Roughin' It

Two weeks prior to Memorial Day we had planned with some good friends and neighbors (who have four children that line up perfectly with our kids ages - except they have three girls and one boy) to go camping up the canyon. We drove up to pick a spot that wasn't covered with snow, and hoped it would warm up. The week preceding the long weekend it rained almost every day. We wanted the campout to work so badly, that neither one of us was willing to back down. (Even though both families admitted we probably should have, and sort of kind of wanted to, but didn't want to be the ONE to be the party pooper!) The kids were adventure enthusiasts, and so, amidst pouring rain, we set up our camp!

I didn't get a lot of pictures because it really was raining hard for a while. Things cleared up just before the night chill set in and we had some fun roasting all sorts of yummy food, puddle jumping, flashlight games, and just being together outside. It was also a nice treat after we got all the kids tucked in and somewhat asleep to just sit and chat around the fire with our friends.

In the end, we piled all twelve of us into our friend's pop-up camper. Their battery had died though, so we had no heat - except for our compiled body heat! But at least it wasn't our cold wet tent. We survived the freezing night and awoke to find that it had snowed! At this point we were running out of dry clothes for the kids, and positive attitudes for the adults. After voting the men out to start the fire, we had a hearty breakfast of cold cereal, roasted hotdogs, bagels, and marshmallows and started to pack up to go home.

That's when the paper people showed up: a reporter and photographer from The Chronicle. Apparently there was nothing newsworthy going on in our little town, and so they wanted to find out who was crazy enough to be camping in the snow. Our little crew of eight children under 9 made us entirely news worthy! The kids enjoyed being interviewed and were so excited to see the paper Sunday morning that tied our two families immortally together and made the best show and tell ever! We were a bit upset to see they didn't post a pic of ALL eight kids around that campfire (which I would have loved a copy of), but Mr. T was delighted to have his marshmallow highlighted, and Miss J was thrilled to be "quoted"! So now we are true Montanans! And have learned that you DON'T go camping on Memorial Weekend here!

How to Furniture Shop

Amidst our camping trip, we also made time to go furniture shopping this past weekend - hoping to sucker out some good Memorial day sales. In the end, we made out like bandits, and I'd like to share our tale.

Step one: Call all the furniture stores in town (not many here) and find out what deals they are offering (so you can finagle them lower or else let them know what others are offering).

Step two: Bribe your children with bubble gum. If they are well behaved in the first store, they get gum.

Step three: Bring the old laptop and a favourite DVD. The next few stores you go into, sit your kids on the comfiest couch, turn on the movie and roam worry-free.

Step four: Argue about furniture with your spouse. Ask about protection plans and post-furniture-shopping marriage therapy sessions.

Step five: Hand out more gum. Carry sleeping toddler to next store, put on movie from where you paused it. Have furniture consultants compliment your parenting and children.

Step six: Tell everyone you'll be back on Monday. Have them ask what it will take to get a deal made today. Tell them you're in no rush and will be back Monday.

Step seven: Move your current furniture together and after going crazy for a day, decide you DON'T want a sectional in your family room.

Step eight: Research material, stores, protection plans online.

Step nine: Return on Monday. Bring a second movie, more gum, and lots of information (enough to stump even the managers with). Listen through yet another detailed description of how leather goes from cow to couch.

Step ten: Find the perfect furniture for your family right now. Say you'll be back after lunch. Surprise the guy you're working with that you brought four children with you because they were so quiet and good that he hadn't even noticed them sitting on the couch in the front vegging out.

Step eleven: Find the couches you like the most on the internet for a grand cheaper and with quicker arrival dates. Pay through bing.com and get a percentage cash back AND a great Memorial day discount too.

Step twelve: Wait patiently for furniture to arrive... regret not taking any pictures of four kids on a couch being the best furniture shoppers EVER!

***for the record, the picture above is NOT the furniture we ended up purchasing

May I?

I feel like I have neglected this blog. It doesn't bother me so much as the fact that I have in turn neglected any writing or journaling at all. Sitting down at the computer to write is almost like a drug for me... and usually I am addicted. Lately life has gotten in the way. And that's a wonderful addiction in and of itself. It's remarkable to me to see that in the month of May I only had six posts! I'm not much for bullet posts, but as to keep my family and myself in the know, here's a brief synopsis of our month... so that I can fill my habit and continue onwards.

