His Heroine, Frances

Today, admiring friends, family, and LDS church members will gather at Temple Square to remember the life of Frances J. Monson, wife to the current president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Thomas S. Monson.



I am writing about her today @ Segullah. To be honest, I didn't know much. But the last couple days I've been reading and marveling. Details in the article. 

Mostly, I am astounded by the steady, constant, uncomplaining support she has been all these years to her husband. I loved the way her daughter described her strength, her skill, and her sense of humor. All underpinned by her purposeful choice to stand outside the spotlight.

We can learn much from her.

And for those of you who aren't familiar with the leadership of the LDS church. This is one facet of doctrine that sets us apart from all other faiths. We believe in a modern-day prophet. A man, called of God, to impart God's word, just like Moses, Noah, or Abraham in ancient times. A man for current issues, who devotes his life to serving the people of the earth, teaching truth, and standing as a beacon in dark places. The LDS Church has been led by a prophet since it's restoration in 1830 by Joseph Smith, and our current prophet is President Monson. (Don't you love this photo of them? So young and vibrant.)

I was taught as a young girl to trust the living prophets - that there would be great safety and guidance for me if I did. And I can tell you, that wisdom has proved true. I know my life (and the lives of my family) has been blessed by listening to their counsel.

Funeral services for Sister Monson can be viewed today at 12:00 PM, MDT via lds.org.

Happy Smother's Day!

So I was sitting in "the special chair," opening gifts on Sunday, when Gordon proudly handed me his card. With one hand firmly on his hip, his chest puffed out and feet spread wide like superman, he announced with gusto, "Happy Smother's Day, Mom!"



I burst out laughing. Wasn't sure if he was trying to be funny, or if it accidentally came together that way. But whatever the derivation, "Smother's Day" has been the giggle of the week. Sigh... it still makes me laugh.

And it's appropriate, don't you think? What Mom doesn't want to be smothered with hugs, kisses, and notes, at least one day of the year? 

And that's exactly what happened.

The kids were kind enough to wrap my favorite treats. (Love root beer, but I've never tried root beer float gum. We'll see how that tastes...) Doug and I are the only people I know who haven't seen Les Mis. Finally, we can remedy that. I loved the home-made cards with handprints and marker drawings, and the daisy bouquet from Doug.

Friday before Mother's Day a surprise package arrived from my friend Saydi, who lives in Boston. Inside were all kinds of crafts and projects for the kids, some cd's for Eliza, and a copy of an essay that accompanied this beautiful print Saydi had placed in a frame. It is one of William Blake's artistic plates from his Book of Urizen (circa 1796). It is called Teach These Souls to Fly.



In college, I was fascinated by Blake's mix of art and poetry. I loved Songs of Innocence and Experience. But I'd never seen this plate before.

It's been floating around the blog world lately. Shawni @ 71 Toes gave it a shout-out (Saydi's sister), but I didn't have time to read about it. Saturday night, however, I sat down on the couch, artwork next to me, and read Lia Collings essay. It comes from this book. (For a chance to win a copy, visit Saydi's blog.)

Lia begins with a train ride across the German countryside, her baby in her lap. As they bump along, her sister hesitatingly asks, "Why would anyone want to be a mom? How do you bear the monotony... no matter what you try to do, you have these kids in the way?!"

The question shocked Lia. But she tried to understand. When she recovered, she responded with the usual platitudes, but the sincerity in her sister's voice troubled her. She thought on the question for months. Sometimes we don't consider how motherhood might look from the outside. How we might look. How dissatisfying it might appear. 

This plate by Blake provided an answer. Lia writes,

"The beige muscles swelling across the mother's back inspired my admiration first. A woman with such strength could perform any labor she chose. Yet the curve of her shoulder introduced a steady softening that ended in a touch on the child's elbow. I saw the same combination of force and persuasion in the look she gave her child. This mother seemed in the same instant both to command and to invite, to compel and to persuade. I found the odd trajectory of the mother's flight as intriguing as the paradoxes of her person. The was definitely flying - that was clear by the way her robes hugged her body before swirling away. But her torso twisted back toward her child."

She continues to explain how someone like her sister might only see the woman as hampered and restrained. "What heights could such a woman not have attained, had she been free to pursue the course she had started?"

