Missing

Things have been quieter than usual around these parts lately. That's because this girl --

 (No, not both of them, just Shanna, but I gotta get 

a picture of the grandbaby in here too!)

--is at JBA. She wanted to go last year but I told her we simply couldn't afford it.

When her dear friend got back last summer, Shanna let me know she REALLY wanted to go next year. My response was that she would have to earn at least half the money, assuming that would put the matter to rest. I was so wrong!! She worked and scrimped and saved and earned the $805 to pay for her half. I was so impressed.

I didn't realize when I made that off hand remark that I was giving her permission to attend, but once she worked her tail off and earned it all, short of something catastrophic, I couldn't very well tell her no.

When we arrived, we got her checked in and found her dorm room and hauled her stuff up five flights of stairs (the elevator line was too long to be endured) and got her unpacked and ate lunch and met her professor and then it was time to say goodbye and actually leave my little girl in this place for multiple weeks. Ouch!

So she's gone, for way too long. She's loving it and learning so much and making new friends and it's all wonderful except that our house is severely lacking in off the cuff kids history, Brian Regan and Tim Hawkins quotes; I'm not hearing nearly enough piano pieces coming from the living room and we all just want to hang out with her but don't get to for now. ...sigh.

My Man

I love this woman's blog.

Her latest post got me thinking about the guy I've chosen

and the good things he brings into my life.

Here's just one of my favs.

When life crashes down for a moment (her camping trip, for example, but whatever the current stress in the family may be), he makes us laugh, or gives us chocolate, or both.

I tend to yell.

His way is better.

He's my hero.

Waiting For Her Letter

We adore reading around here. Something I've blogged about here and here.

This summer, I decided that Girlie Whirl, 6 1/2, was old enough to deal with Harry Potter in book form. She wasn't sure she wanted to, but I convinced her to give it a try and we began.

Oh, the fun we've had, the adventure, the humor, the discovery! It's one of the joys of parenting, this introducing your child to a new world through the written word! There is nothing like your little girl gazing up at you with a mixture of hope and pleading in her big blue eyes as she says, "Please just read one more chapter, pleeeeease!"

Playtime at our home now commonly features magical themes. Dolls take on names like Hermione and Ginny; and Girlie-Whirl keeps her wand nearby, hexing invisible foes with abandon. Needless to say, it was a very Harry summer and because we still have just over two more books to go, the Harry-ness will continue through much of the fall. Can you guess what she's gonna be for Halloween?

G-W started daydreaming about getting her letter of acceptance from Hogwarts, and asked me if I thought it could happen in real life. Last month, her twelve-year-old sister, Banana-Girl was sad. As G-W knelt by me, I asked her to remember her sister in her prayer. I was touched and amused as she earnestly petitioned Heavenly Father to bless Banana-Girl that she'll get a letter from Hogwarts, the pinnacle of heavenly blessings in her mind. I think she's finally decided that no letters are going to arrive, but she's holding out hope that it could happen in the next life.

I know that there's nothing original in the sentiment, but can I just say that I adore Harry Potter! Rowling is, in my opinion, a master story teller. The hours of quality time that my family has spent in her books are countless and full of good memories. I firmly believe that forty years from now, her books will still be in print and there will be third and fourth generation fans out there introducing the world of Hogwarts to their children.

What are you reading with your kiddles?

Git 'er dun!

I've blogged before about my abysmal organizational skills. Yet, hope springs eternal and as the seasons change, I feel the drive to make another attempt. Every year as school winds down, I find myself thinking, "I can't wait until school gets out, so we can get organized." (Which inevitably leads to August thoughts of, "I can't wait until school starts so we can get organized.")

I'm fickle when it comes to housework. I don't like it, I'm not great at it, and to be frank, I'd rather be doing almost anything else (blogging, playing games with my kids, having a root canal). And while I fully realize that my efforts will likely bear little fruit, I nevertheless feel that the struggle, the attempt, is important. Important personally, to wrestle a weakness. And important for my kids to see me try continually to overcome.

 Anyway, school's out, so it's time to make the attempt. One of my biggest problems with the kids and chores is accountability. We set up chores and establish rules such as, no screen time, playing with friends, or going to the pool until they're done. But, within a couple of weeks, it tends to fall apart.

We've tried chore charts before, with varying degrees of success, but this summer, we're trying it again. Hopefully, the visual reminder will help both Mom and kids.

