Wild and Precious

The Battle in Our Brains

2012-01-26T00:27:00.001-05:00

I'm at Segullah today with a post that contains a fair amount of physiology, wrapped with a healthy dose of spirituality. I know it leans heavy on LDS doctrine and counsel, but if you read the Bible, or any scripture much, I encourage you to come over. The concepts there are worth reading about.

I quote ideas from Tina Peterson, who has a degree in Near Eastern Studies, speaks Greek and Hebrew, and has studied the Old and New Testament in their original languages from multiple sources including the Dead Sea Scrolls.

She's brilliant. And what she had to say changed my life.

Marriage is About Family

2012-01-23T11:30:00.015-05:00

Today my parents celebrate their 41st anniversary. When they married, they married because their paths crossed in a Manhattan chapel while my Dad was in medical school and my Mom sought adventure in the big city. They married because they fell in love and wanted to grow old together. They married to have a family.

Only now that I am a mother, do I fully comprehend what they did, what they set in motion. Only now do I see the impact of my parents' choice to have children.

They had six in ten years (my youngest sister Rachel isn't pictured here). We three oldest were only a year apart each.

Our legs were much shorter and faster then, (I speak for myself Dave) and we ran this yard wild. We jumped off railroad ties, built wikkiups, dug holes in the empty lot behind us, filled them with water and swung across them like Tarzan.

My mother let us create, imagine, and explore our world - even our neighborhood - to its farthest limits. And at dinnertime, when she rang the dinner bell (truly - we had a dinner bell), we came running.

Now we fill the yard with a similar kind of ruckus and exploration. We fill it with grandchildren.

The week after Christmas my family gathered at the house to spend a day together. My brother and his family were here from Malaysia, everyone took the day off work, and we played.

Rebecca and Gus

My Mom put together a nature hunt for the littles.

They scurried across the grass, brown paper bugs clutched in their fists, to find their treasures.

A green leaf.

A leaf like a fan.

A coat. (I added this item to Spencer's list but the silly boy refused.)

A dried rose, blue berries, a pine cone, a dead flower, an apple, a sprig of pine.

Sarah and Lance

Usually we would sled down the hill, build some kind of snow formation, then see who can make it the farthest standing up snow-board style on a sled.

But it was a dry December, so we made the most of the morning chatting and playing games.

I caught Gordon nuzzling Deb on the nose after she swooped him up into her arms.

Little Michael wandered up to the swing.

And Grandma and Grandpa ran the relay races.

The prize? Marshmallows.

Large, soft, sticky mallows that could barely fit in Ethen's mouth.

I watched my parents laugh as Sami kicked a pillow down the grass and my Mom twirled Tyler by both hands. They were happy. Happy as I've ever seen them, with all of us together - overtaking their space, pouring in and out of their doors.

Doug often mentions this quote by Gordon B. Hinckley (former President of the LDS Church).

"In terms of your happiness, in terms of the matters that make you proud or sad, nothing - I repeat, nothing - will have so profound an effect on you as the way your children turn out."

We've given our parents their fair share of worry and stress over the years. No doubt we're still doing it. But we all love each other, we talk to each other, and we enjoy being together.

Doug and I already sense the huge weight of what we are investing in our children. We do it because of a hope that grounds us - keeps us teaching, correcting, loving, nurturing, feeding, reading - just to do it all over again the next day. We want them to become good, independent people who someday choose a family of their own.

My friend Michelle recently said to me that marriage is more than two people sharing a life together. It's about those who have gone before. It's about those who will come after. It's about family (more here).

And I agree.

This is my Dad opening a book we made for him, full of letters and pictures - a tribute of our love and admiration. He recently retired after 38 years of practicing emergency medicine. We didn't realize when we were young that we had a quiet hero living among us. All we knew was his kind face at the bottom of the stairs when he came home, his gentle voice, and the way he could turn every grimace into a reluctant smile.

Now I understand the tiring schedule he kept, the countless lives he saved, the skill with which he took control of a trauma situation, maintained his sense of humor, and treated each person he worked with with respect.

You can see by the look on his face, he was a bit emotional. I suspect this book means more to him than all the plaques and degrees hanging on his office wall.

We worked in the kitchen together to prepare dinner. I loved being in the kitchen with my Mom and sisters. (And my Dad, who is a great chef.)

The last four years my Mom has been battling her second brain tumor. To our surprise (and relief) with many months of chemo, the tumor is staying put - stagnant and unchanging - leaving her asymptomatic. The oncologists can't explain it. She is living outside all the stats and norms. But we are so grateful. Above the sink, you can see the motto with which she lives each day. Fear Not, Believe Only.

We chopped and stirred, and the smell of warm rolls filled the house as the lights on the backyard fence blinked an evening greeting.

After dinner, Eliza kept moaning that her tooth (first loose tooth) was bothering her. While I was wiping up the kids' table, Deb told Eliza she'd pay her one dollar if she got it out before they went home. Aunt Sarah tipped her off by encouraging her to twist the tooth. And with one little twist...

Her tooth was in her palm, she was a dollar richer, and the tooth fairy was quickly plotting how she was going to scrounge up some cash.

The sunset was brilliant. This view from my parents' west window is one I never get used to.

It was a sweet day, full of the safety and joy that family brings.

It is no small thing to have a place we call home. And an even greater thing to have a people we call home - a group of people who love us despite who we are, rally together in times of need, and always save a place for us at the table.