-my third child turned six and I still have to write his special birthday letter
-another pirate party under my belt - but our first time to have a pinata (per request of the birthday boy!)
-mothers day (how could I NOT have written about this special day?)
-my sister had a baby (her third child and second son!)
-we went to the opening ceremonies for our state's special Olympics
-we've been gardening, landscaping, weeding and even shoveling snow in all of our spare time
-we had a sick sick boy for almost 2 weeks, and even spent a day in the hospital having an IV and multiple tests including a spinal tap... not a fun time (he's better now by the way)
-I was called as Primary President again :)
-my childhood best friend and husband came for a spontaneous but very fun visit
-tball tball tball
-I had a small health issue that has caused for some unexpected pain and inability to exercise for a week - which makes me tired and a little crabby
-we went camping for our first time in our new state and woke up to snow... I promise to REALLY blog about this one!!! (pictures and newspaper article included...are you curious?!)
-school performances, field trips, projects, etc.
-we are finishing up homeschooling, and public school lets out next week
-starting to plan out our summer: the more organized I am, the more fun we will have!

And... because the Grandma's like pictures, no matter how random:

{my little waterer - with a net in his back, that looks like angel wings to me}

{hours and hours have been spent on the trampoline: rain or shine}

{the pinata - we told everyone to take one hit... after many turns each, we let Mr. Man loose on it}

{mud pie for my little guy}

{lots of lego building and playing}

{sidewalk paint and chalk fun}

{creating and playing four square}

{he THINKS he's stopped napping}

{Miss J and my childhood best friend}

And because I realized I have taken very few pictures of Mr. T lately, enjoy this lovely song:

Piano Practicing

Each morning there is a mad dash for the piano. My two eldest want to get their practicing done with as soon as is humanly possible. There have been punches and pinches I'm afraid, and ultimately an assignment of days of who gets to go first. Most mornings I awake to the trill sound of practicing and the reminder that I really do need to get that old piano tuned (since our move!) With three practicers, the piano playing continues well into our morning. Often we hear comments of "listen to me do it super fast" or "I can play this one with my eyes closed." Today was a new one, and it tops the charts. Little E hollered, "listen to me do it without the keys!" He then proceeded to sing the song, without the keys: with no piano accompaniment. That's a practiced talent for you.

Fever

My son has a fever. Not the regularly-fever-scheduled son, but Little E. He's rarely sick, so it seems so sad when he is. He's my one to curl up and go to sleep at the very break of an illness. I love that he is so in tune with his body. He's been throwing up too... not that there's much to throw up anymore, but he has like a 4 minute warning system where he walks over to me, taps me on the shoulder, calmly tells me he has to throw up, we walk slowly to the toilet together where he proceeds to do as he said. Who does that?! So while it's sad and breaks my heart, he is such a good little sickie.

Because of our family's history and experience with fevers, I admit I'm sort of interested in them. What a unique way for our bodies to attempt to neutralize whatever is attacking, weakening or infecting our bodies. It's a response that catches the attention of others, it forces us to rest and slow down, it makes us shiver and tense up, and causes confusion with the state of our body temperature. A fever forces treatment and also, if it persists, gives us reason to seek medical attention; to get the help we need.

A fever is a physical symbol, and I wonder at times what our emotional and spiritual symbols and responses are. We all struggle at different times, and often with those emotional and spiritual weakenings, we attempt to hide or disqualify the fact that we need help or need to rest and slow down. Other times it's apparent: a tantrum (and yes, grown ups have these too), a fit of crying, a total breakdown, or just the inability to act. It's easy to dismiss these responses as "low-grade" and inconsequential. But I'm sure you've all seen a low-grade fever last for days, or else spike at the least opportune time (for a physical fever, this is always at 3am). I hope that as we care for our bodies, we will also care for our inside selves. And watch for the symbols in ourselves, our families, and our friends. Sometimes a bath and a popsicle are helpful for things other than physical fevers.

We'll be taking it easy over here for a bit.

It was a "not a picnic" picnic

Saturday was one of our first gorgeous days here. Almost short weather.

After some yard-saling and Mr. Man installing a new alternator, we decided for an impromptu hike and picnic up in the mountains. A quick stop at the grocery store for some sandwich fillings, sunscreen applied, and we were off.
Just barely up into the mountains, around a bend and suddenly there were dozens of vehicles parked every which way on the narrow pass. The gate was closed. We were a day early. So we joined the other vehicles and parked and started walking. The hills were alive with the sound of music, and the whining of my two year old (who probably should have had an early nap). We made it about a half mile and then found a small bridge by the river to host our picnic.