I made the chart last night. Bright colors, this template, some scrapbook paper, ribbon, stickers, and popsicle sticks.  The sticks are green on one end and orange on the other and the kids will flip them over as they complete their morning chores.

I'm determined to make a go of it. And, worst case, we'll be a smidge better with the chart than without. A win in my book!

Random Thoughts

I'm taking a break from Christian Connection Thursdays today. I'll bring it back next week, but it's just not happening today and I'm gonna embrace that and move on.

Some thoughts that are dancing around in my brain:

Random thought #1
I sometime wonder if my children are "getting it". Do they understand why we live the way we do? Are they developing a love for, and a desire to be obedient to our Father? Am I providing opportunities for them to come to know God? Am I filling them up with my love so it will be easier for them to recognize His? It's so easy to get caught up in the minutia of life that you don't take time for the big important stuff. You know, cuddles, laughs, pointing out the blessings and savoring them, teaching them in the moment, even if the moment falls in the middle of a rush to get somewhere, asking what's on their mind. I truly believe these are some of the most important things, but they're not the squeeky wheel and so often don't get the "grease". (This random thought was brought to you by the desire to do better)

Random thought #2
The other day, Girlie-Whirl offered family prayer. I think the following is word for word:
Note: She says, Thankly for we thank thee, but what she really means is "please bless". We've worked on it, but she persists and since I wish I were more thankful for the trials and struggles, I haven't tried too hard. Her thankly's are a little whisper of reminder from God (when I let them be).
Henly Father,

We thankly for those that are sad to be happy.We thankly for Mrs. Frandsen's husband. We thankly for Sister Jones. In  the name...
Sweet, simple, direct, and all about others who need help.


Random thought #3
Is it possible to keep an organized house without putting in any effort? I keep desperately searching for a method that will not take time and energy, but alas, I can't find one!

Random thought #4
Having older children call home and "dish" is one of life's great joys!

I can't let today pass without a few words about the mothers in my life.

First, my own angel mother. She's such a fun mom (and grandma)!!! No matter our age, toddler to teenager, I knew her very favorite thing was to be with us kids (and still is!) What a gift that was. She would start water fights in the kitchen, loved to play games with us, found humor and joy everywhere, was more fun to recount a date to than my girl friends, showered us with her love, taught us well, gave us room to grow, and most importantly, her eyes clearly reflected the deep-down joy that she ghad from living the gospel. It was from her that I came to want that same joy in my life. I will forever be grateful to my Heavenly Father for the beautiful gift my mother.

Second, my mother-in-law. She's loved and accepted me from day one, is a beautiful example of life long service to others, raised six wonderful children (Hubders being the favorite!) and looks for the best in everyone.

Third, my grandma. She was never very healthy and asthma was a constant. When I close my eyes, I can still hear her staccato cough coming from the kitchen as she prepared meals for the family. (Her potato salad is  THE best!)  I don't recall her ever complaining about anything and I knew that she adored me. After she died, I ended up with the little side table that sat by her chair. She made literally hundred's of sets of temple robes in her lifetime. The table always had a green apron on it, embroidery in various stages. It's one of my most prized possessions.

These good women continually put their in God and put family first. They loved being a mom and it showed in all that they did. Their examples have shaped and blessed me from day one and will continue to be a blessing to generations yet to come. Thank heaven, literally, for mothers!!

Perusing the Page

Oh the joys of reading! It's one of my very favorite things, and so crucial to academic, social and spiritual growth. So, as a mom, how do I pass my love of the written word on to my children.

Here are my thoughts on the subject:

1. Read with them. Often! From birth to the day they leave home.

2. Read good quality children's literature. I have only one criteria for determining if a book is good quality, but it's served me well. If I can enjoy reading a book repeatedly to my children, it's good quality. If the second or third reading makes me want to put it through the shredder, it's not. I try never to buy poor quality books. Why spend money on something I will loathe reading to my munchkins?

3. Make it interesting and fun. We've all been stuck in that history class where the aging coach reads the textbook day after day in his monotonous drone. Don't ever do that to your kids. You're in the privacy of your own home, ham it up, for heaven's sake! Give unusual characters funny voices, use lots of inflection, pause at the right places for maximum suspenseful impact, etc. Your voice will bring the story to life if there's life in your voice. Don't know how? Don't worry, it's a skill that can be learned with practice (and you'll never have a more forgiving audience than your wee ones). Note: Did you know that the concept of silent reading is a modern invention? In ancient times reading was always done with both your eyes and ears. Have you experienced the fact that your ears can tell you things about a story that your eyes can't?

