own house, it will have one important feature.  Or rather, it will lack one.  My bathroom will have no mirror.  Oh, yes.  Just above my sink will be... nothing.  Okay, well, maybe not nothing-- I mean, like, maybe a picture or two.  Maybe.  I just want to be able to walk in and out of the bathroom without little voices picking out all of my physical faults.  Look at those stretch marks!  You sure ain't 18 anymore! or Ouch!  Looks like those wrinkles are getting a bit more defined, don't you think? or Did any of those blueberries from lunch get stuck in your teeth?  Ya don't want to go into Target looking like a fool...  Those voices have much more to say than that, but I won't go into it.   Not exactly "G" rated.

I think those voices must live inside my mirror.  So that's why I won't have one.  So there.

After dropping Drew off at school, as I drove home, I pondered the changes my body has gone through since I bore my first child.  Perhaps with Allie's ninth birthday being yesterday, I am a bit more reflective.

Parts of me are stretched, sagged, scarred, or shrunken.  I often think of these as being my "battle wounds."  But when I see it all in the mirror, those voices tell me I am worth less because of it all-- that I'm not as beautiful.

But as I sat in the car today, I realized something I had known all along.  Those "battle wounds" are there not to punish me or make me feel less feminine, but to remind me of the sacrifices I have made to perform the most feminine and even most divine act possible on earth-- to give life.  They are there to remind me and my children that I have cared more about them than myself.

And I drew a parallel.

I thought of the Savior, and how as the resurrected Lord, He was recognized by the nail prints in His hands and the spear wound in His side.  His very own "battle wounds" are a reminder to us of His ultimate and infinite sacrifice-- to give us new life.  They were there to remind us that He cares more about each of us than Himself.

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."  (John 15:13)  Now that is beautiful, don't you think?

Every mother is given, in the sacrifice of her own body to bear children, just a small glimpse of the pure love the Lord has for all of Heavenly Father's children.  We will do whatever it takes to bring these precious souls to our families, even if it means the giving up of our bodies or even our very lives.

How could I look in the mirror and see these marks of divinity and allow these nasty, hateful little voices in my mirror to tell me I am worthless?

Who knows if I will ever get to build my mirror-less dream bathroom...  Actually, in being completely realistic, I'm pretty sure I never will.

So in the meantime, I will have the privilege of admiring my stretch marks and deepening wrinkles each and everyday.  But I should probably still check for the blueberries in my teeth.

I don't want to go into Target looking like a fool.

Janessa Squiggly

As I tried to leave the Primary room after church, my friend Caroline from the other ward walked in. We chatted a bit, and then she asked, "Hey, did you see the article about 'Janessa Squiggly' (name has been changed... thank goodness) in the paper this morning?"  I hadn't, so I made sure to open up the paper when I got home.

Since most of you don't know Janessa, here's the run-down...

She is the oldest of 12, she herself having seven kids.  Her dad is a well-known lawyer whose TV commercials teach lessons about family and self-reliance.  She has gorgeous red hair and a smooth, fair complexion, and majored in vocal performance at BYU.

As for things I found out in the article, she also apparently won beauty pageants and music awards, wakes up at 5am every morning to (cheerfully) exercise and get her kids out the door, prepares meals with organic whole foods, makes whole wheat bread and smoothies for breakfast, and has kids that pull their weight in the house without complaint on their part or a wasted moment nagging on hers. Her kids all attend private Christian and Catholic schools and play the piano and violin, and she continues to study voice herself.

I think, perhaps, that such an article would make most women, including myself, feel like garbage.

But, really...  After pondering it, I thought, Good for her!  She obviously has many incredible, and incredibly visible, talents.  If her kids are stubborn like mine, then good for her for whipping them into shape!  (If they aren't, then lucky her!)  She thrives off of running an efficient household, so good for her for doing it so proficiently.  Good for her for being poised.  Good for her for working on her musical gifts, and honing those of her children.  Good for her for for wanting to keep her home free of preservatives and processed foods.

All wonderful, commendable things!

Here's the beauty of the gospel, though.  I don't have to do any of those things.

Satan wants all of us regular women to get caught up comparing ourselves to such women-- comparing our weaknesses to their strengths.  He wants us to waste our time trying to be her, rather than embracing our own strengths and focusing on being obedient to the Lord.