Everything was delicious. The view and the sound of rushing water was more than relaxing. The tranquility was divine, lemonade was being sipped, when suddenly I heard a low growl. I dismissed it, but as it continued I looked around in every direction anticipating a bear. I asked Mr. Man if he heard it, and he had - it was him humming, which combined with the loud roar of the flowing river, made for a constant growling sound.

Of course the kids wanted to get as close to the river as possible. Which basically means "in" the river.





They cautiously climbed off the bridge and were going from rock to rock. While it was a nice day, there was also snow where we were, so the water was frigid.

They were jumping and getting a little daring when Mr. T fell in up to his chest. The water wasn't deep, but it was fast and cold. He started crying right away, and then we consoled him and talked him through climbing out, getting his wet clothes off and warming up.


Not minutes later Little E made a climb to a rather dangerous position and the water pushed him off and down. He was completely submerged. Mr. Man tried to talk him into standing up so the rushing current couldn't push him as easily. He stood and was muttering something incomprehensible, because he was so upset.
Finally it came out that he had lost one of his shoes... a floating hiking sandal. We spent the next little bit finding odds and ends of warm clothing in the bin in my van to warm up the freezing boys, as well as march up the river to see if we could rescue the shoe that was so important to Little E. A fisherman a mile down had seen it go by ten minutes before we arrived - it was a fast current. Little E was safe, even his glasses were unharmed, yet he remains steadfast on how he hates the river that stole his shoe. We thought about posting the remaining shoe on ebay: a shoe with a story, but it has seen better days and promptly found the trash can on our arrival home.


It was quite the adventure.

We finished the day with a long nap for The Toddler while the older kids attended a birthday party and Mr. Man and I worked on the ancestor wall. (It's not finished, but here's a sneak peek.)

Yesterday, the day the gate opened, we returned to pick out a campsite for Memorial weekend. It will take more than a closed gate, potential bear growls, snow, and a shoe-robbing current to keep us away.

A Birth Story

A few short weeks after I birthed my second baby I suffered from mastitis. As I was in the throes of fever and hot flashes, I hallucinated that our small apartment was filled to the brim with infant car seats – containing infants. I recovered from my infection quite quickly, but the visions of babies did not cease. I could often clearly see these babies, so clearly, that I would ask Mr. Man if he too could see them. He couldn’t. He suggested I was over-tired. I was. But I also had a huge desire and craving for another baby.

Soon the visions ceased, and I found myself with a toddler, a newborn and pregnant.

Much transpired during that pregnancy. That baby never met my dear Opa, but brought me much comfort as I bid my final farewells and then shook with agony at his funeral barely able to toss a flower onto his lowered coffin.

Having had a c-section and an induction, I had never gone into labor on my own. I was dilated to a five for almost two weeks prior to my delivery, and so I waited to know when (at any moment) the time was ripe and ready for my new little one to make his entrance.

One night, after hours of somewhat regular contractions, we made our way to the hospital. I was measured and monitored and sent on walks around the corridors, but of course the contractions stopped upon arrival to my sanctuary of deliverance. We were sent home still pregnant.

The next day was spent running to and fro. My little sunbeam had a primary activity, my visiting mother and I had a lunch date, and we finalized several errands, hoping there would be little time left to complete anything last minute. When Mom suggested we go to Russell Stovers for chocolate of some sort or another and I declined, it was my first inclination that something was not normal. We hurried through Michaels – another sign. And I just wanted to be home in my rocking chair. Mr. Man took the two kids to a cousin’s birthday party, while my Mom and I stayed put watching “Cheaper by the Dozen” and timing contractions. Seven minutes apart. Five minutes apart. Three minutes apart.

Mr. Man came home, the kids were tucked in, and I was struggling. I was now laboring in the bathtub, breathing hard and screaming for him to come when the hard contractions hit. My Mom was nervous and constantly asking, “shouldn’t you guys head to the hospital now?” It was the day before Mother’s Day, and Mr. Man still had preparations to make. He hurried to the grocery store and, I believe, the florist as well. When he came home, I inquired about our departure as well. Mr. Man always makes me lasagna for Mother’s Day, and he had noodles to boil. In between layers, he ran to the tub or wherever I had wandered to stop and pant. Finally there was bleeding, a call made to the doctor, and we grabbed our bags and relieved my mother of her anxiety. I didn’t realize at the time, but apparently Mr. Man was still worried that we would once again be sent home, and really didn’t feel like being embarrassed once again.

On the drive to the hospital the contractions were less than a minute apart.