4. Start reading novels to your children at a young age. Picture books are one of my favorite things. However, children as young as 4 can start to participate in the world of chapter books. You may need to talk frequently about what is going on and review the plot each time you pick it up. All the better! Encourage your children to ask questions. It will improve their communication skills. And don't be afraid to read books to your children that are a little above them. It's good for them to listen "up".

5. Have books in your home. Use the library on a regular basis. Purchase books for birthdays and Christmas*. You'll be surprised how fast your library grows! Having books in your home not only sends the message that books are important, it gives children the opportunity to peruse books at their leisure.

6. Read yourself. If you're like me, you don't need to be told this. Instead, you need to get your nose out of your book a bit more and take the kids to the park (or wash the dishes). But too many busy moms never seem to find the time to lose themselves in the written word. It's truly one of life's joys and our little ones should see our passion for reading.

The essence of my philosophy is this: A young child who has been to far away places, experienced thrilling adventures, overcome daunting obstacles, witnessed hilarious antics and met fascinating people, all as your voice brings the words on page to life, may still have difficulty with the mechanics of learning to read, but they will not need to be convinced that reading is important. The desire to read will a part of them. They will be eagerly anticipating the day when they can enter the world of books on their own.

How do you help your children develop a love a reading?

* Books are expensive, so unless you know it's good quality, check it out of the library first. I almost never buy a book from a bricks and mortar store (although I love to look at books there). Most of my purchasing, however, happens at websites such as this one or this one, and even this one, where I can find new and gently used books for bargain prices.

Worth it.

Pregnancy is on the brain. My sis delivered a beautiful baby girl on Monday and it seems that most of the blogs I follow are written by a gestating women. They write of growing larger (funny post!) and being anemic, exhausted, and overwhelmed (seriously, check out their blogs, you won't regret it); of dealing with pregnancy while doing the mom thing and all that it entails. Reading their well crafted pregnancy posts takes me back. It's been over six years since I experienced it, but I remember. I remember it all.

All women love to whine about their pregnancies share their pregnancy stories and I'm no different even though it's been awhile. So settle in, here's mine.

My first three were text book. The normal annoyances, that's all. But #'s four through six were a different story. None of it was life threathening, or even comparable to what many women have gone through, but it pushed me right to the limit.

I developed prenatal tachychardia which is a fancy way of saying that my heart raced. It didn't matter whether I was in great shape or not (and I did the pregnant thing both ways); simply walking across the family room sent my heart rate up to 140. And stairs? The doctor said if they were unavoidable, I was to do half the flight, sit down and rest for five minutes, and then continue on up. (Yeah, like a mom can do that!)

When my heart raced, which it did every time I did something really strenuous like move forward more than three steps, I was not only short of breath (similar to running five laps), but it also zapped all energy, on a molecular level from every cell in my body. The exhaustion was immediate and overwhelming. The doctor put me on some pills that helped (and put me through withdrawal when I quit taking them after delivery--which is another story, but can I just mention that a doctor should TELL you if that's a possibility). But the pills didn't fix the problem, just made it more manageable.

And so, a significant portion of my last three pregnancies were spent as a world class wimp. My husband says I have a can do attitude. When there are things to be done, I roll up my sleeves and git her done. But that 'me' was gone and the new me was something that was, in my opinion, just plain depressing. A shower took a fifteen minute rest to recover from. Blow drying my hair was just about impossible (something about raising my arms above my heart). I could do the grocery shopping if I walked slowly, but someone had better be there to put it all away when I got home. Every single thing I did was difficult and exhausting....for months.

My last pregnancy was the hardest. I was almost fourty. I had three teenagers, and they were a great help, but they were also very involved in things which means Mom is busy too. (Side note: Does anyone else just love that Elder Packer teaches that when you schedule the youth, you schedule their mom. Everyone should understand that!!)

Now, I love being a mom. There is no more sacred moment in life than when they place that baby in your arms. The innocence of children is one of the most beautiful things on the planet. Helping them grow into responsible adults is the hardest and most rewarding challenge there is. I know ALL that stuff, and believe it, deeply. And yet, as I slogged through the final months of that last pregnancy, I could not help wondering: Is it really worth THIS?? I felt guilty that I wondered, but I just couldn't help it.