But to Lia, this mother was using her reserves, her capacities and abilities, not just for herself, but to elevate her child. To teach her child how to fly alongside her.

Oddly enough, the child stared, not at his mother, but toward her. Blankly. 

"While his mother seemed wholly devoted to some noble end, the child appeared merely present. This child flew only because his mother pulled him, but like most children, he seemed oblivious to what his mother did for him."

As I read more and examined the painting, I thought of all the flexing, bending, lifting and guiding we do as mothers. How we are always curving toward our children. How it is hard sometimes to keep them afloat, to make sure they are equipped for both success and struggle. Lia observes that the painting is not particularly beautiful or technically impressive, but the longer she looked at it, the more she responded to it.

I had a similar reaction. As I thought of my children. And then my own mother, and what she set aside to raise six children. She set aside some dreams. Some desires she wanted to pursue. But instead, funneled all her energy into teaching us how to fly. 

Me with my Mom. Mother's Day 1977.



Mother's Day 2013. My Mom with Eliza.

A couple months ago we took two dozen daffodils to my Mom. As part of Daffodil Days. Each year Doug buys dozens of daffodils (first flower of Spring) to support the American Cancer Society. We give them to friends and family who have been touched by cancer.



This summer will mark five years since my Mom was diagnosed with her second brain tumor. Treatments and surgery, to our astonishment, have left the tumor dormant. Currently, it is not changing or growing and she is enjoying a wonderful life. Smothered by grandchildren who love her.



I know I've said this before, but I am grateful every day my kids have the chance to know her, learn from her, hug her.

A belated Happy "Smother's" Day to all you devoted women who are teaching souls to fly. 

My favorite quote for the week? 

"Life doesn't come with an instruction manual. It comes with a mother." 

Keep flying. Keep teaching. Keep living for those you've been given. You are doing a work no one else can. You are elevating souls.

Come Sighing and Singing - BYU Women's Conference

It's pretty remarkable to sit in a crowd like this, surrounded by thousands of believing women, all gathered together to learn from each other. 



If you could zoom in, you'd see me, Michelle, and Breanne, sitting on the floor of the Marriott Center, second row back, as we listened to the opening session. About this time Doug texted me to say he forgot to pack Eliza's lunch and was wondering where the girls' money was (the money they made selling lemonade) because he didn't have any cash to run over to the school. I had to laugh. Pilfering from the girls. And poor Eliza. I forgot her lunch the day before. 



BYU Women’s Conference was a tremendous experience, an honor to participate. The theme came from the 100th section of the Doctrine and Covenants (an additional book we consider part of our canon of scripture).



And these are the beautiful ladies I spoke with. Breanne Meline on the left, Michelle Logan in the middle. Aren't they radiant? At some point, I'd like to share with you some of their thoughts. They have been mothering much longer than I have. They are wise, down to earth, devoted and happy. One of the greatest blessings of this experience was getting to know them. 

Breanne is a mother of 7 (!) and lives here in Utah. Her oldest just received an LDS mission call to Philadelphia. Her youngest is 4. It was Breanne who carried us along the last few months. She didn't doubt for one minute that the three of us could pull this off, despite our busy families. She trusted completely that the Lord would aid us, and He did. I appreciated her optimism so much. 

Michelle is a mother of 6 children, ranging from ages 1 - 14. She lives in California, near Berkley. Michelle and I hung out together most the morning, talked about all sorts of parenting issues and joys. She is already managing the teenage years and in my opinion doing it so well, discussing hard issues, remaining open and accessible. She is brilliant, compassionate, and I loved being with her.

(We didn't coordinate our outfits. Promise. But when I met Breanne at 6:45 am, I had to laugh. We looked so... matchy-matchy. And looking at this photo reminds me that I need help styling my hair. My sides are winging out. My curls aren't curling. I think my hair is suffering from hormonal changes. How's that for a shallow observation?)



Here are my parents and two of my sisters (Deb and Bec). Doug had already left to pick up our kids from various friends saints who were willing to babysit.

These are some of the wonderful women from my neighborhood who came to offer support. Wish I had a picture of them all. They filled the first two rows of the auditorium. And when I saw their faces, along with other friends and my family, my heart slowed right down and I began to breathe. I thought, These are my friends and family. I can talk to them. Suddenly the concert hall didn't feel so big, I forgot about the balcony above me, and just focused on them.