I was gritting, and squinting and barely able to breathe when we arrived and as they hooked me up to an IV Mr. Man finally believed that this may actually be it. When they checked me and I was a nine, we knew the time had come. Less than an hour and a half later, I was almost ready to push my little one out into the world when suddenly his heart rate dropped drastically. The seconds that followed were fleeting, but full of meaning for me. As I watched the heart monitor religiously, I saw and accepted that my time with this child may actually be coming to an end. I ached, I mourned and I acknowledged that my baby was going to die. As soon as I turned him over to the Lord, the doctor and nurses rushed in and with the help of modern medicine took that baby from me. He was removed from inside me, to be placed in my arms. Alive.

Birth is a miracle.

We both suffered from infections, but with no lasting effects.

I held my new little one and offered prayers of gratitude for that sacred privilege. It was, I believe, the best Mother’s day gift I could ever hope to receive.

Of course, Mr. Man brought me my lasagna in the hospital. And that seemed pretty wonderful as well. I can’t believe that baby is about to turn six, the day before Mother's Day.

The Bread of Life

I strongly believe that new mothers need all the help and support they can get - whether it's their first baby or fifth. Having gone through severe postpartum depression, and also some wonderful new mother experiences, I know how much a meal, a call of concern, and even a pile of laundry done and folded can help. I try to do what I can for the new moms around me, because it's usually easy to do, but I remember the impact.

Lately we've been making a few extra meals to dole out and it's interesting to me how much my children are impacted by this. Little E keeps asking "WHY" we have to be so kind, and not quite understanding why someone who has a new baby would need a meal. I explained the utter exhaustion, the mix-up between night and day and he still doesn't quite get the whole newborn tiredness. Someday he will. Miss J has delighted in making cookies to give. But yesterday was the first time Mr. T got involved.

The receiver wasn't a new mother this time, but an older woman who had undergone some rather evasive tests and not so friendly health issues. When I mentioned this to him, it seemed to hit home for him and he right away understood that we needed to bring her dinner. He helped with most of the preparation for the soup we were making, but his real participation was in the bread. He made french bread all by himself. When it got down to rolling out the two loaves, I showed him how with one, and he did the other all by himself. Next he painted them carefully with egg yolk, sprinkled sesame seeds on and baked them. He was so proud of his loaf, and wanted to be sure that we kept the one I rolled out, but gave the one he made all by himself. It turned out beautifully and smelled divine.

When it was time to deliver, I left the other three kids in the car so as not to overwhelm, but Mr. T walked up holding his loaf with the biggest smile I've ever seen. He told them he had made the bread, and was congratulated for his help, so I inserted that he really had done it all by himself for his first time. French bread is apparently a favourite in their home, and he was thanked profusely. He also got to witness pain, and recognize the gift and relief he was giving. Their last name was written on a wooden plaque outside their home, and Mr. T repeated it on the way home, so excited that he had made bread for them. He could not stop smiling and could not get over how good he felt. Even Little E noticed, and asked "Do you REALLY feel good inside?" Mr. T delivered an optimistic response and Little E then turned to me asking, "Can I help make the bread next time?"

Of course. That's what life is all about.

In The Midst

I've been all about new and scary (for me) adventures lately.

I met with an advisor, had my health screening, got a new student id, jumped through a bunch of hoops, registered for classes [sigh], and I even voted for my first time last night.

All in the midst of the constancy of my regularly scheduled life.

Every time I'm on campus I have butterflies. It's nerve-wracking but also a sort of addicting reaction. I can't stay away.

Voting was sort of a let-down. They didn't even need my fresh off the press voters card OR identification of any sort - tell me is this legal? It was just a small election, and I attended the information night, read up on the facts and was ready to vote. I took Miss J with me and the milestone was unfortunately anything but monumental. No butterflies per say. It will be interesting to see the results of the election, since everyone else voting with me had to be at least twice my age and probably had no clue about the education policies that were being voted upon, or else no longer care about elementary schools.

I'm excited for this new adventure of going back to school, but also scared to death. While it goes against any motivational thought and quote, I would much rather not try than try and fail. But I'm going to try and I hope I'll succeed... because I am tired of just having a bunch of credits under my belt. It's about time I earn a degree. In the fall I'll be taking math and physics - so help me! I'm going to need boosts now and again, I'm most likely going to cry now and again, and I really am going to need a huge support system cheering me on, never once questioning that I can make it. So if you think I can't do it, don't tell me, and don't even talk to me about my schooling. I don't need any other doubts than my own.

Recently

Kids say funny things, and I always think in the moment that I'll remember them... and then I don't. I used to be better at recording these. Here's some of the fun things my kids have said and done recently.