I remember my feelings as they handed Girlie-Whirl to me in the Hospital. The pregnancy was OVER!!!!! Angels sang, bands played, fireworks, the whole sha-bang. As they put her in my arms, the feeling was instantaneous and overwhelming. It was, without a doubt, completely...worth...it.

I'm Afraid not

I don't have as much patience as I should for my children's irrational fears. The there's-a-monster-under-my-bed kind of fears that have no basis in reality. Oh, I'm patient and understanding and helpful up to a point, and then I'm done and just want them to stop being scared!

This is unfair and hypocritical of me because as a child, I was a mass of fears. My mother truly wondered if I'd grow up to be a functioning member of society, so riddled was I with debilitating phobias. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach was my almost ever present companion through approximately the third grade. My trepidations were wide and varied.

Here are three of the many.

I was terrified of dogs. There was nothing rational about this fear. I don't believe I've ever been bitten by a dog. But, nevertheless, my fear of them was primal and relentless. No amount of reasoning, coaxing, bribing or teaching on my parents part could make a dent in my insurmountable anxiety over all things canine. Big slobbery dogs, little yappy dogs, the size didn't matter, they all scared me to death. We owned a dog and it was the only fido on the planet that didn't send me screaming in the opposite direction. It took middle school years and the embarrassment of showing obvious fear in front of friends to curb my dog woes. I'll never be a pooch lover, but unless they're ferocious, I'm no longer alarmed by them.

My next fear was the worry of being permanently separated from my parents. Every Wednesday, after school, I watched my bus pull away without me and waited for my mom to pick me up and take me to dance lessons. I vividly remember, week after week, sitting alone on the bench in front of the school drenched in misery, knowing I might never see my parents again and contemplating the wretchedness my life would become. Mom always came, of course, but I still worried every week. Age fixed this one too, but not before years of torment at it's hands.

My third fear, was short lived, but the most debilitating. At age five-ish, I was taught in church that Satan wanted every one of us. What a horrific thought! I was just a little girl. What chance did I have against the devil? If he wanted me, I was doomed! Period. My mom repeatedly spent time trying to reassure me, teach me, and help me cope. But nothing she said made any difference. I spent my days and nights gripped in continual fear that it was only a matter of time before the Devil had me in his impervious grasp. She persisted and eventually got it through my head that obedience to God diminished Satan's power over me. That he could only have power over me as I gave it to him through committing sin. What a relief, and an incredibly useful piece of information! I was empowered! I may have been small and wimpy, but obedience I could DO; and, thankfully, my distress over the Prince of Darkness became thing of the past.

I don't know the reasons behind my abundance of fears as a child. I came from a wonderful home. My mom was the type that played with me, read to me, sang to me, snuggled with me and laughed with me every single day. I have always been absolutely secure in her love for me. Dad was less hands on, but I knew that he loved me and would always protected me from harm. And yet, my life, until I was nine-ish was a mass of phobias.

I don't quite understand how my mother managed to be patient with me and my constant worrying, but she did. And so the next time my six year old is frightened over something unrealistic. I'm gonna follow Mom's example and hang on to understanding a bit longer.

Smile!!! -- yeah, right!

My family is not normal.

When a camera is shoved in their face and the words, "Say cheese!" are uttered, most people tend to do what they can to look their best. Not at my house. A camera is seen as an opportunity to pull faces. This family tradition started with Hubders in college -- his friends literally competed to see how offbeat they could get their student ID pictures to look. There actually was an art to it -- too strange, and they make you take another picture. But I digress.

Last night, when it was time for family prayer, I found Hubders and Banana-Girl talking and laughing on the stairs. There was nothing profound or unusual about this, but I love the relationship that my man has with our children and wanted to document the simple, sweet moment with a photo. I turned on the camera, walked up a few steps and snapped a picture:

Not quite what I was hoping for, so I tried again.

Love Hubders smile, but can I get a normal look from both of you, please?

After this shot, which is by far the worst of the three,
I specifically asked Banana-Girl to smile.

She did, and I gave up, knowing that having a fun dad

is infinitely better than a getting a good photo.

6:52 to 7:07 am

Have you ever had one of those mornings?