Please understand that I'm not trying to say that she is wasting her own time, because she's not. Janessa obviously is embracing the amazing daughter of God that she is.  But I'm not her, nor will I ever be.  She appears to thrive working with and organizing the chaos that is her life.  I despise chaos. Even four kids is pushing the envelope for me.  She must love regularly waking up before sunrise.  I'd rather gnaw off my arm.  Occasionally I make homemade bread, but mostly I buy mine from the store.  And when my sister came and visited recently, she pointed out that my kids "eat a lot of cereal."  Yes, yes they do.  They would love it if I made them pancakes or smoothies every morning, but let's face it, that isn't going to happen.  Ever.

And that's okay.

Sister Squiggly isn't going to inherit some higher, unadvertised degree of celestial glory because she fed her kids whole wheat bread and had a stellar chore chart.  She isn't going to be moved to the front of the line at the pearly gates because she has great hair and can sing an opera aria.

She is a good person (as most of us are)-- a person who is doing her best with what she has been given.  She is a person who teaches correct principles to her children-- faith, hard work, kindness, unity.  She seeks to obey God's word.  And let's face it, many of us do all that as well.  Her efforts are not any more valuable than ours.  The love the Lord has for her is the same as the love He has for each of us.

He knows each of our names just as He knows hers.

So, again I say, "Good for you, Sister Squiggly!  I'm coming over to your house for breakfast next Sunday morning..."

Coming Home

The end of our trip to Utah was pretty much a disaster.  A disaster that began with Drew waking up to puke at both 2:30 and 4:30am Saturday morning, the boy having caught the short-lived, albeit nasty, stomach-bug that had been ailing a couple of the other Smith cousins.  Of course, the beginning of the trip wasn't without illness as Sami came down with Strep symptoms and was rushed to the urgent care in Springville within eight hours of arriving the previous Saturday.  But I digress...

In spite of my concerns with continuing our plans to travel home, worried that others of us might be struck ill in the middle of a flight, we carried on as planned.

I'll just say it.  I hate flying.  HATE IT.

And I hate it even more when we have to hold a baby on our laps that can (and wants and tries to) move.  On a four-hour flight, that is torture.  The crying and the fussing and the wrestling matches.  The quick little hand that grabs my glasses... over and over again.  Trying to nurse in a narrow seat with the jet engines roaring, avoiding hitting her head on the armrests, attempting to keep the blanket in place...

And then there is trying to maneuver the consumption of the complimentary drink, moving it from one hand to the other and she tries to continually grab at it.

And it was the drink that proved to play our next, and major, role in this disaster of a journey.

The male flight attendant had taken our drink orders hurriedly.  He had handed me my Sprite, which I placed on Sami's tray, along with her orange juice.  I got ready with Eve's sippy cup to ask for some water when he rushed over and carelessly placed Allie's tomato juice (oh yes, tomato juice) on my tray right within Eve's reach.  And she's quick.  Extremely quick.  Immediately, the attendant yelled, "Oh no!" and ran to get me a stack of paper towels... which he then threw at me and promptly rushed off, never to come back again.  The floor, the tray, Eve's white blanket and onesie, and my cream-colored corduroy shorts all drenched in tomato juice.  It looked like a crime scene from CSI.

And Allie promptly responded to the situation with a disgusted, "Moooom!"  Since obviously the fact that she lost her tomato juice was the most important thing...  I wanted to wring her neck.  You know, Homer-and-Bart-style.

Nearly in tears from exhaustion and embarrassment (while also feeling so angry I could have punched out that flight attendant), I handed Eve to Kev while I dabbed at the juice all around me, unaided, not sure what to do.  Till another flight attendant came through the aisles selling headsets.  She took one look at me and gasped, telling me to come to the galley so she could help me.  The woman was a saint.  She handed me a huge stack of towels and a can of club soda, and had me drench the towels in the soda and rub it on my shorts.  I went in the lavatory and did so.  And since it was private, I sobbed.

Soon we landed in Atlanta, and I had to get off the plane.  After all, we had another plane to catch to make it home.

My shorts were destroyed, as well as completely soaked, and I had to wrap Sami's hoodie around my waist to avoid unwanted attention.

Our plane into Melbourne was small.  One row of two seats, and another row of three.  We put the girls and Drew in one row, and Kev and I sat together across from them, with Eve on our laps.  Unfortunately, Allie sat in the middle, which we tried to avoid until Sami had a meltdown because she wanted the window seat.  Allie switched seats with her... which was the worst arrangement ever.  With Drew on her right, she spent half the time on take-off laughing and tickling and squealing, and with Sami on her left, he spent the other half of the time arguing and hitting.  I was horrified.  Just before the captain turned off the seat belt light, Kev and I were fed up.  He unbuckled and picked Allie up and threw her (literally) next to me, and moved Drew to the middle seat so he could sit in the aisle... completely isolating Allie from the other two.