The weather has demanded we have a sit by the fire in our comfy clothes and watch a movie kind of day... just started it and Little E informed me as the previews began, that "This isn't the movie, it's just a P-Q." The Toddler then added, "and then the R-S-T-U-V Mommy." Love them.

In the car ride to school the morning the kids were discussing how there had been a car pulled over by a police officer in the school zone yesterday. All had various tid-bits to add: the car was red, the police officer had a gun, and surprisingly IT WAS A LADY DRIVER. I spoke up for my gender as the three boys (one neighbor) insisted that it was such a shock that a lady would be speeding. "Why, don't women drive fast?" They were appalled, "No!" "Never!" My neighbor had many a story of his dad speeding; none of his mother. It made me laugh, and sort of want to drive fast.

The other night Mr. T came up to me, dressed from head to toe in pirate gear and asked, "Be this the Irish Main, or Bora Bora?" Cracked me up. He remained serious and asked me a second time. I told him, laughing hard, to hold still while I got the camera! (I had just been cleaning out the Harry Potter closet - toy disaster - and had pulled out all the dress-up which became the new obsession of the night! Crazy kids!)

Enough Already

It's almost May...

... I'm considering hibernating.

Parenthood

About two months ago I was having a really fabulous time parenting, and was feeling a bit proud of how smoothly it was all going.  I admit, I even had thoughts (crazy thoughts, yet thoughts nonetheless) about writing a book about parenting, specifically parenting elementary school-age kids.  I felt like a lot of what we were doing as a family was working, and that I, in fact, had some valuable secrets I could share.  I think that as these thoughts fluttered by, the good Lord thought it a perfect opportunity to put some parenting trials in my way.  In the last couple of months I feel like I have had some real parenting struggles thrown in my way from every child, direction, and form possible.  It has not been pretty.  And gone are any semblance of knowledge of parenting secrets, instead I've struggled as a mother and questioned much of my parenting.  This is hard work people.

Last week was a killer, especially as I deal with the dreaded disease of "lying."  We've got bad words coming out of little mouths, mean things being spoken, problems at school, and just overall not getting along.  Especially me and my daughter.  Seriously.  I've had a few days where Mr. Man has had to do the honors of tucking in because I just couldn't stand being around someone who had just said such hurtful things about me or treated me the way she had.  Sounds bad, I know.  I decided eons ago that I would never let my feelings get hurt by a child, and suddenly kaboom... I've allowed myself to be hurt.  Parenting hurts.

In the midst of trying to not feel like a complete failure, I have also been working on letting go.  And in all of life's recent parenting dilemmas, I've enjoyed the small escape that comes in watching the new show "Parenthood."  I am not a big TV watcher, but this one has been fun.  Made me cry, made me giggle, made me NOT look forward to EVER having teenagers!  You need to watch ALL of the previous episodes!  Last night's episode featured lying - which is what I needed.  It also posed the question, "What's a mother's biggest problem?" and answered it with "daughters."  And I needed to know I wasn't alone in those feelings.  And I needed to laugh and let go. 

So, any suggestions on books dealing with parenting elementary school age children?

"If you can't say something nice, don't say nothin' at all"

Have you ever been told this?  Ever heard yourself remind another?

I grew up with a father who instilled in us to think before we spoke.  We should ask ourselves three questions about what we want to say: 1) Is it kind?  2) Is it true?  3) Is it necessary?

I obviously sucked at this, because I have pages and pages of weekly goals where THIS was the goal.  I'm not sure I've improved either.  I do try.  I hear those questions in my mind quite frequently... does that count?  Often I can comply with one or two of the recommended screenings, I often have true and necessary statements, and I pretty much have "TRUE" under my belt without any problems.  But I'm starting to wonder if these restrictions are necessary in life.  As I try to teach my children to be polite, I also want to teach them to stand up for themselves and speak their minds.  Not always a kind thing to do.  When I look at politicians or leaders around us, I rarely see those questions being thought out before mouths are opened.  Do we need to disregard the "nice" rule in order to get somewhere in the world?  Do I want my children to be slaughtered and disregarded, but simultaneously known as the "nice kid"?  I'm racking my brain as I try to figure out what I want to instill and enforce. 