As I think of my mom and dad exchanging vows forty-one years ago today, I get a little weepy. How different their lives (and ours) would be had they decided not to have a family.

Thank you for choosing us, Mom and Dad. Happy Anniversary!

Beauty for Ashes

2012-01-18T14:35:00.014-05:00

I am standing with my three girls in the middle of Epcot when my phone rings. Crowds bump past us as I stall the wake of moving people and fiddle with my phone to see who's calling. The name on the screen is one I love, but I am surprised by the call, so when I answer I say her name with a question mark. Immediately, I notice the strain in her voice. Something is wrong.

She comes to the point quickly, tells me her brother has taken his life. Ended it. And she is not even 24 hours past knowing. I stand motionless, my girls tugging on my shirt as individuals break stride to move around us.

I say nothing. I am speechless. The breath has been knocked clean out of me.

This is a family we adore, with parents Doug and I have come to care for like our own. They have four daughters and one son, Rob. It is their daughter Hillary on the phone. Sweet Hillary, who came to help me when the boys were born.

Hillary holding spencer

She came once, twice a week (sometimes more), to keep our household functioning. She helped me shuttle the girls to swim lessons, held babies, folded laundry, sat on the edge of my bed while I nursed. I felt an instant closeness to her. She is the kind of person you can speak honestly with because you know she will not judge you. She is open, accessible, and good to her very core.

Hillary's mother, Gaylyn, who has been my visiting teacher since we moved to Utah (visiting teaching and home teaching are how LDS congregations care for each other), suggested Hillary might be able to help after the boys were born. Hillary's father, Bob, has been our home teacher. Together, they have brought good books into our home, home made bread, comfort, service, and always it has been ladled with love.

Paper-cutting by Hillary that I keep on our piano

One of their other daughters, Betsy, lost her newborn baby only months ago. And Hillary's first baby boy, who came two and a half months early, finally returned home around Christmas after an extended NICU stay. This family has known heartache and loss. The kind of holes that on certain days seem impossible to fill.

So to hear Hillary's voice telling me about her brother Rob, was more than I felt they could bear.

I cried through the next two rides at Epcot, gathered some thoughts, then texted her back, apologizing that I hadn't known what to say. You can't anticipate that kind of wrenching news, the kind that leaves you changed forever, your spirit dangling by the blow.

I thought of Gaylyn's mother heart. I thought of my own children. To lose one of them would be to lose part of my soul.

We arrived home Saturday night and for days now, I have not been able to stop thinking about Hillary and her family. A constant prayer has been rising out of my chest, spilling off my lips, that God will comfort them in the ways only He knows they need.

On Monday I saw them. Hillary, Betsy, Becca, Mary - all four sisters - and Rob's wife, hugging friends in a sober church setting. I saw Bob and Gaylyn standing at a distance, greeting each person as I waited in line. Bob was tender as always, his demeanor calm and peaceful. I read Gaylyn's lips as she embraced a friend and they held hands. "It is okay," I watched her say. "It will be okay." And I knew those were not just words to her. She was living them, believing them.

A soft light hung round the outline of her body. She was radiant, floating on the shoulders of angels. How are they doing it? I thought, as I fought back tears.

Hillary spoke at the funeral. It was perfect in every way. Redemptive, tender, humorous. Her sisters read scripture, prayed, read Rob's obituary, and we came to know Rob for who he was. For the summation of choices and kindness with which he lived his life, not a single event. I met Rob only once, but I felt I had missed out by not knowing him better.

Then Hillary read from Isaiah and I felt as if I would burst.

"The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek, he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; To...comfort all that mourn... to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." - Isaiah 61: 1-3

Truly, there is no sorrow on earth that heaven cannot heal.

I couldn't write about anything else this week until I attended to this. To the deep emotion this sorrow has roused in me. My girls mention Hillary and her family in each of their prayers. Doug and I speak their names, one at a time, in ours.

We have no doubt Rob is in a loving place, freed from the exhaustive, valiant fight he fought here. But Rob's meekness and goodness are unique to him, and it is obvious he will be very missed.

The healing road is a long one. Look around and we are all on it, for one reason or another, carrying seen and unseen burdens. Would that we could carry each other with less scrutiny and more acceptance.

Portrait of Jesus, by Eliza

Paul taught us to come boldly to the throne of grace in our time of need (Hebrews 4:16). Why then, do we wait? I know of only One who has traveled into all the darkest places. Only One who can restore our breath, pick up our tired feet, and keep us moving.

I believe Isaiah's words, that it is possible to trade ashes for beauty, fill our cups of mourning with a measure of joy. Because I saw it in the steady, peaceable walk of the Stephenson family.

We love you Bob, Gaylyn, Hillary, Becca, Betsy and Mary.

The Short of It

2012-01-07T23:55:00.011-05:00

We cut our hair. All four of us.

(To be precise, I should say Aunt Deb cut the girls' hair and my friend Elizabeth cut mine.)

I have only one word to shout out into the great oblivion:

FREEDOM!

I do miss the girls' long, luscious curls. But here's the upside. No more wailing and gnashing of teeth while I comb through inches and inches of ratted locks. No more tears before school as we battle it out in front of the mirror, armed with brushes and spray bottles. No more screeching before the brush even touches their hair.

As for my rag of shag? Good riddance.

The blow dryer and I have had a strained relationship of late. Truthfully, we just haven't been getting along. An hour to blow dry and straighten one's hair (give or take a few extra minutes to mediate a conflict, rescue a child from certain death, confiscate scissors or screw the toothpaste lid back on) is simply ridiculous. I just couldn't do it any more.