Another comforting face. My cousin Cami. Whatever you're doing, you want her on your team. She is the greatest cheerleader ever. 

It was humbling to have so many people I love and care about in the same room.

This snapshot shows a little more of Breanne's personality. She spoke about the joy of raising children and isn't it obvious, she would be a fun mom! 

Despite the glitches we had with our tech run-thru in the early morning, the presentation came together. (Thanks to Brad, the stage manager who loaded all our media onto his personal laptop). 

I enjoyed being there. I felt grateful. I learned some wonderful truths. And now I'm happy to have my head back in the mommy-game again, glad to think on new things, clean house, care for my kids.

Some of you requested a copy of my talk. So I'm posting it here, which I figure will be easier than sending out emails. And I've added a few extra pictures.

I've been thinking a lot about all you mothers, and the great work you are doing in your homes. You are amazing. And to those of you who came that day, thank you. 



BYU Women's Conference May 2013

Mothering Young Children
Catherine K. Arveseth

Come Sighing and Singing to the Lord

My Dad is a devoted reader of the Sunday funnies. One day he handed me a Baby Blues cartoon that showed a brother and sister fighting loudly over the same toy. Mom appears on the scene and in big, bold letters yells, “THERE WILL BE NO MORE YELLING IN THIS HOUSE!” Immediately she turns from her children and says, “I just yelled that. I broke my own rule. I’m putting myself in time-out.” She grabs hold of her own arm and marches herself out of the room, still talking. “Yep. No more parenting for me for one hour.” Her absence leaves the kids silent until one says, “For a mom she can be pretty creative.” Then the other replies, “Do I hear snoring?”

I love this cartoon because it captures the stress and exhaustion of motherhood, as well as the desire we have to be good, to improve, to be an example to our children.

A couple weeks ago, I sat down on the floor of my twin boys’ bedroom, switched off the lights, and began to sing a few bedtime songs. It had been a hard week. I was pretty much running on empty. I won’t share all the sordid details, but I will tell you a few. This particular day had involved chasing my three-year-old boys all over the neighborhood, one of them almost getting hit by a car, my girls sawing apart the basketball hoop downstairs with butter knives and using the bars for canes, which they decorated with stickers and popsicle sticks. I found four of my children in a neighbor's yard where my boys had dug up the flowerpots and dumped them onto the neighbor's patio. My boys had also wet their pants so they had to waddle home where we walked into the kitchen, past the breakfast and lunch dishes still sitting on the counter, I changed my boys, then sat down on the couch to lecture my girls, only to discover I had just trekked all over the house with dog poo on the bottom of my shoe.

Do you ever have days like this? When you want to shout, “Really? This is my life?”

That night, after singing a couple songs, my little Gordon, age three, climbed out of bed with his blanket, walked over to me and slipped his arms around my neck. I leaned back and fit him into that perfect spot where baby heads nestle onto shoulders. I twirled his yellow curls, brushed my fingers across his forehead, and we stayed like that a long time, the two of us holding onto each other, needing each other. I wanted to burn that feeling into my skin, hold him forever.

Children have a wisdom about them. They seem to know what we need. They bring us back to ourselves.

For many years, my husband and I longed for children. Eventually, with the help of good doctors and In-Vitro Fertilization, we were blessed with our first daughter. Knowing the window in which we could have children was small, we moved quickly. 19 months later, our twin girls were born - two months early in a crash c-section that saved both their lives. A year and a half later, hoping for one more child, we did a final round of IVF, in which we implanted one embryo. At our doctor’s advice, we implanted only one to prevent the eclamptic seizure I had suffered with our twin girls. At 16 weeks gestation, however, we learned that that single embryo had split. We were having identical twin boys. And one week after our oldest daughter turned four, our boys were born. Five children in four years was not what I had planned for, nor expected.

Nothing quite prepared me for four children in diapers, two babies crying tag-team style for an entire 24 hours, library books torn out to the binding, Barbie dolls beheaded with scissors, or swimming on the living room table (this is a true story – my girls poured water all over the table, got in their swimsuits and slid like penguins across the top). No one told me the laundry would never, ever end, that I would crawl into bed some nights only to realize I hadn’t showered, looked in a mirror, or brushed my teeth that day, or (my personal favorite) that I would find a home-made sign on our front lawn that read, “Mom for Sale.”