I also had a moment recently where I was definitely the villain when it comes to the spoken word.  We had a mishap with a missing helmet at school.  A storm was coming, and I was rushing the "loser" (referring to the act of losing the bike helmet, not my feelings towards the individual at the time of course... that wouldn't be nice) to look again so that we could bike home, or else we would have to leave the bike and just use our legs to get home.. quickly.  That child of mine went back and looked in the spot they were SURE they had left the helmet, convinced that SOMEBODY had stolen it.  So then we checked the lost and found.  It was starting to rain by now.  A neighbor boy happened upon our predicament and stated that he has seen the lost helmet in the playground during recess and that kids had been kicking and playing with it.  He was sure that the "loser" had left the helmet out front at the start of school and forgotten to put it in the cubby that it had presumably been stolen from.  My child was adamant that the neighbor was lying and that this couldn't be possible since it had for sure gone to the cubby.  I forced my child to go look where the neighbor boy had said, while the sad neighbor boy tried to convince me that he REALLY was telling me the truth.  He was so sad, I told him that of course I believed what he was saying and then admitted that my child wasn't very responsible so I really believed what he was saying about the helmet being left out.  Well a child who must be friend's with my child overheard and yelled at me that my child was too responsible!  I felt awful.  Admitted that my child really was responsible, but just wasn't in this case.  It started hailing at this point.  The helmet had been left outside just as the neighbor boy had said. So what I said was true.  Just not kind or really necessary. 

Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut.

Landing

I'm understanding more and more why it's called "the landing"...

Long Day

{3:00pm}

Overheard

Little E:  "I'm going to be a cowboy when I grow up.  I already decided.  And I'm going to have tons of horses."

Miss J: "I'm going to be an ordinary person but I'm going to have horses too."

Little E:  "What kind of person are you going to be?"

Miss J:  "Ordinary.  Like normal.  But I'm going to have horses just like Jameson does.  He has lots of horses, and I'm going to too."

Little E: "After I'm a cowboy I'll be a normal person too... with horses."

Rejection

I really didn't date a lot in high school.  At times I wanted to.  But that's a whole journal full of stories and feelings.  I remember one crush in particular.  He was shorter than I was, which wasn't a difficult task given my daunting height at an early age, he had long curly hair, and he was from France.  I was enthralled.  I had gone to French immersion schools until high school, and so while I was in tenth grade, my homeroom was and OAC, or grade thirteen French class (we used to have grade thirteen in my province when I was in high school).  This put my locker right beside this boy, who I hoped would think I too was in grade thirteen.  I was also well beyond my class in my French speaking ability and was often matched up with The Boy from France to work together in class.  To make a long crush story short, I was sure he was going to ask me out any time.  I waited for notes to be slipped in my locker, waited for him to utter romantic French whisperings during class, waited for him to ask for my phone number.  After a while, I grew tired of waiting and anxious to see him smile at me more often, and so I confidently asked him out myself.  He made a small joke which I tried to understand, and he walked away leaving me standing there stunned and confused.  He was a low-talker, and I couldn't be sure I had heard him right, and if I had... what had it meant?  So I asked again.  This time he told me he had a girlfriend.  I felt jaded.  Suddenly out of nowhere was this girl, and he was with her constantly.  They ate lunch together, she was at his locker with him... how had I never noticed her before?  It was a memorable rejection.  There was no, "it's not you, it's me" but more like "it can't be you, I already chose sombody else."  And, in my mind, I felt he was choosing someone who was better than me (because she had him) and so in being rejected I was somehow less than I had been before; worse off, not as hopeful or confident, and still without a boyfriend.

Yesterday I got a letter in the mail.  For the first time in my post-secondary education I didn't get a scholarship.  At first I was shocked.  I wrote a captivating essay, I had two of the most amazing and brilliant people write me incredible letters of recommendation, and I felt that I really deserved at least one of the five scholarships I had applied for.  And yet here was this letter, informing me that candidates had been chosen and I wasn't one of them.  After the shock wave blew over, I felt sad and dissapointed.  A little bit of my hope and confidence shaken, and more than mediocre.  Humbled really.  Little E was with me when I read the letter and seeing my reaction asked what it was about.  I read him the letter and explained it to him and he patted my shoulder and told me I could try again next year and get it (the letter encouraged trying again as a returning student).  Maybe I will.  For now, I feel a little like a tenth grader trying to get an older boy to notice me, giving it my all, and then being rejected. 

On the Way

We went to the library today. I hate our library.

But we had books to return and books on hold and more books to search and find.

On the way there, Little E was flipping through a book which was basically a body encyclopedia. (We recently finished a body unit in school.)

He was really quiet and suddenly announced, "I'm glad I'm not a girl."

"Why's that?" I asked, smiling, and curious as to his answer and reasoning.

He didn't skip a beat: "I just read how a baby comes out of a mother and I think that it would really hurt. I'm glad I never have to have a baby."