One where you woke up feeling fat and pitiful because you did the good mom thing yesterday and made those mini caramel apple thingey's with your five year old because you couldn't say no to that hopeful look when she asked, but you have no self control when it comes to your mom's caramel recipe (really, it's best caramel on the planet), so you ate some and then couldn't resist it for the rest of the evening and ate at least 94 weight watcher points just in caramel (and you only get 22 for the day, but you're no longer doing weight watchers which is part of why you've gained five pounds), and the house is a mess because yesterday was a zoo and you had no time or energy to make your kids put their stuff away or to clean up the kitchen and there are mountains of laundry, and deadlines are looming and you didn't have time to go to the grocery store either so there's no milk and no bread in the house and Banana-Girl is whining about not being able to find anything to put in her lunch and when you suggest pretzels and peanut butter she looks at you like you're from another planet, and she finally leaves for school, but she comes right back and interupts your discussion where you've just devastated Girlie-Whirl by explaining that she'd have to break the ten dollar bill Grandma gave her for her birthday in order to pay tithing, and Banana-Girl's bike chain is off and she's been trying to put it back on while still wearing her knitted gloves, and once you've fixed the bike and washed the grease off your hands you realize that you don't have any clean pants to wear except your skinny jeans and because of the extra five pounds you just don't have the confidence to do the muffin top look today and there isn't time to wash any before you have to go to your Wednesday morning class, and your to-do list for the day is making your head spin, and you don't even care about spelling or grammar or anything on your blog post because all you really want to do is go back to bed and it's not even 8:00 in the morning.

Any else have a morning like this?

Motherly duties and Autumn

Do you spend your days in the car? Today I made two trips to the church, one for seminary and one for a youth temple trip, two trips to the middle school, one trip to my dear friend's home, an elegant 81 year old French sister that I visit teach, one trip to the grocery store, two trips to our piano teacher's home, and, as I write this, I'm waiting for a phone call telling me that it's time to make yet one trip more to the church to pick up my son.

I do NOT like spending my days behind the wheel. And so, today I made a conscious decision not to be a victim of the incessant need to spend time in my auto. Fall colors have come to our neck of the woods and I have not yet found time to enjoy them beyond the walk to and from the bus stop with my kindergartener.

The rain was a steady drizzle all day, however, as my car just happens to have a roof, the rain didn't prevent me from basking in the beauties of nature from behind the wheel as I shuttled my kiddles to their various activities. I've seen fourty-four falls in my lifetime. You'd think they'd be boring at this point, but I never cease to be astounded at the intensity of the hues on display just in my little neighborhood.

I grabbed my camera on one of my various trips and after dropping my children off, took some pictures from my car. The pictures are nice, but they do NOT do justice to the beauty that is just outside my window. Have you enjoyed the fall colors yet?

Here's a close up in the rain.

This tree has been stunning for days! Bright greens, intense yellows, neon oranges and deep purply reds all at the same time.

A close up of the multi-colored tree.

One more of the same tree.

I've been enjoying this tree for weeks. Why on earth, would half the tree be a gorgeous maroon and the the other half still green?

My Chosen Career

Years ago, early in my marriage, I was smack dab in the middle of babydom. My boys were 3 and 2 and I was a couple of months from the birth of my first daughter. I'd wanted this, prayed for this, hoped for this, and now that I had it, it was, well...tough. I'd had four very young sisters when I'd knelt across the altar from Hubders and so I knew that little ones were relentless. But I'd been the helper, the sitter, someone to give my mom a respite. Now, they were mine. I was the mom and it was just what I wanted, except for those moments when I thought I'd go nuts.

Hubders was wonderful. I loved the time of day when he'd walk through the door, with his smiling face, his adult conversation, and his joy at playing with his two little boys. But, he did have to bring home that bacon, and so, days were just me and the kids: the diapers, the runny noses, the laundry, the endless messes, the rashes, the tantrums, the lost shoes, the spilled milk; they were all constants in my life.

Usually I looked on the bright side, and fully enjoyed the sleepy snuggles, the faces that lit up just for me, the giggles, the wonder as they watched a bug at the park, the shrieks of delighted terror as I chased them round our little apartment, the absolute trust in their eyes, the joy of watching them learn new things, and the reading. It had become one of my passions, reading to those little guys. Where the Wild Things Are was a favorite and they never tired of hearing it. Who knew that making a story come alive for your kids could be so much fun?