The poet, Mary Oliver, wrote, 

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Many times I have looked at my kids and thought, “What could be more wild? What could be more precious?” With so much waiting and wanting, there was only one way to consider our situation. It was a gift. A glorious, extravagant gift, and I was going to give my all to these five miracle-babies.

This summer, our boys will turn four. As exasperating and challenging as it has been, I have had the impression on many occasions that these days with small children are holy. Children are sacred to the Lord. They are pure. And this is a sacred space, to be enjoyed as best we can.




A friend of mine once described her gratitude for Jesus with these words, 

“Every day I come sighing – and sometimes singing – to him" (Lisa Garfield, Blog Segullah, April 2013). 

To me, these two words define perfectly the polarity of the motherhood experience.

So I would like to share with you three things I have learned about coming to the Lord. Sometimes we come sighing. Sometimes we come singing. But to paraphrase Peter, “Where else would we go? Only Jesus has the words of eternal life“ (John 6:68).

1 – Remember You are Building

Last summer a friend called to say she was driving through Salt Lake and wondered if she could stop by for a quick visit. Of course, I said yes. But we live in an old house. It looks old. And I was a little worried. There was no time to pick-up toys, finish dishes, fix hair or wipe faces. Just like that, she was there.

As she came in, I began to apologize about the house, the mess, the disasters in play. She stopped me immediately and said, “Catherine, don’t worry about it. Think of a building going up. The scaffolding, the boards lying around, the workers, the dust. This is exactly how your house should look. You are building a family.”

Every day since then I have thought of her words. As I watch my girls pull out the craft bin, wade through a sea of toys in the playroom, scrape a raisin from the sole of my shoe, or wash dishes after 10PM, I see my friend April in our front yard, saying, “Let it go. You are under construction.” (April Perry, Have You Ever Put the House Before the Children, Power of Moms, July 2012.)

We are not just building a home and a life for our children; we are building souls. And building is a messy process. We can’t expect our homes or families to look like a finished product, put together all the time. We need to lower our expectations, be okay with the mess, the disorder, the effort without visible results. We need to let our children explore their worlds. This is not easy for those of us who feel happier in a clean home – who like to check things off our list, see the results of what we are doing.

But I love this photo of the Salt Lake temple that hangs in my parents’ home. It was taken in 1892, the day the capstone was laid. I find it telling, that even as the capstone was being put in place, scaffolding still wreathed the spires of the building.

Results will come over time. And the results will be beautiful if we are careful not to look sideways to determine the design, height, or color of our building. We cannot compare ourselves to anyone, or take counsel from those around us. We must look up and seek the Lord’s insight as to how we should build our own family.

The psalmist wrote, 

“Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1, New International Version).

At times, the building process will be messy temporally. At others it will feel messy emotionally, or spiritually. But whatever the circumstances, it is okay at the end of the day to come sighing to the Lord. If anyone knows the strain of building something, it is God.

We are His work. And sometimes I forget, that in all this building, He is also building me.

2 – Live with Gratitude

Ann Voskamp, a Christian writer and mother of six wrote,

“How long do I really have to figure out how to live full of grace, full of joy - before these…six beautiful children fly the coop and my mothering days fold up quiet? How do you open the eyes to see how to take the daily domestic, workday vortex and invert it into the dome of an everyday cathedral?" (Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts, pg. 121)

Maybe you have asked this same question. How do we take a domestic life that often feels like unrewarding drudgery and make it sacred? The answer, I have found, is gratitude.

There is a reason God taught his people to “stand every morning,” as Ezra wrote, “to thank and praise the Lord” (1 Chronicles 23:30). He knows if we live grateful, we live happy.

Gratitude dismantles frustration. It slows us down, helps us step out of the mundane. It can transform the most simple task into something meaningful. It can make us laugh, refrain from judgment, reach out instead of reprimand. Gratitude creates opportunity.

This doesn’t happen every night, but often, when my Ali helps me with dinner, something golden takes place. Side by side we snap beans, dump spices into a bowl, dredge chicken. Slowly, she opens up, begins to share, tell me about her day - what interests her, what made her laugh. And suddenly, what is happening between us has become more important than the food we are putting on the table.

How often do we let the task at hand become more important than the child?