So now he knows. Of course, since I love giving birth I gave him my little spiel about how amazing an experience it is, so empowering, like when you do something really hard and then you feel good about yourself and the reward you get for doing something difficult. He mostly ignored me and kept reading. And I thought, this is why I did it. I have a little boy who can read and think and communicate. And while I'm okay with the fact that he's glad he's not a girl, I think he'll make a really good husband and father one day.  And knowing it hurts will only help that.


We got books about weather and Greek mythology today.  Should lend for safer discussions.

Family Devotionals

7:15am is when our family gathers for family devotional.  Over the years the time has been altered to meet our varied schedules, and our devotionals have changed and evolved tremendously over the years as well.  Because I am an idea thief, and believe strongly that we parents need to stick together, support each other in our roles and share our techniques and ideas that WORK, I thought I would share what has been working for us.

As I mentioned, we've gone through several different "types" of devotionals.  From learning about and memorizing The Articles of Faith, reading scriptures together, using different manuals and books (such as the new nursery manual: Behold Your Little Ones) to our current "system."  Right now we are reading the Old Testament - the King James version, no picture version, the real thing, and it's going really well.  The older kids are enthralled. We read at night before we tuck everyone in, so in the morning we've been doing some fresh fun daily devotionals.  On Monday's we learn about a song and sing it from this book: 

It's been fun to read about what the composers were trying to do and how they came about writing the lyrics and music for these songs.  Plus the illustrations are beautiful and are inspiring and really invite a special spirit with the music.  Tuesdays we read a story from The Friend magazine.  Wednesdays we draw some cards from the game "Who said" and hear some scriptural quotes and try to guess who said it.  This requires everyone bringing their scriptures down and usually has us all laughing and having a good time quoting and guessing.  Thursdays somebody shares a favourite scripture with the rest of us, having the night before to prepare.  Fridays we have a feature film and watch one of the many wonderful clips that can be found on lds.org... again these get us thinking and talking well into breakfast.

I don't think it matters so much WHAT a devotional entails, but just that it happens.  I love our devotionals, because as crazy as our mornings may be, we have a few quiet peaceful moments together as a family, and a time to gather and pray together before we rush out into our separate days.  Having a "system" or a daily plan has worked well for me right now because it takes little to no planning and preparation.  I've done other devotionals where I was literally spending a half hour the night before getting ready for a five or so minute lesson.  Right now that's not an option for me, and so I'm grateful to have found this pace and this practical format that WORKS for us.

Ancestor Wall

In my church we are encouraged to do family history work, or genealogy.  Mr. Man is a saint when it comes to this.  He spends a lot of time digging and researching until he finds names, dates and places.  And he loves it to no end.  Finding out about your family is fulfilling. 

I have taken the command to do my family history differently.  My Oma has got us back to close to Eve (jesting, but far anyways) and my Dad takes his side as seriously as does Mr. Man.  I'm not sure if I would be the one to spend hours on end researching even if it wasn't being done by other family members.  Instead, I love collecting the stories. 

Perhaps it's the writer and reader in me, but the stories are what I feel tie me to these ancestors.  The names are hazy, the dates a complete and utter blur - but I love the stories.  A few years ago I compiled journals from Opa and made a book for family members for Christmas.  I included pictures and loved hearing about his childhood and remembrances.  I think it was a wonderful gift.  I try very hard to call Oma at a designated time each week so that we can chat... but I am always sitting at my computer typing away as she recalls her memories and stories to me.  It's almost too easy to get her talking!  I've also collected almost all of our family member's "love stories"  (on both sides) and I hope these will be a precious legacy of love for future generations. 

But now on to my next project!  I have been collecting pictures of ancestors and also finding old frames (or else making new ones look older and antique-y) and am just about ready to get all these people (and with them their stories and lives) up on my wall.  We painted our front room this weekend and now the pictures are preparing to go up above my piano.  I look forward to pointing out the faces to my children and sharing their stories.

For me, this is what family history is all about.

Spring Fling

Check out what my non-crafty self put together on a particularly snowy day this spring. 

Yup.  I even used a, gasp, glue gun, to make those eggs.  And I traced and cut out those letters myself.  No cricut (I wish) involved.  Did you know Easter and Spring have the same amount of letters?  Doesn't Easter sound much longer?  Anyways, I went with "Spring" since it will be in season longer AND to sort of invite it into our home.  We're growing  herbs in those pots, and the kids even had bets for which would sprout first, and now for which will grow the tallest.  They're up high to keep safe from the evil cat, and because the window sills are too close to the windows, which are too close the the frozen tundra outside.  THINK SPRING.