So when I walked into Elizabeth's salon and she asked me if I was nervous, I said with a loud voice (so loud even the women under hair dryers heard me), "NOPE! Cut away!"

And now? Well, the blow dryer and I... we don't see much of each other and the distance is making both of us happier. I don't have to worry about showering two hours before I have to be somewhere so I can let my hair "air dry" before I strangle it with a brush and blast it with the dryer. I can shower thirty minutes before I have to leave the house, shampoo, comb, scrunch in some product... and be done.

Now, I know it's not anything to shout about. My kids think I look weird. Gordy said "Mom, you have bumps on your head." Ali is positive I cannot wear a princess dress looking like this, and when I assisted in Eliza's first grade class yesterday, the girls told me they liked me much better when my hair was long.

But hey, this kind of liberation trumps any kind of vanity I have at this point. In fact, the liberation is something I can't quite describe. But maybe this will give you a sense for how emancipated I feel. Two days after getting my hair cut I texted Elizabeth:

"This hair cut is revolutionizing my world. It rivals the crib tents when it comes to life-changing events."

Now that is saying something.

We're off to Florida. And I can't tell you how glad I am to not be packing the blow dryer.

Christmas in Retrospect

2012-01-06T00:05:00.001-05:00

The loops on our Disney chain are slowly disappearing. Excitement for the big trip is building. But before we venture off to visit this happy fellow, I wanted to pause on Christmas - mull it over a bit.

Last year I wrote a retrospect on what I would do the same and what I would do differently. Re-reading my list this November changed how I went about Christmas, helped me remember what I wanted to re-vamp, improve, leave out or leave in.

Christmas will always have its own dynamic quality. What we do will change as our family changes. But I'm finding that keeping a record of how it goes each year, helps me better tend to the people and events that are most important to us. So, let me start this year with the leave ins.

Things We Will Do the Same Next Year:

Reenact the Nativity with our little family. It's more like a rodeo than a sanctuary but I feel something special every time.

Sami loping to the manger on Rody

Yeehah!

Sheep-herding or Team Penning

Neighborhood Charity in lieu of Neighbor Gifts. This was a HUGE success! Last year I said I didn't want to ride the wave of sugar inundation with everyone else by adding to the onslaught of goodies on the counter (not that I don't love sweets). So this year, we sent out letters to fifty plus people in our neighborhood, inviting them to join us in making a donation to the Utah Food Bank in lieu of neighbor gifts. I rallied about ten other women who also wanted to participate and they sent out similar letters to their neighbors. We gathered at our home after Christmas to make donations and share donuts and wassail. Doug picked up barrels and large boxes from the Food Bank to fill, friends helped supply donuts, and neighbors came and went as they pleased for one hour.

Some of our wonderful neighbors

I love all these good people

Eliza made signs so everyone knew where to drop their donations.

Kids ran all over the yard, into the backyard, and didn't eat quite enough donuts.

It was an unusually warm night so people stayed and visited. The turn-out was better than we expected. We gathered 1500 lbs of food and a few thousand in cash or check donations. The older generation mixed with the younger generation - something that happens often in our neighborhood - and everyone is on board to do it again next year. If you'd like me to send you a copy of the letter we sent out, please email me (contact in nav bar).

Read Christmas stories under the tree. This is a favorite tradition for everyone, but I realized this year, for it to work well, we need to bump up dinner time by almost an hour so I don't feel rushed for time and I have more patience.

Soozi's Souffle' on Christmas Morning. Last year I was on the hunt for good recipes to make over the Holidays. On Christmas Eve I made Soozi's Souffle' and stowed it away in the refrigerator to cook first thing in the morning. I served it with orange rolls and juice and everyone loved it. Thanks for the recipe Soozi!

Secret Service to someone in need. My experience this year was so tender, we need to find a way to give anonymously every year.

Secret Pals. We swapped names in our family so everyone had a "Secret Pal" for the month of December. The goal was to find ways to serve your Secret Pal, make their life easier, happier. Then for a Christmas gift, each person wrote their "Secret Pal" a letter indicating some of the kind things they had done for them and what they loved about that person. We read the letters Christmas day. Here's Sami's letter to Gordon.

Advent Tree with Service Stars and Scripture Readings. I loved centering our readings around the birth of the Savior and His teachings. Some days this was the only time I was able to spend in the scriptures. But even that small dose made a difference in our family.

Shop (almost exclusively) online. Found great deals on Cyber Monday. Most sites offered Free Shipping at some point during December. And if you're not aware of Amazon Mom, I want you to be in the know! Nothing beats having Christmas delivered to your door for free!

Send Valentine Cards instead of Christmas Cards. We started this after Ali and Sami were born. Every year I LOVE getting Christmas cards and wish for a few long seconds we were sending ours out too.Then I breathe a sigh of relief that I don't have to tackle that project for another month!

Things We Will Do Differently Next Christmas:

Stay Within Budget! Doug and I talked last year about setting money aside each month for Christmas, then sticking to a budget. But we didn't do it. We didn't have much time together in the Fall and as a result, we never made a clear and reasonable budget. We ended up spending more than we needed to, even in an effort to spend less because of the Disney World trip. Seriously... we've got to batten down the hatches next year!

Afternoon Veggie and Fruit Plate. This was a holiday afterthought. After so many days of kids wanting sugar snacks I realized I should simply put out a plate of healthy options every afternoon. A welcome sight for the sweeted-out.