Daryl Smith, editor of Seeing the Everyday magazine, prints this paragraph in each edition:

“Life’s most essential possibilities are realized at home. Where we... give our best without praise or fanfare. Because every effort, every moment matters in the development of a person. Nothing is really routine. To those who see the every day.”

Our daily interactions and tasks might seem inconsequential, but they are perhaps the most critical and influential in personal development.

When my boys were two years old, I started counting gifts. Just jotting them down during the day. Small joys that helped me see the beauty of caring physically and spiritually for my children. Things like a forgotten sprig of flowers Sami tucked into my ponytail; Spencer and Gordon bounding through the sprinklers in their church clothes; a long hug from my husband by the kitchen sink.

Gratitude dissolves discontent, helps us live in the now. And there is never another now. Each time we acknowledge God and his goodness we come singing to him. A song of thanksgiving, a song born of seeing, a song that opens us to His love.

3 – Receive His Grace

I think Motherhood is most difficult when we feel we are going it alone. When we feel like no one understands, like we are doing our best and giving it our all, but our all isn’t enough.

My husband works long hours – a situation I would guess is not unfamiliar to most of you. During much of the year, his profession requires him to work late into the evening and on Saturdays. It is hard to finish day after day with adequate patience, love, and energy. Most nights I sigh heavy as I kiss my children goodnight, trudge upstairs to a sink full of dishes, a floor that needs vacuuming, and a living room littered with toys.

Occasionally I have noticed behaviors in my children that have worried me. I’ve sunk into a kitchen chair by myself and cried over a stressful exchange with my oldest daughter when I wasn’t at my best. I’ve been so frustrated I’ve buckled all my kids into the car then returned to the kitchen so I could yell as loudly as I could, without anyone hearing me.

I have made mistakes. I have knelt by my bed and cried in prayer for forgiveness. I have put my all on the altar, and still it has felt insufficient.

During one especially exhausting season, I began a study of the word grace. What I read in the Bible Dictionary changed how I understood the Atonement. It defines grace as,

“Divine means of help or strength, given through the bounteous mercy and love of Jesus Christ. [This] grace... allows individuals to receive strength and assistance to do good works that they otherwise would not be able to maintain if left to their own means.”

I understood the cleansing power of the Atonement, but I had yet to understand its strengthening and enabling power.

Elder Bednar taught that, “The Lord desires…not only to direct us but also to empower us” (David. A. Bednar, The Atonement and the Journey of Mortality, April Ensign 2012).

So I began to pray for grace, for that enabling power. And I can testify the Lord comes when we call for him. I have felt him accept my meager offering and make it more.

His suffering gave him knowledge of our sorrows and pain, but it also gave him an understanding of our limitations so he can fill in where we fall short. So he can care for our children in ways we can’t. Protect them, whisper in their ears. Forgive and mend.

Once, while trying to teach my daughters the importance of getting along, I gathered them together to read from King Benjamin’s sermon, about not having a mind to injure one another. Having read only a few phrases, I had to leave the room to tend to my baby boys who were crying. When I returned, I found Sami ripping my scriptures apart. Her fingers were flying, shredding pages out of frustration. I sat her down hard. I yelled. I was not kind. That night, while we were sleeping, I heard her whimpering. I hurried to her bed, pulled her into my lap and held her. Finally, she said to me in broken sobs, “Mommy, I was worried about you.”

Despite my harsh reaction, she was offering me grace, merciful and pure. I hardly knew what to do with her tender, forgiving words.

In that moment I realized this is the kind of grace we want from God. But it is also the kind of grace our children want from us. Next to all the principles and parameters, our children need to feel the embrace of mercy, of love given liberally and without price.

Paul wrote, 

“Let us come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy... in time of need" (Hebrews 4:16).

And from Jacob,

“It is by [The Lord’s] grace... that we have power to do these things” (Jacob 4:7).

I know you have hard things to do. Hard circumstances. Children smooshed together, children spread across a wide span, children that have been taken from you, children that didn’t come to you. And some of you are doing it alone.

I promise you, you can do whatever God has asked you to do. You are building your own beautiful life. Come sighing to him when you need comfort. Sing to him in gratitude so you can feel His love. And most importantly, come to him open-handed, and receive His grace. For He is mighty to save, to hold up, to fill in and make whole.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Hold On

Been neglecting all sorts of things around the house this week in an effort to get ready for women's conference tomorrow. Doug has been out of town, bedtime has been late, laundry piles are high, dishes have sat overnight, and I forgot to make Eliza's lunch this morning.