She sat, her head down, her face scowling, and her arms folded.  Of course, she didn't feel remorseful-- just bitter, like some great injustice had been done to her.  Apparently, she is upset that her dad and I haven't bought in to the theory that in-fact she  is the center of the Universe.

Then the flight attendants came by with the drink cart.

I looked at her, pointed and said, "NO tomato juice, Allie!"

(After having spent significant time today soaking and scrubbing... and soaking and scrubbing some more, I am happy to report that my shorts have been resurrected.)

April... and March...

I could go further back than March, but that would take too long.  I'm still floored that it's nearly Mother's Day...

The first three months of the year always overwhelm me.  You think I'd anticipate it by now, but I don't.  New Year's Day arrives with a sigh of relief.

"Done!" I think to myself.

And then my birthday comes... and I am reminded that I only have just over a month till Allie's birthday.  Then Valentine's Day hits and I am reminded that I've done nothing for her, nor for Sami, whose birthday is two weeks after Allie's.  Panic sets in.  And it doesn't help when both girls gab about their "big" birthday plans nonstop.

Suddenly it's April and I'm racing to the store to buy a bunch of junk to fill Easter baskets.  Not to mention my Mom's birthday, which all too often gets overlooked, unfortunately.

This year has been no different, really.

So like I said, you'd think I'd learn...

The fact that this birthday was Allie's 8th merely added a whole new level of stress... and joy.  Suddenly I not only had a birthday to think about, but a baptism as well.  And being thrown into the planning of something very new isn't easy for me.  I enjoy the challenge, but I worry about the mistakes I'll make along the way.  I know I shouldn't.  It's silly, really.  I mean, as long as there's a font, two witnesses, and Kevin and Allie, we should be good to go, right?  And, thankfully, we had those essential elements.

We were also blessed with the presence of Allie's Grandma and Grandpa Smith, who had graciously made the trip from Utah for the special occasion.  Each gave beautiful talks teaching Allie about the importance of being baptized and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost.

Kevin and I, per Allie's request, sang "Baptism", while Rich Gibson accompanied on the piano, with Doug Markos on guitar.

Nikki Noel made a beautifully delicious strawberry cream cheese cake, which was especially special since the baptism occurred on Allie's birthday.  Apparently her grandma was baptized on her birthday as well!

The Knear family came, with Sabrina sitting right next to Allie in the front row for the whole program.

We were touched by the tremendous support shown by our amazing ward family.  Truly.  It is a family.  I didn't expect so many people to return to the church that evening.  Friends brought treats to share without being asked.  And we ran out of the plates I had brought.

It was a very special day for Allie.  Indeed.

Then the following Friday night we had a birthday party at the house for her.  The plan was to show Judy Moody and the NOT Bummer Summer in the backyard "under the stars"... but then it rained... a lot.  So, we set up the borrowed video projector in the living room, moved couches, and cleared a wall.  I set up a "concession" stand, complete with popcorn, soda, and candy, and Kevin draped some white lights for ambiance.  We ended up with around twenty kids in our living room.  Some from school, some from church.  Allie wore her glittery cream Christmas dress from two Christmases ago.  Gotta wear a party dress!

And then Sami, who had been a bit overshadowed by all this hullabaloo over Allie, dealt with it with a lot of dignity.  Occasionally she would worry that no one would ever make such a fuss over her when she turns eight, but mostly she just enjoyed the festivities.  And she was sincerely excited for Allie.

Sami is good that way.

Allie... well.. isn't.  The following Saturday when it was Sami's birthday, Allie sulked as Sami opened presents.  Are you kidding me?!  She had, basically, two full weekends of celebrating her, and she has to nerve to think about herself on Sami's day?!  To the moon, Allie... 

Sami's activity of choice that day was to go to the zoo, which we did in spite of the insane crowds due to it being not only a Saturday, but St. Patrick's Day.  We really tried to give Sami some special treatment that day.  I hope she felt it.  She is such a special kid, and we adore her.  She may oftentimes annoy the heck out of us (she has a knack for that), but she has a tender heart and a lot of spunk that we cherish.  Unfortunately, part of the territory of being the younger sibling is feeling overshadowed and forgotten.

Although, Drew doesn't seem to feel either of those.  He's "the man" and he knows it.   Go figure.