Be a more astute wife. I think I need to keep a running list (all year) of things Doug would like. Come Christmastime he always says he doesn't need anything. The best gift we gave him was a Shutterfly photo calendar the girls and I put together for him to take to work. I vow to give him a better Christmas next year.

Go to bed earlier on Christmas Eve. This was our latest year yet. We were up long after we heard Santa's sleigh bells. We went to bed at 3 AM. (Mostly because one item required last minute assembly and wow, was it complicated.) Staying up that late was painful. I am committing now to have everything wrapped or bagged/name-tagged before Christmas Eve. Tricks or Suggestions anyone?

Other Highlights:

Building Forts. My sister Deb, made this Fort Kit for our kids. It is genius. Contents? Two large sheets, suction cups, rope, clothespins, and flashlights.

The girls have been making all kinds of hide-outs.

Here you can see the suction cups and clothespins at work. No tables are needed, most furniture stays puts, and the forts are easy to take down.

We're all in love with Deb's fabulous gift.

The Doll House. Santa sent me word that a sweet mother whose children no longer needed this doll house asked him to take it to some girls who would love it and take good care of it. So it ended up under our tree Christmas morning. Santa's elves did some sprucing up of the house, but mostly it was in perfect condition. Mom and Dad gave the girls the La La Loopsy dolls, but all the furniture came from Santa.

Our girls have played with it every day. But I think I am the one most smitten.

Every night, after the kids are asleep, I sit down in front of it and "set up house." I organize the furniture, put the dolls in place...

Pull the lamp cord and tuck the baby into the stroller...

Fluff the pillows...

Arrange the Toy Room...

Set the Kitchen Table...

And ready the bathroom.

Every drawer slides open, every cupboard swings on its hinges, the toilet lid goes up and down, tiny towels can be folded into the shelves, and even the toy box has two itty-bitty wooden cars inside.

I am a little girl all over again.

Christmas with the Boys. This year sharing Christmas with the boys was like swinging a door open for the first time and watching them stand wide-eyed at the magic in front of them - of Santa, and presents, and reindeer that fly.

The boys eating donuts while they wait to see Santa

Then there was the magic of the Nativity, of explaining to my boys the story of Mary on the donkey, led by her husband Joseph, to the quiet manger, strewn with straw and cattle. I pointed to the olive wood carving of tiny baby Jesus, and together, we placed him in the cradle.

It was then that the real and absolute magic - the kind of magic that changes us from the inside out - tingled across the top of my head and filled my eyes, as I explained to Spencer and Gordon that this baby grew up to be our Savior. Theirs. And mine. And the freshness of trying to explain it to their small minds choked me up. I was startled by my emotion, by the inability to speak for a few seconds.

These are the kind of memories that shine for me.

What were your Christmas highlights? Any leave ins or leave outs?

Here's to 2012!

2012-01-01T23:15:00.023-05:00

Our New Year's Tree remains one of my favorite holiday traditions.

As I packed the ornaments away, tucked them in tissue paper and carefully placed them in boxes, I thought of the blessings we've received in 2011. The house was quiet so I stopped for a few moments to feel the fullness of our life, to offer thanks for what we have.

It was a busy but successful year for Doug at work. We have five children (when we once thought we might have none) who are healthy and growing in good ways. We have a home to live in, and neighbors we adore. I felt grateful for family, and my mother's most recent MRI that showed no change in her brain tumor. Her neuro-oncologist is giving her a whole year until they re-image. It is unexplainable - the way she is beating the odds. I thought of all the small moments I have felt God's hand upon my work here at home, for the times I saw Him in the face of a friend who stopped by, or felt Him at night as I stepped outside to hunt for the moon.

I also thought of those we love who are still holding out for promises, waiting for jobs to come through, to put food on their tables with more ease and less worry. I thought of those still mourning the loss of a parent, or negotiating the strains of a compromised relationship.

To live prosperously and peacefully is not something we can take for granted.

So I am praying tonight for those close to us who are ready to leave 2011 behind and look into 2012 with new hope.

Here's to job offers, successful businesses, more children, greater health, greater peace... and handfuls of miracles.

We made lots of noise, stuffed balloons into the tree, and blew streamers while small eyes twinkled at spirals of color that arced over branches and fell into their hands.

Sami dressed her lamby in a blue streamer, then slid a noisemaker in between his hands. She wanted him to sit at the top of the tree while we counted down. (We did our count-down at 7 PM.)

Ali started the static electricity fun. Soon all the girls were rubbing balloons in their hair, charging the air around us.

And last night we made sure our shoes were placed beneath the tree for the New Year's Eve elf to fill. A Dutch tradition that goes back several generations on my Mom's side.

The elf brought some games we could play as a family, granola bars, and small boxes of sugar cereal. A special treat - since Mom never buys sugar cereal.

It didn't take long before Gordon fell apart (too many late nights). And before anyone else could follow suit, we put the kids to bed.

Happy New Year to you!

Prayers for prosperity in your homes and jobs, for peace in your lives, and health in your families.

May we see miracles in 2012. And the kind of faith that pulls us through the waiting in between.

Surprise!

2011-12-29T15:00:00.018-05:00

I relish a good surprise. When I was a girl, I didn't want to know if the preemie cabbage doll I asked Santa for, or the James Blundell tape I had searched everywhere for, would be under the tree. Not until Christmas morning. No way would you find me rummaging through closets or peeking into storage rooms. I couldn't stand the thought of prematurely spoiling a surprise.