The irony of dropping so many balls at home while trying to prepare a talk on motherhood has not eluded me. I am ready to have this over and clear some brain space for things (and little people) that need my attention.

It has, however, been a wonderful journey. I've learned a lot. Especially from Breanne Meline and Michelle Logan, the other two women I am speaking with. 

And it was fun to put this slideshow together. A big thanks to Michelle, who jumped in to save the day when iMovie was giving me fits. It will run a few minutes before the session begins. Nothing showy or picture-perfect. We just wanted it to capture the spontaneous, crazy life of raising young children. As well as the joy, the happiness, and the love.




If you have a few minutes to watch, maybe it will give you the feeling it gives me. One of enormous gratitude that I am a Mother.

The days are flying by too fast. 

"We've got to hold on. Hold on to this love..."

What is All this Juice and Joy?

Yesterday I sat on the front lawn with my twin girls and we had a go at making dandelion chains. (Saydi, Hazel's long chains inspired us.) We twisted the green stems into loose knots, snapped and tugged, soft yellow heads bobbing. I watched my daughter’s fingers hook weeds, fumble and find, fascinated by her determination, comforted by her small body next to mine.

It was finally warm enough to sit outside. We let the sunshine seep into our bones. We didn’t speak. The moment was quiet, pleasant, and I felt mighty grateful for Spring.

I know our seasons differ around the globe, but the long-awaited turn from winter here, where skiers still dig into slopes and peaks are still cloaked in white, is cause to celebrate.

So, for your enjoyment –

Two poems @ Segullah today.

A favorite from Hopkins. With his contrasting language that both floats and anchors the poem, and makes us pause over the word, Christ. 

And another from Nancy Hanks Baird (Kara's mother), Utah Poet of the Year (1996). 

I’ve been thinking lately about the healing presence of children. The way they comfort and renew us. Nancy calls them “menders of the breach.” Her poem is also rich with contrast, but much more personal and tender.

My mother's tulips (ours haven't opened yet).

Tell me what you think over there, or here. You will love Nancy's poem.

The scriptures are clear in their declaration that children are sacred to the Lord. He protected them, nurtured them, blessed and gathered them near him. When a group of parents brought their children to Jesus, the apostles turned them away because they thought children, who were already pure, didn't need the Savior's healing touch. This displeased the Lord (Mark 10:14), and he called them back, "Let the little children come unto me."

Our children need us. But the truth is, we need them too.

Spring Brake

As long as Doug works in public accounting, Spring Break for us will always be more of a Spring Brake. We stay put. Take things slow. Go nowhere. And I like it that way.

The neighborhood empties out. Only a few cars troll down the street. We bake treats, eat outside for lunch, ride the quiet roads.

In a neighborhood with no sidewalks, this private drive that runs behind our house is a perfect speedway. 



Here they go...



About a month ago, I stood here watching them with my hand clutched to my chest and one eye closed. We didn't have helmets for the boys and the image of a major head injury kept flashing across my mind. They were going So. Darn. Fast.

So I texted Doug and said, "We need helmets. Stat."

Bless his heart. A few seconds later, he replied. "Done. They'll arrive in a couple days." Now that's service!

I've calmed down a bit. I'm okay with them on the private speedway now. But the streets? I'm a mess, wondering where they've tootled off to and yelling at them to move off to the side when a car is coming. It's like trying to follow five pin-balls. Last Friday, Gordon had a near miss with a car that almost necessitated CPR. For me. 

That day pretty much put me in the loony bin. Chasing them all over tarnation. I finally dragged all things with wheels into a time-out and shut them in our pantry. Wiggle cars, Skuuts, Scooters. (We put a lock on our pantry door a while ago. No need to explain that one.)



Days earlier, Gordon split his Skuut right down the fork. Apparently he'd gone looking for his sisters who had strayed too far from home. 

He was flying down a side street when a truck backed out in front of him. Gordy had the presence of mind to move out of the way and ride onto some grass so he wouldn't hit the truck, but he was going so fast he slammed into a fence, split his bike, and went hurdling into the fence. (All this from the man in the truck who followed him home.)