And, of course, Eve is the baby, and doesn't know anything different than being cooed over by everyone.  But she's also pretty comfortable with my attention being divided.

Oh, and I can't forget about the annual rodeo at the Church ranch.  And a day trip to Sea World.

By the time Easter arrived, I was exhausted.  But I was still able to get some spirituality out of the day.  We don't do the Easter Bunny, and our egg hunt is always preceded by the story of Christ.  We watched some of Ben-Hur, too.

Allie had her 2nd grade Spring Concert a week or so after that.  She was ecstatic about being assigned to play the xylophone for one song.

And on the 28th Kevin and I celebrated out 12th anniversary.  We decided to spend the latter part of the day (the first part Kev and the girls went to the Day of Service project at Palm Bay City Hall) at Sea World for the Viva La Music festival.  We watched the concert of RKM and Ken-Y (some Puerto Rican pop stars), and then went on some rides (together!) and watched two shows before we decided to leave and get some Indian food for dinner.  Our friend Lisa Rogers watched the kids for us for the seven hours we were gone.

And suddenly it's May, and little Baby Eve is inching closer to her first birthday.  What?!  She has been eating solids for the past two and a half weeks.  My memories of Allie as a baby are probably the clearest.  Sadly, with each additional child, that time becomes more and more of a blurr.  So many distractions.  But I hope my sweet Eve feels we love her.  I'm doing my best to soak her in.

School ends in two and half weeks.  Summer is a-knockin'...

Flat Stanley II

At this same time last year, we were hosting Flat Stanley, who had been sent to us by the Ormsbys in Utah.  Now he has come to us again from the Wrights in Texas.  Here are a few of our adventures this week...

Four is Enough

It was a year ago when I was coming to the end of morning sickness.  That persistent, annoying, exhausting nausea that would nag at me every second of everyday, thwarting my efforts to prepare a meal without dry heaving.  Sleep was my best friend, seeing as how that was the only period of time when I did not feel ill.  Our refrigerator was stocked with ginger ale... until I could no longer stand that either.

And then I shortly was on bed rest, too.

I remember feeling completely spent.  Done.  I prayed frequently for strength... and relief.  One time, in particular, I prayed perhaps more fervently than usual.  The response was fairly clear.  "It's okay.  You won't have to do this again."  

I trusted that, and the clearer perspective provided me an added strength to carry on.

Then Eve was born.  The first month was a beast, as usual-- between lack of sleep, an altered routine, and typical soreness from nursing.  We made it through six weeks, and life began its steady move to normalcy again.  I began to wonder if that impression received months earlier was merely my own brain providing me with what I needed at the moment to survive-- hope-- or if it really had come from the Lord.  Maybe there is one more...

I left the thought alone, figuring I would have some time to ponder it more in depth.  Then Evie, at 4 1/2 months, started rolling.  Then a couple weeks later, she was rolling and inching her way towards objects she wanted to chew.  Within weeks of that she was sitting independently... then standing in her crib... and then finally crawling, which she mastered a week ago.  She will be 7 months old at the end of next week.  She won't sit in her swing anymore, and doesn't need the Bumbo we borrowed from the Terrys.  Then there's the bassinet sitting in the corner of our bedroom that she hasn't used since November.  And she hates the blue bouncy seat.  All too confining.  All at once she is coming out of the infant stage, and I am finding that all of these infant items need to be stored, or perhaps just given away.  I figured this was as good a time as any to really make a decision with Kevin about the growth of our family.  So we prayed.  And talked.  But the discussions seemed to go nowhere, as both of us seemed a bit too emotionally wrapped up in whatever thoughts we had. 

Then Friday I decided I needed to clear off our dresser.  A stack of old pictures needed to be returned to the correct albums.  And I was brought to some of the kids' baby books.  Drew sat with me during the process, and I showed him pictures of Allie as a baby, as well as himself.  I had thought that looking back would make me sad, pondering the possibility of never again having a baby in our home.  But, surprisingly, all I felt was happiness-- happiness at having been so fortunate to experience it four times... but also excitement at moving on to a new stage of life.  I didn't feel sad in the least-- just grateful.  And I knew.  Eve is the end.  

And that's okay.