Seriously?!

I went into my nine going on sixteen daughter's underwear/sock drawer the other day to retrieve a pair of socks for her friend who had soggied hers up on the trampoline.  Later, when the realization that I had actually gone into said drawer hit her, Miss J turned to me and said, blushing, "Mom, I can't believe you actually WENT into my underwear drawer, that is like so embarrassing!"  I told her I hadn't even noticed any underwear and went straight for the socks, but I was thinking: "WHO THE FREAK DO YOU THINK WASHES AND FOLDS YOUR UNDERWEAR?"

To My Easter Baby

To my son, on your birthday

Mr. T, this is such a good thing for me to be forced to sit down and think about you and how you have grown and changed in the last year. I hate to say it, but lately you’ve been driving me crazy and I have found myself focused on many of your negative traits and habits. And yet, now as I sit here reflecting on the fine boy that you are, they seem so miniscule in comparison. First, know that I love you. All of you; the good and the bad no matter what.

It’s crazy to me that one short year ago you were home with me, a small kindergartner, and now you are approaching the end of first grade. You have done remarkably well in school, and have impressed both your teacher and your parents. While your grades are outstanding, so has been your effort (as you work hard for your zeros) and you are one of the nicest little boys. I love hearing about how you succeed so diligently at your secret missions, and then go out of your way to stay in for recess with the little boy who can’t go out, or play slowly and more nicely to another child who needs that kind of friendship. I cannot believe how many friends you have made in the short time we have lived in our new town. Walking home from school with you, or going to the park, means that dozens off children of all genders and ages will call out your name and smile and wave at you, and I know that it is because you have done the same (if not more) to them. Despite the many friends you have made from being friendly, you have also found a really strong friend base. You know who those boys are. And I’m happy for you and proud of you. These boys come from great homes, they are wonderful influences, and I hope you will continue to “hang” with them for many years to come.

It’s been fun to watch you trying new things. From football to wrestling, you are willing to give your best, though it breaks my heart to see you literally aching when you fail or fall. You are still my little sensitive boy, and I only encourage you because I know you can succeed at so many things, and I know it is best to learn about failure while you can still be loved and held and learn to boldly bear it. One of your greatest loves, I’m afraid to admit, is video games, and it’s amazing what sort of achievements you will make, jobs you can do, and books you will read to gain tickets for screen time. Lego is another great love. I’m pretty sure that is ALL you asked for and received for your birthday this year! And I think it’s all over your room pretty much always as well. You have a great imagination and love to play for hours with your legos or with your friends inside or outside.

You’ve recently become much better at piano. It’s like it just hit you and suddenly you are passing off songs like nothing else. I think you’re enjoying it too, though you make practicing seem like it hurts – but what little boy (or girl for that matter) doesn’t? You are also a huge gamer and will do anything to drag anyone into a heated game of RISK or The Great Museum Caper with you. And goodness know you are good. And sneaky. Dad and I often worry about your shady future, with your sneakiness combined with your huge obsession with large sums of money. Please don’t rob any banks in the future, okay. Another trait of yours is the singing while reading… you SING all the words you read from books, signs, homework… you crack me up funny boy, and maybe that’s the point.

We’ve had a sick winter at our home, it seems, and you’ve stayed the healthiest. I really feel the miracle of your health. Watching you run faster than many of the other children your age just about makes me cry. You are doing so well, and I hope you know the many prayer and tears that this Mom has had over you; you are so blessed. And boy howdy have you gotten tall! You are wearing size 8 pants now and I can hardly keep up with you! And speaking of pants, I’m not sure exactly what six and seven year old boys play to get so many holes in their pants, but I’m awfully glad you think dark patches on your jeans are cool, cause I’ll keep ‘em coming as fast as you keep bring home holes. Not sure if anything will get passed down to your brothers though.

Speaking of which, you are a great brother. You get to be a little brother and a big brother, and I love watching you fill those respective roles. Each of your siblings adore you and fight for time with you, begging to have sleepovers with you or play wii with you or be read (sung) to by you. You are a wonderful person to have in our family, and I’m so glad I get to be your Mom.

I think we’ll have a better day tomorrow now that I’ve focused and reminded myself how wonderful you are… and I’ll just ignore the many hiding places and stashes of toys and clothes you have left around the house, or how you snuck the allowance money out of my money jar. Because one day, not too many years from now, these annoying trifles will be done away with and you will be gone, and I’ll wish for today.

Happy birthday son.

Love, Mom