"I was wearing my helmet Mom, " he said.

And good thing he was. All this wanderlust at high speeds is giving me angina.

If I survive boys it will be a blessed miracle.



We went through two boxes of band-aids over Spring Break. Road rash on Spencer's upper-lip turned into an awesome mustache. Doug thought he looked like Charlie Chaplin. Fair likeness, I would say.



The boys have taken to exploring the neighborhood despite my attempts to keep them in our backyard. Thank heavens we have exceptional neighbors who welcome their visits. I gave the kids a little more freedom over the break because the neighborhood was so empty. But climbing on Marion's waterfall is off limits. Yet there they are. 



So is leaving without asking. And there they go. See those little specs on the hill across from our driveway? 

I might need to invest in two long leashes, or a tracking device we can implant in their forearms.



The girls also did some exploring. They discovered Miss Susie's cottage. A darling little playhouse with dress-ups, dinnerware, clothesline, baskets, and fairy-mushroom chairs.



They were in heaven, setting up house, decorating with tiny flowers, cooking for each other. 






Susie is so kind. They purposely put an entrance to their yard on every side.



The boys dug in Susie's sandbox. (Classic Spencer face.)



We were given charge of our friends' bunnies while they were out of town. So we fed them each day, got them out to play. The kids fell in love with Theodore and Carly.



I've not been one for pets, but this week almost persuaded me to get our own bunnies. So easy to care for. Maybe once we get the boys potty-trained?



Speaking of potty-training... every time (EVERY time) we went to feed the bunnies, the boys wet their pants. And sometimes it wasn't just number one. I kept putting them in underwear (silly, I know) because I thought spring break was the perfect time for toilet triumph.

But two weeks later, we're still not there. And the fact that Gordon is climbing over a fence is oh so typical.

  

Some days it rained...



and Gordon searched for worms.



One day he and Sami found 26! (She counted.) Here's part of their stash. Does that gross you out? For some reason, it doesn't gross them out. They love worms.



Occasionally, being inside got to be a little much. We call this Refrigerator Gymnastics.



And I have to tell you a little more about our neighbor, Miss Marion. She is going straight to heaven.

Marion lives behind us. One day while she was out planting her pansies, my kids plus four extras descended on her and offered to help. Most of us would freak out with so many "helping" hands, but Marion just started giving directions, encouraging the kids, enjoying the moment. By the end of all their "speed planting," every one of those kids felt like they were her favorite person. Like they'd saved her hours of hard labor. (Good thing pansies are hardy.)



Talk about patient love. Everyone needs a neighbor like Marion.

It was a good Spring Brake. I was a nicer Mom. With nowhere to go, no homework to do, no early wake-up or early bedtime. But despite all my attempts to slow us down, it was still kind of exhausting. And now all that freedom I doled out has necessitated a crack-down. A reigning in and retraining to keep the kids from venturing off without telling me. Hopefully we can restore order soon.

One day when I told Gordon they had gone too far from home he said, "Why you worried, Mom? You worried because you couldn't see us?"

I said, "Yes."

Then he said, "But we could see ourselves."

Not bad logic. Not bad. Thank goodness someone else is watching over them besides me. I pray every morning for their safety. That God will keep them alive.

This spring has given me a taste of what summer might be like. I have spent a few days doing nothing else but chasing my kids around the neighborhood, trying to keep up. 



At some point though, I do need to cook something, move the laundry, do the dishes. 

Always dynamic, this mothering thing. We're always changing, reinventing, strategizing.

I'm speaking at BYU Women's Conference (a gathering for LDS women) on May 2nd about mothering young children. I'm slightly stressed because my talk isn't coming together, nothing is flowing, and I'm straining to find the right words. I haven't the perspective that seasoned mothers have. So I'm praying the right thoughts will come, that I can efficiently say what God needs me to say.

One of the gals I am speaking with (both are amazing - come hear THEM!) asked if I knew what I was wearing yet. Hadn't even thought about it. All I knew was that it had to be something that didn't show my sweaty pits. Because you can bet they'll be working overtime.

And moving on to the good news: It's April 15th! If you listen quietly you can hear me cheering across the northern hemisphere.

15 candles for April 15th. And M&Ms. His favorite. 

Can't wait to have Daddy home.