I'm always amazed at the way time moves.  Sometimes, when Allie responds with attitude about cleaning up her room or Sami bursts into tears about losing a shoe, the thought of enduring their presence in our home for the next twelve years seems like it won't come soon enough.  But then, I think about how Allie was baptized just two short weeks ago, and I think, "Really?  Has it already been half a month?"  I think about Sami turning six just yesterday.  I think about how Evie is now closer to her first birthday than she is to her birth.  And I think about the memories I have of that precious time with them.  And in spite of my many mistakes, I mostly remember the good times.  And I can only assume that we will continue to make great memories, even as time presses on, and we all grow older and experience new phases of life.  God didn't intend for us to only be happy when our kids are small... or only when they are grown.  

The end of my child-bearing years means only that.  But when we experience an "end", it just means a new road of life is beginning.  

And I've always loved road trips.

It's Been a While

I rarely write anything anymore.  It's sad really.  Eve is almost six months old, and I have practically written nothing. 

She starting rolling over about a month ago, and I suspect crawling will come soon enough.  Much sooner than it did with Sami or Drew.  Sami just sat around, immobile and happy, till she was 11 months old, for crying out loud!  Drew wasn't too far behind that.  And it took them both forever to figure out how to roll.  I remember getting Sami up from her naps, the back of her head sweaty, her hair matted, and reeking of mildew... all because she didn't move.

Eve doesn't have this problem.  Plus she's bald.

Allie as a baby, hated being a baby.  Couldn't wait to get to the next step to help her be "big." She cried till she could sit up, and then was content until she realized something grander awaited her.  Then she wanted to crawl, then walk... It goes on.  Allie has highs and lows.  She is content with what she has until she realizes that she could have more.  At that point she isn't happy until gets gets it... or at least until she gets distracted and forgets about it for a while.

Eve doesn't seem to have this issue either. 

She enjoys life.  She's happy and patient.  But driven.  I can tell by the way she reaches and squirms to get a toy she wants.  She never cries out of frustration, but just keeps wiggling until she gets there.  That's not to say that she never cries.  She does.  But usually it's just when she's tired, or hungry, or poopy, or just wanting some company. 

Hopefully she can be a calming influence on her emotional-roller-coaster sisters who all too easily allow outside forces to control their happiness.  I sure hope they outgrow that.  I'd hate to see them live a miserable existence all because things don't go their way.  It scares me sometimes...

But, you know, in spite of their craziness, I have been blessed with some terrific kids. 

Allie is creative.  She makes vibrant and unique works of art.  She sings the songs of her heart-- composing as she goes about the house.  She's silly and fun.  Her laugh is happy and contagious.  She's a fantastic reader, and a respectful student.  She's outgoing and friendly, and all the kids at school that know her, love her... because she loves and accepts them.  No exceptions.  She is honest and full of integrity, going out of her way to find the owner of any ol' broken pencil she may find in the hall.  She has a heart of gold.

Sami is imaginative.  To her, a ratty washcloth might be a golden handkerchief or a magical napkin that takes her to a far-away fairy world.  And she takes any willing soul with her-- from her little brother to her 82-year-old great-grandfather.  She is graceful and musical.  She is charming and has a smile her friend Carter says is "beautiful."  She is playful, but conscientious about following rules.  She's compassionate and sensitive to others' feelings.  She loves Jesus and wants everyone to "know Him" just as she does. 

And then there's Drew.  Mr. Energetic.  He follows Sami like a puppy dog, playing along with whatever scheme she has concocted.  He doesn't mind pretending to be her Prince Charming or a Diego-like explorer.  He knows how to play Allie like a puppet, getting her to chase or tackle him, laughing and squealing all the way.  Any figurine, be it his Spider-Man or Buzz Lightyear or even one of the girls' Princes, shoots or fights or falls from great heights... and must be accompanied by some kind of superhero soundtrack that he enthusiastically hums all the way.   He loves music, and always slightly delays getting out of the car for preschool so he can listen to whatever music I have playing in there just a little bit longer.  He gives the best hugs.

As as for Eve...  Well, I think we all know I already believe she is an angel.  Literally.  I look at her and everyday plead with her to not change.  She is observant and quick.  Her smile is pure sunshine.  I think she really does emit Vitamin D, because I don't see how anyone could feel depressed around her.  Her radiant, beautiful face is just a hint at the amazing spirit she carries within her.  Oh, and her laugh!  If fairies really existed, she would have created the most stunning family of fairies with those giggles.

Ahhh...

Let me just take a moment and bask in the happy glow of my children's strengths...

Because in just a few short hours the two older ones will be home from school again, and then...  I'll just leave it at that.

Our House

Our house started to feel smaller when we decided to share the guest room as an office.