And now that I'm "grown" I still prefer to be surprised. But I'm quite positive it's even better to be on the other end.

Watching that unexpected joy leap out of my children's mouths, seeing the thrill of opening that one special thing light up their faces - it's an elation that can't be calculated or contrived. Something so spontaneous it swoops up everyone else in the room with the sheer happiness of it.

So Doug and I planned a surprise for our girls. One we've been saving for, planning for, and zipping our lips about for almost a year. And as much as I love surprises, some days this secret felt bigger than me - like I was going to pop if I didn't say something! (But I didn't.)

By Christmas Eve we were still working through the last symptoms of stomach flu with the boys. So we stayed home, ate clam chowder for dinner, and did our own reenactment of the Nativity.

By the time the girls were in their new pajamas and ready for family prayer, they were bouncing off the walls. Literally.

I tried to take a few pictures, but most of the time, the living room looked like this. All tickles, tumbles, and jumbles of silliness.

Finally, they went to sleep.

And Santa came.

He filled all our stockings, put together this train table for the boys, and left the girls just what they had asked for (despite occasional threats of coal).

Once Spence and Gordy laid eyes on this train set, they were consumed. I couldn't even get them to glance up for a photo.

We forced them to come up for air so we could get to church on time, but they were back at it as soon as we walked in the door.

Eliza got her cook book, and the perfect apron. Pink with math symbols.

Ali got her make-up box.

Santa wisely gave her "make-up" for a four-year-old. Things like nail polish, lip gloss, and press-on nails.

And Sami got her jewelry box. Complete with rings, bracelets, and necklaces.

Under the tree we left each of the girls a new back pack. With a little Minnie Mouse dangling her arms out of the side pocket.

On the zipper we attached this name tag.

You'd think the tag might have tipped them off, but they didn't seem to notice. They were over the moon about Minnie and the stack of "things to do" inside their back packs. But they didn't have a clue they might be going somewhere.

So Doug had Eliza pull a scroll of papers tied with a red ribbon from the tree.

Now, mind you, Doug is the mastermind behind this surprise. He's done all the legwork, all the reservations, all the deal-finding, and of course, it was only right that he do the unveiling of the surprise.

He told them they were going on a plane (a thrill of it's own since we haven't traveled outside the state since having the boys) to visit someone. And the letters to that someone's name were in this stack of papers. Two words. And both words started with the same letter.

Eliza pulled out the "M"s quickly enough. But after that, there were a whole lot of blank stares and screwed up faces.The word scramble might have been a bit over their heads. I began to chuckle, and tilt my head sideways, as we read various combinations of the letters. Soon we were all laughing.

"Mikuc Moys?" No....

"Mickey Moeus?"

Doh.

Alllllmost...

And then I must have left the room for a minute because I missed them getting the spelling right and don't have a picture of all the letters in place.

But even then, the surprise was still lost on them.

"How are we going to see Mickey Mouse?" Ali asked. (They've been begging to go to Disneyland for months. Hmmmmmm....)

So Doug had to explain it (which was slightly anti-climactic). Then he handed them this paper.

And it began to sink in.

Then Doug gave them a letter from Cinderella - a special invitation to join her for lunch at her castle.

And it really began to sink in...

I know all of this might sound frivolous and extreme, and I feel a little self-conscious telling you about it here. But our girls will only be little once. We found some fabulous resort deals, we have sky miles to burn since we've traveled nowhere since moving to Utah, and well, we can hardly stand it we're so excited.

I have to thank Doug for making this happen. For watching our finances, and for spending lots of late nights online trying to find the best way to do... everything.

We'll be leaving the boys here with Grandm Nae and Grandma Ronda (those lucky boys) and heading to sunny Florida for a whole week. Truthfully, I'm not sure who's going to have more fun. The girls. Or their Mom and Dad.

It was a beautiful Christmas, full of sweet surprises. More on some of them later (like this precious doll house).

Right now, we're enjoying having Doug home for a few weeks. He took a much-needed sabbatical from work. And tonight we're hosting our first neighborhood Food Drive in lieu of neighbor gifts. I'll tell you how it goes, but so far the neighborhood is very much on board, and I think everyone is relieved to pool their resources and give to those who have real needs.

The magic of Christmas is still going strong around here. When the girls wake up each morning, instead of asking how many days until Christmas, they ask how many days until DisneyWorld?

So the girls made a chain.

To count the days.

And you can bet they're not the only ones counting down.

Christmas Morning

2011-12-25T00:05:00.013-05:00

Our Reenactment of the Nativity on Christmas Eve

Christmas Morning

If Bethlehem were here today

Or this were very long ago

There wouldn't be a winter time

Nor any cold or snow.

I'd run out through the garden gate

And down along the pasture walk

And off beside the cattle barns

I'd hear a kind of gentle talk.

Two Rowdy Shepherds

I'd move the heavy iron chain

And pull away the wooden pin;

I'd push the door a little bit

And tiptoe very softly in.

The pigeons and the yellow hens

And all the cows would stand away;

Their eyes would open wide to see

A lady in the manger hay,

If this were very long ago

And Bethlehem were here today.

A quiet Sami as Mary

And Mother held my hand and smiled -

I mean the lady would - and she

Would take the wooly blankets off

Her little boy so I could see.

His shut-up eyes would be asleep

And he would look just like our John

And he would be all crumpled too,

And have a pinkish color on.