Most of the time I was able to focus on the good things, but the relentlessness of the hard stuff would gang up on me some days and then it would bother me. Oh, not enough for me to feel like it was a mistake. I firmly believed that being a mother was the most important job on the planet; literally a sacred trust from God. I still wanted this as much as ever, but it was a harder gig than I'd imagined, and in the midst of the necessary drudgery, it was sometimes hard to remember how important being a mom was.

One morning, Sally, a friend from church called. Her babysitter was sick and Sally asked if I would watch her 18 month old daughter, Molly, for the day. I agreed. The day was uneventful and Sally eventually returned to pick her up. Sitting on the couch, she looked at me and said, "You don't know how lucky you are. I wish so bad I could stay home with Molly!" I replied that I did feel very blessed to be a stay-at-home mom, and after a few more exchanged pleasantries, Sally took her daughter home.

After she left, I couldn't get her comment out of my mind. I did feel blessed, but something was nagging at me. I mulled it over until I came to a realization. Sally was also very early in her marriage and I'd been to her home. It was a brand new, nice sized house, tastefully decorated with new furnishings, and there were two cute sporty little cars parked in the garage. On the other hand, Sally had trudged down the stairs to our basement apartment, sat on our hand-me-down furniture and walked past our one and only, on-it's-last-legs car. And it hit me. Sally could be where I was; struggling to make ends meet, with little in the way of material goods, and home, full-time, with her kids. She had chosen differently than I had, which is just fine, but it was a clarifying moment for me. The life I had chosen was more important to me than anything else. Owning a home and new furniture and nice cars would come once Hubders had a few more years of full-time employment under his belt; but they could wait while I did more important things.

I wasn't judgmental of Sally. This wasn't about her. It was the realization that this was the only acceptable way for me to live my life. I firmly believed that no one else could love those boys and give them what they needed like I could and I would have happily given up a lot of things before I'd give up full-time momhood. There was something liberating about seeing clearly why I'd made those choices and that, given the chance, I'd make the same ones all over again.

That realization was important, later on, when Hubders faced a long-term illness and money got even tighter. Although we knew that I may, at some point, have no choice but to enter the work force; together, we decided that until we couldn't even put those twenty-five cent boxes of macaroni and cheese on the table (yes, years ago you could by off-brand mac & cheese for a quarter), I wouldn't start looking for a job. Somehow, that day never came and I'm, happily, still at home preparing to send number six, my baby, off to kindergarten.

Although I may at some point get a job, I don't think I'll ever have a paid career. My past dreams of traveling, teaching in a school for the deaf, serving a full-time mission for my church, performing with impressive choirs, and writing gripping novels, all happily gave way to being a wife and mom. I'm entering a new stage of life now and I'm thinking about dusting off a few of those old dreams, but they will never mean as much to me as simply being a mom.

Motherhood and Red Faces

I've always loved the mispronunciations that inevitably come as my babes have worked to wrap their tongue around all the sounds needed for coherent speech. The whole family loved it when we heard Banana Girl calling the sacrament "the snackerment", or when she'd say, "It's thoggy outside!" (foggy). We were all very sad when Girlie Whirl quit saying naybe (maybe), and Book of Mornin'. She's still says "that really ignores me." (She means annoys). We've watched them, as they grow, self correct the cute idiosyncrasies in their speech with a wistful sigh, knowing that they're growing up and we'll never again hear those adorable misspeaks come out of their mouths.

I almost never correct my children's mispronunciations. I know that they'll figure it out eventually and in the mean time, it brings a smile to all of our faces every time they speak. The big exception: Tough Guy, our oldest, couldn't pronounce ketchup. His version started with kep and the second syllable started with and sh and ended with a t. Trips to McDonald's could very quickly turn into quite the embarrassing moment as my son's innocent attempts at getting the proper sauce to dip his fries in resulted in dirty looks from other mothers. (I'm exaggerating, it never actually happened like that, but there were times when I was embarrassed by it). I always did all that I could to anticipate his ketchup needs before he asked, and we worked diligently on his ketchup pronunciation.

I think that having our children do things in public that we wish others hadn't seen is a character building moment that our Father in Heaven built into parenthood on purpose. Surely, if God has all virtues in perfection (and I believe that he does), his perfect sense of humor has to enjoy it as he watches us deal with the public embarrassment that occasionally comes with child rearing. To say nothing of the nudge toward greater maturity that these experiences tend to give us. There's nothing that helps us to be less judgemental toward other parents actions, or lack thereof, than watching an unexpected, public misbehavior of our own child.