I hated having a desk in our bedroom, especially when listening to the clanking sound of the scanner at eleven o'clock at night while Kevin was trying to go through all the food orders, or when getting ousted from my own room because Kevin had to make a private bishop-ly phone call and had nowhere else to go.  So we got rid of the old desk, bought a new one, and put it (and the printer) in the guest room.  It was nice having the desk out of our room, but not so nice for my parents who came to visit during Evie's birth, seeing as how they now had to share an already tiny room with a big ol' desk.


We bought the desk at the same time we bought new furniture for the toy room... which is actually a dining room, but I couldn't stand to have the girls' cramped room jammed-packed with all their toys.  So we moved the large table from the dining room to the kitchen, and the littler kitchen table to the "toy" room as an art table...

Okay, scratch what I said in the beginning.  Our house started to feel small when we moved all the toys into the dining room.

And now we have our baby girl sharing a room with our nearly three-year-old little boy because we have no other place to put either one of them (which, technically, should be fine for a few years).  And one whole side of their closet is packed with food storage.

Yesterday Kev begged me to let him bring the printer back in our room, because that is the only room where we can use it wirelessly and works better.  So, of course, after bringing it back into our room, he had to walk back-and-forth across the house to place items in to scan and then control the scanner.  I have a feeling the laptop is going to end up in our room ultimately, and my original plans will have been thwarted.

So, yes.  I find it interesting that all throughout the month of gratitude-- the month when so many of my friends are posting daily on Facebook about what they are thankful for-- that I am wallowing in a bit of self-pity.

I want a bigger house.  Not a mansion, but just bigger... with storage space (we have none)... and an office... and another bedroom... and a BIG backyard.  Oh, and a three-car garage, so Kevin has a decent amount of space for his exercise equipment... and so I don't freak out every time he does clean-and-jerks thinking he'll lose his grip on the bar and it will go flying through the van window.

But, alas, we owe more on our house than it's worth (when we originally put 20% down on it), and it's worth about half what we paid for it.  And, unless, we strike it rich overnight, we are stuck.  Literally stuck.  I hate thinking of it that way, but I just feel trapped.  Helpless.

Now, that being said, I'm not so stupid as to not realize that many friends would read this and think that I should count my blessings-- that there are others out there that have it so much worse than me.  No doubt.  But we all have our trials, custom fit to try us and stretch us and direct us in ways the Lord sees fit.  So, personally, I don't like to compare the difficulty of challenges.  In saying I struggle with my own, realize that I'm not saying a thing about the difficulty of anyone else's.

But... because I also realize I'm dwelling mentally in a place that isn't helping me any, I'm going to do as I should.  Count my blessings, that is.

 I am grateful for my family-- for the family that raised me and for the family I am raising.  I could add Allie and Sami to my list of challenges as well, but since I'm trying to feel better right now, I'll just think about how fun and creative and smart they are.  I'm grateful for the memories I have made with them, and that there will be many more in the future.

I am grateful for my husband, and for the way he begs the kids everyday to be good to me.  They ignore him much of the time, but he always hopes that he will come home to a smiling, calm wife.  I'm grateful he doesn't give up hope.

I'm grateful I get to sing with the Chamber Singers... and that my sweet husband is so supportive in bathing and putting all four kids to bed by himself on night a week, so that I can go do something that fills my well.

I'm grateful I don't have to shovel snow or drive next to semis on an icy two-lane freeway anymore.

I'm grateful for the temple, and for the peace and spiritual renewal I feel there... even if it is 1 1/2 hours away  and I have to rush in and then rush out because of having children that need to be picked up from school.  I'm use to the long drive now, and I'm actually grateful for that time it gives Kevin and I to talk.

I'm grateful for a strong back.  If you know my mom, you understand where I'm coming from.

I'm grateful for good health.  It's a miracle that with all the germs that have been floating around this house in the past month, I have escaped them all.  Truly a miracle-- a tender mercy from the Lord.

I'm grateful for modern medicine that allows me to regulate my hypothyroidism, and allows Sami to sleep peacefully through the night even with a runny nose and deep cough.

And, yes, I am grateful for our tiny house.  It may frustrate the heck out of me, but at least I have a roof to keep me dry.  And, I am sure grateful that we can still afford to live in it-- that Kev still has a good job that provides for us.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the living room (that I am so grateful for) to play a board game with my sick little Sami (whom I'm also grateful for) until my other lovely children (I like them, too... most of the time) come home from church.

Wow.  I do feel better. (But I still want a bigger house...)