The Shepherds (and Mater) come to worship Baby Jesus

I'd watch his breath go in and out,

His little clothes would be all white,

I'd slip my finger in his hand

To feel how he could hold it tight.

And she would smile and say, "Take care,"

The Mother Mary, would, "Take care";

And I would kiss his little hand

And touch his hair.

While Mary put the blankets back

The gentle talk would soon begin,

And when I'd tiptoe softly out

I'd meet the wise men going in.

- Elizabeth Madox Roberts (1881-1941)

For Unto Us A Child is Born

Merry Christmas to each of you.

May your weekend be full of love, as you celebrate God's greatest gift to all the world.

Secret Alms

2011-12-22T00:25:00.003-05:00

When she was eight years old, her single mother (age thirty) moved their young family from California to Salt Lake City. It was late autumn and the weatherman was predicting a record snowfall by morning. She and her three brothers were giddy with anticipation. They’d never seen snow before. But her mother was slightly concerned. She had a new job to report to in the morning and they were ill-prepared. She needed a snow shovel if she was going to clear the driveway and report to work on time. While putting her children to bed that night she told them not to worry if they woke and she wasn’t home; she had gone to the store to buy a shovel and would be back soon.

Read the rest of this Christmas story at Segullah today. And share your own, if you'd like.

Jest 'Fore Christmas

2011-12-19T23:00:00.028-05:00

Six days until Christmas and I am standing at the kitchen counter slicing cucumbers when I hear the girls sneak into the kitchen. They walk up behind me, trying to be discreet, but I can hear their muffled giggles. They poke me. And when I turn around I laugh out loud. They are wearing striped stockings over their heads and they look like elves. Before I can say a word, they skip out of the kitchen.

I turn back to my cucumbers but the giggling gets louder. So I peek into the living room to see them standing on the table, dancing to "Jingle Bell Rock." They are making faces in the mirror, hooting over how they look, and striking all sorts of goofy poses. All the drawers have been emptied of stockings and each pair is being used for the purpose of accessorizing.

I hover by the kitchen door, watching. Not so close they can see me, but close enough I am now the one muffling my laughter. Finally, I grab the camera and ask them to hold still for one second.

One second was all I got.

The Holidays bring out a new level of silliness in my kids. Especially the week before Christmas. It's a giddy kind of energy. Shooting out of them all the time. Most of it is happy and good. They're so close in age that they share the same wondrous place of believing. Together.

We did have to teach Gordy and Spence that reindeer aren't giraffes. And they have no idea Santa can bring them more than a candy cane (yes, that's all they want - a candy cane). But basically, all five of our children are completely immersed in the magic.

This energy, however, can lend itself to plenty of not-so-good times too.

Like Spencer hitting Gordon on the forehead with his train. (Notice the welt. Spencer has one too.) All kinds of giving and receiving are going on around here.

Or Sami taking crayons to this pillow. (Anyone successfully gotten crayon out of fabric??)

We've had some serious pouting, and a fair amount of whining and bickering. Despite all the talk of Santa keeping a wary eye and sending his very own Mr. Peeps to scout out our territory...

We seem to break up more battles this time of year, calm down more craziness, and clean up more disasters than we do during the regular every-day.

So many, in fact, I started keeping a "Disasters" column in my gratitude journal. I figure when these five hoodlums are in high school, we'll sit around the dinner table and laugh ourselves breathless over all they did together.

Like Ali and Sami cutting each other's hair. (Last week I found their curly locks on the floor of their bedroom closet.) Or the boys rubbing Doug's toothpaste into their hair. Or finding an entire roll of toilet paper spun out to the cardboard, then a few minutes later finding an entire roll of floss looped into circles next to Spencer who is sitting on the bathroom floor, brushing his teeth with my toothbrush.

The "crazies" just come with the season. But so do a whole slew of magical moments.

My kids want to be good. I think all children do. And yet, this time of year it actually seems harder - with so much going on and so much anticipation.

I always get a kick out of this poem by Eugene Field. (Entire text here - because I only share an excerpt.)

For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes an' toys

Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys [or girls]

So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's an' q's.

An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, an' don't wear out yer shoes;

Say "yessem" to the ladies, an' "yessur" to the men,

An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;

But, thinking of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree,

Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!

- Eugene Field (1850-1895)

Kristie's amazing gingerbread house

Yep, "jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!"

The girls are trying. Ali's letter to Santa was very honest.

"I listen... sometimes."

Here's Eliza telling Santa she's been a good girl. She's also telling him she wants a cook book. When someone asked her why, she said, "So I can cook with Mommy."

Our tree is sparkling in the corner, lighting the whole living room. It's the last thing I turn off at night and the first thing I turn on in the morning.

It has more home-made ornaments than ever before, and I cherish each one.

Eliza made this tree-topper. Usually we place our angel on top, but I adore her star so much with its colored puff balls, I think we'll pull it out again next year.

She's also been busy making cards for everyone she knows. This one is for Mom and Dad.

And here's her desk, with a stack of cards she has written to her friends. I love how neatly cluttered her desk is. Everything important to her has a spot. Even kitty has a home in the right hand corner.

A few days ago I found this large snowflake taped up in her room. Quite the creation. It looks like it belongs in a modern art museum.

And, of course, there's the artwork that comes home from school each week.

And the performances. I didn't know Eliza took froggie with her instead of baby doll until I saw her on stage.