I confess, I don't have anyplace else that this post is going. Just some random thoughts brought on today by my sister's most recent post. If you're in the mood to laugh at an embarrassing mom moment, take a look at her latest.

http://eulessnotuseless.blogspot.com/2009/05/he-did-not-just-say-that.html

Do you have an embarrassing mom moment to share?

BTW, I wish I knew how to do that thing where you write something like: "You can read about it here" with the "here" being a different color that is a link to the post. Anyone know where I can go to learn to do that?

Surprise!

I've always loved surprises. I love the anticipation, the savoring and wondering, almost as much, and sometimes more, than the actual event/gift itself. Hubders could tell me exactly where my birthday present was hiding months in advance (this is obviously a hypothetical example, I can't quite imagine him actually purchasing a gift that early), and I would not be tempted in the least to peek. That would ruin the surprise. When Ruggles was in-utero (spell check won't help me spell that word!), the ultrasound obviously revealed, even to my untrained eyes, that we were about to welcome son number two into our family. It was interesting to me that the actual delivery was a bit of a let-down. Along with the joy and wonder of seeing him for the very first time, the absolute miracle of one so recently sent down from God, there was also a smidge of disappointment. Not disappointment that he was another boy, but that I already KNEW he was a boy. The surprise part of it had been taken from me. Not a huge deal really, but it was then that I realized how big I am on surprises.

My love of watching things unknown unfold at the proper time is a big part of why I love being a mom. To me, it's the most satisfying surprise of all to watch your children grow and develop into whoever it is they are in the process of becoming. I couldn't have guessed when I was in the throws of diaperdom and refereeing squabbles between my first three that Tough-guy was in process of developing such a love for his country that he'd put himself through the excruciating process of becoming a Marine and literally offer to lay down his life for his country. Or that Ruggles, who just wanted to play and would do almost anything to get out of work, would buckle in, save more than the entire $10,000 dollars needed to pay for his LDS mission and serve with all his heart in Thailand. Or that Sweetie, who is so innocent and pure that you felt you would always need to protect her, would be the first to go off to college half a continent away, and thrive there with a beauty and grace that is a joy to behold. What a lovely surprise this mothering thing can be!

My three younger children are still unknowns. Beautifully wrapped packages with only the corner opened. I still have most of the anticipation and excitement of their big reveal yet ahead. But occasionally I get another glimpse of what lies beneath the paper.

We just got back from visiting my parents on their mission. I absolutely love that after nine years of a twenty hour drive to see my mom, she's now only three hours away!!! Hubders, bless his heart, is simply letting me go whenever I want--not quite three months into their mission and I just came back from visit number three! This trip I took Bikey-boy and Banana-girl out of school so they could come too.

Grandma has generally made a hot breakfast, but she recently hurt her knee (surgery is probably in her near future), and so planned a breakfast of cold cereal. My family loves cold cereal, so this isn't a problem, but she only had the kinds of cereal that adults traditionally like. There wasn't a single choice that didn't have dried fruit of some kind in it. And to top it off, there was only skim milk, something my children have learned to drink in a glass, but are loathe to ever have on any cereal. Not four months ago, we had a protracted struggle at the breakfast table with ten-year-old Banana-girl because she accidentally poured skim milk on her cheerios. I let her know that we were not going to waste that bowl, it was perfectly good milk, not sour or anything, and she could eat it. Although she eventually did, it was NOT a fun morning. Bikey-boy and Girlie-whirl both like raisin bran, so I knew they would enjoy the meal, but I was thinking of how to help Banana-girl act appropriately about her breakfast options when she took the raisin bran, poured it in her bowl, topped it off with skim milk and pleasantly joined in the breakfast conversation as she proceeded to eat!!! She's certainly growing up! It was a lovely surprise!

Paradigm Shift

Occasionally, something happens that rocks your world, and nothing is quite the same. I think that’s just happened to me, in a good way. I’m still thinking over the ramifications, but I'm already seeing some impact in our family.

Last night Hubders was reading aloud to me. It was from the book titled: "Strengthening our Families: An In-Depth Look at the Proclamation on the Family". He read me an essay by Kristine Manwaring called: "My Home as a Temple"(pg. 94-96). As she recounted her frustration at her attempts to make her home a sacred place, I felt she had read my thoughts and put them down on paper

Excerpts from her essay are in a different font. The rest are my words.

