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'...