But some of the best moments for me are in the evening, when everyone comes bundling to the tree, trailing blankets and carrying pillows under their arms. They fluff up their little spot, and I pull up a chair so I can read to them. We're half-way through The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, and we've read all our favorite Christmas picture books.

No Gordon in these photos. He was a blur tonight, whooshing around the tree, singing three words over and over again in monotone. "Jingle... Bell... Rock." Apparently, the girls had a bigger audience than me.

I hope these last days "jest 'fore Christmas" have your children minding their p's and q's. But in case they don't, let's just keep telling ourselves it's part of the package. Part of the blessed package of creating memories and building a family. Even the disasters make memories. And a few tender minutes of sharing can redefine any day.

As for me, I'm going to mind my p's and q's too - and try really hard not to "bust out my pantaloons."

Jingle Jingle From the Keslers

2011-12-13T21:15:00.010-05:00

Remember my crazy talented cousins, the Keslers? Well, they're back. With their 2011 Christmas video.

Surely I've made you a fan by now. After this? And this?

Well, if not, today is your lucky day.

My darling cousin Kelsi was interviewed on KSL a couple months ago about how and why they make these family videos.

She disclosed a few of their secrets, but the truth is, most of us (okay - I speak for my family) can't imagine putting something like this together. We just kinda stand there - gawking over the choreography, the subtle (or not so subtle) props, the creativity, the unihibited sense of humor, and the willing collaboration of this big, happy family.

Last Christmas it was "Deck the Rooftop" (my girls' favorite). This year, they've whipped up their own version of Jingle Bells, set at the famous Kesler Market in Blackfoot, Idaho. Be sure to stop in and say hello if you're whizzing by on I-80. They're nicer than nice, and you can't beat Idaho potatoes.

Because we don't have cable or television (you can throw rocks at me later), I wasn't familiar with The Crazy Target Lady. (I know. Where have I been? Oh yeah, up to my eyeballs in pampers and pigtails.)

In defense of the screenless, let me just say, I'm convinced we don't miss much without TV. But holy cow - I have been missing out on the Target Lady. She is HILARIOUS! You have to watch her to appreciate the whole funny of what my cousin Cami is up to. More about Cami here.

So without further adieu, here's a little Jingle Jingle from the Keslers. Complete with some soft shoe, the charleston, rolls and rolls of wrapping paper, a John Deere Tractor (nice Cam), armfuls of babies, and the traditional belly flop finale. You guys crack me up.

ps - Cami - can you teach me to put on lipstick like that? The way you do that lip curl thing?

Clap for Joy

2011-12-11T09:15:00.019-05:00

This painting by Brian Kershisnik of the Nativity always makes me wish I was one of those angels, crowding shoulders and bending long, for a glimpse of that tiny babe in Mary's arms. To see Him in the flesh, to know what had just been set in motion, to hear Mary's voice as she whispered what she knew and wrapped her fingers around his. It's almost too sacred to imagine.

Kershisnik's painting reminds me of something Madeleine L'Engle wrote:

"Was there a moment, known only to God, when all the stars held their breath, when the galaxies paused in their dance for a fraction of a second, and the Word, who had called it all into being, went with all his love into the womb of a young girl, and the universe started to breathe again, and the ancient harmonies resumed their song, and the angels clapped their hands for joy?"

I like to think we were there. Clapping our hands for joy, singing that ancient harmony.

This season of Advent, as observed by many Western Christian Churches, is a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the Nativity of Jesus. It marks something momentous: Christ's coming into our midst. Not just in the past. But here and now.

In our own ways, we anticipate His coming. We light candles, count days by filling tiny doors with treats, peel paper chains. But this year I wanted to do things a little differently. I wanted us to read His words, and serve Him (by serving each other).

So into each pocket went a small prize and a yellow cut-out star.

If it's your day to empty the pocket, you claim your small gift (like a pencil, stickers, lip gloss - which I can't put in until right before it's time or it will go missing!) and then you give a gift. A gift of kindness, by doing something for someone else in the family like making their bed, putting their clothes away, emptying the dishwasher. Then you leave your star at the place of service as a token of your doing.

Spencer helping me make Ali's bed.

On each star I've written a scripture reference - mostly passages from the New Testament with some from The Book of Mormon.

I know many of you are not Mormon (or LDS), but I believe you can still appreciate this book for its remarkable spirit and history. It documents the civic and religious history of a people who came to the American continent hundreds of years before Christ's birth.

Prophets among these people (one of whom was a contemporary to Jeremiah in Jerusalem) prophesied of the Messiah, promised he would come. And although these people would not see him at his birth, they would see the signs:

A day and a night and a day with no darkness - so powerful in its symbolism.

And a new star in the sky.

One of the readings I included from The Book of Mormon is about a people who were persecuted for their belief in Christ's coming. Many of them were about to be put to death. Yet, they continued to look with longing and faith for the signs.

At the last moment, when their hopes hung as desperate prayers, a Nephite prophet, bent in earnest pleading for them, heard a voice saying, "Lift up your head and be of good cheer... for on the morrow, come I in to the world" (3 Nephi 1:13).

And on the morrow, Christ came. The King of Kings arrived in a lowly manger, bringing with Him the signs that had been foretold - signs that testified of His birth.

Each day we sit round the table and read our Advent reading. Sometimes it's over breakfast. Sometimes it's over dinner. Usually, it's loud and boisterous and I compete with the boys (and their car noises or banging of plates) to be heard. I interrupt myself to explain big words, set the scene, try to bring all those wandering eyes back to mine.