"Only the home can compare with the temple in sacredness" the LDS Bible Dictionary (p.781)" She wrote about how she tried to make her home sacred like the temple (clean, orderly, quiet) and her frustration at her inability to make it so. She eventually started to resent some of the things homes are meant for (cooking and laundry, for instance) because they made messes. Even children coming home from school, resulted in more disarray. She said: "The harder I pushed my family to fit my narrow definition of sacred, the more anxious and less temple-like we all felt"

She came to realize that "the work of feeding, clothing and nurturing one another is every bit as spiritual as it is physical... that when ordinary, life-sustaining tasks are done together as a family, they bind family members to one another in small but critical ways. Tasks that had previously been viewed as "obstacles to sacredness" came to be seen as sacred, in and of themselves. The author came to understand that she doesn’t need to make her home sacred. "The sacredness is somehow already there."

Still quoting the essay:

"My husband and I no longer simply delegate chores to our children each day. We wash dishes and make beds alongside them. By doing so, we have been blessed with opportunities to teach our children and be taught ourselves with a frequency and a depth we previously never imagined...It is only when doing dishes together that my twelve-year-old son, who mostly speaks in monosyllables about his experiences at school, reveals who his friends are and why he has chosen them, the pressure he feels about his grades, how much he likes math, and what he thinks about his teacher. Paradoxically, what I previously labeled "mindless" and once thought of as interruptions to spiritual growth are becoming the core of what makes my home feel sacred."

There was more to her essay, but I’ve included here the parts that spoke the most intensely to my soul. Both Hubders and I changed some things in our interaction with our children today. The difference was immediate, tangible and sweet.

In the past, I’ve always looked at chores as something to finish as quickly as possible so that we can play and have some together time. I did chores with the kids only at first; to teach them how to do it. Once they understood how to perform a chore, they were pretty much on their own; they’d do their chores, while I did mine so that we could then go and do what we really wanted. I now realize that I’ve been going about it all wrong!!! A big part of our together time should be in the chores. So, this morning, I told Girlie-whirl that her and Mommy were going to fold her clothes and put them away together. We went upstairs and folded together. She talked to me about some things that happened in primary on Sunday and we giggled together as I kept tossing unders on her head. It only took about ten minutes, but they were ten of the sweetest minutes she and I had had for days (and we'd had some good ones). As we walked back downstairs, and I pondered what had just happened, I knew that those ten minutes had been sacred in a very real way.

Last night, after reading, Hubders said he felt he needed to start helping the kids with their before-dinner-jobs. So, while Girlie-whirl and I fixed dinner and Bikey-boy set the table, Hubders and Banana-girl emptied the dishwasher. Nothing earth-shattering happened, there was just a nice feeling as the whole family chatted and worked together. It was one of those moments that actually fit the song: "There is Beauty All Around, When there’s Love at home".

We’ll have to see where all of this leads, but my heart tells me, and the Spirit seems to affirm, that we’re on to something big and beautiful here.

Feel free to share if you have any thoughts, or experiences on the subject.

Hubders is a nut!

Sunday evening Girlie-whirl wanted to play hide and seek. The whole family joined in. I'm still, after 24 years, often surprised by Hubders off kilter view of things--even hide and seek!

This is a typical hiding place for him!

_______

And this!

Bikey-boys best hiding place was in the closet. I looked there, but I sure didn't see him! (of course, this picture was taken later--I could have found him if he was hiding like this--I'm quick, you see!)

Banana-girl started thinking like Dad. Hiding more in plain sight--It actually ended up being a good hiding place!

Girlie-whirl wanted to be just like Dad (and big sis!)

Just a simple family moment together--nothing profound or earth shattering, just the best!

My Hubders

Just a quick example of why I love my life with Hubders. Yesterday, Bikey-boy and Banana-girl were arguing as they were doing jobs. Hubders walked into the kitchen and with a stern voice, said, "Come here right now!" Looking cowed, they walked up to him. He then turned on his mp3 player and played a Monty Python sketch about arguing and abuse (VERY funny sketch, by the way). In no time at all, they were both laughing. Once the file was done, he didn't say a word, just walked off and they finished up their jobs, having completely forgotten what they were fighting about!!! He's amazing!!