But we do it. And bits of truth float in the air, land softly in our hearts. One layer, one line at a time.

Here's the list of readings I put together.

Day 1 Luke 8:12 I am the Light of the World

Day 2 John 3: 16-17 God so loved the World

Day 3 Luke 1: 28,30-32 Annunciation to Mary

Day 4 Luke 1: 46-49 Mary's Response

Day 5 Matthew 1: 18-24 Annunciation to Joseph

Day 6 Luke 1: 39-45 Mary visits Elizabeth

Day 7 Helaman 14: 5-12 Samuel the Lamanite tells of the Signs

Day 8 Luke 2: 1-5 Joseph and Mary go to Bethlehem

Day 9 3 Nephi 1: 4, 8-15, 19-21 Signs Fulfilled in America

Day 10 Luke 2: 6-7 The Birth of Jesus

Day 11 1 Nephi 11: 8-23 Nephi's Vision of Mary (592 BC)

Day 12 Mosiah 3: 5-8 King Bejamin prophesies of Jesus' Birth (124 BC)

Day 13 Alma 7:10-12 Alma prophesies of Jesus' Birth (83 BC)

Day 14 Luke 2: 8-12 Annunciation to the Shepherds

Day 15 Luke 2: 13-18, 20 Angels and Shepherds Proclaim the News

Day 16 Luke 2:19 Mary ponders these things in her heart

Day 17 Luke 2: 25-35 Simeon sees the Christ-child

Day 18 Luke 2: 36-38 Anna the Prophetess sees the Christ-child

Day 19 Matthew 2:1-12 The Wise Men visit Jesus

Day 20 Isaiah 9:6 For Unto us a Child is Born

Day 21 John 10: 9-15 Christ is the Good Shepherd

Day 22 Matthew 11: 28-30 Christ says Come Unto Me

Day 23 Matthew 25: 31-40 When saw we thee a stranger?

Day 24 John 14: 2-3, 6, 15 I go to prepare a place for you

Day 25 Mark 12: 30-31 The Two Great Commandments

If you don't have a copy of The Book of Mormon and would like one, I will happily mail you one - my gift to you - even if you live far across the world. (Just send me an email: cath.wildnprecious@gmail.com).

I also recommend this book to you.

It is Sunday morning and we just finished our reading. It was about the Virgin Mary and how the prophets saw her, holding a child in her arms. They described that image as a gift of love that would shed itself abroad in the hearts of men - one that would be most joyous to the soul.

And I clapped for joy.

All Lit Up!

2011-12-06T14:50:00.020-05:00

I still remember what it was like, trying to fall asleep beneath those colored bulbs that trimmed our house the whole month of December. They were so bright they cast rainbow shadows onto my bedspread, sent a cheery glow filtering in through cotton curtains.

It was the significance that had me giddy. Christmas was here.

Sharing a bedroom with my younger brother and sister made it even more exciting. Our little world was charged with energy - the kind that made us feel like our skin might split right open at the thought of Santa coming down the chimney, his reindeer stamping softly on our roof.

I remember one night in particular when we got to jumping on our beds and laughing so hard my sides hurt. Dizzy from bounding up and down, we collapsed onto our beds in fits of giggles. My brother got us started by simply repeating two lines from Moore's Christmas poem: "He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly."

Someone's belly could actually shake when they laughed? Like a bowl full of jelly?

The thought had us in stitches. We bared our bellies and tried to shake them. Like jelly. The sight must have been ridiculous. We thought we were hilarious. (Even if our parents didn't.)

I also loved stepping onto the front porch every Christmas Eve as we pranced around, waiting to go to Grandma's house. I would step beyond the eaves so I could look past the Christmas lights and carefully scan the sky, convinced I could hear jingle bells somewhere in the black night.

Both Doug and I grew up with the rainbow lights hung round our houses. And this year, something nostalgic stirred in us. We wanted those bulbs for our children. So Doug searched high and low, far and near, and he finally found them at a small hardware store downtown.

On Thanksgiving weekend, he hung lights, I raked leaves, and the kids dragged each other across the lawn in sleds because the weather was fairly warm (if you kept moving).

I wish I had a picture of Doug on the ladder, stringing lights. I took my camera outside with that intent, but amid diaper changes and zone defense on the boys, all I got was Ali wearing her shades as she watched the lights go up.

That night, we flung the front door open, raced to the edge of the street and all five kids huddled close to my legs while we waited for Doug to give the word. Together we counted as loud as we could, "One... Two... Three..."

Shazam! As the lights buzzed on for the first time, we shouted in unison, "Merry Christmas!!" Loud enough the neighbors across the street heard us.

And there we were, all lit up. The house, the living room, and us.

The lights, the decorations, our Advent readings that began with John 8:12 reminding us of the True Light (our list of Advent Readings next post), and our "secret pal service." All of it has me glowing.

But no one else is excited around here...

Nope.

That night, I slowly pushed the girls' bedroom door open to see if they were finally asleep. A rainbow shadow reflected off the white trim of Ali's bed, I paused over Sami's dangling arm as I took in their faces, brushed my fingers across their warm cheeks.

Christmas makes me feel like a child again.

Past memories mingle with memories in the making. I reel back and forth. I am the parent. I am the child.

I remember a few of the gifts I was given, but more than anything I remember the magic, the hint of mystery in my mom's voice, the sparkle in my dad's eyes when he told us stories, our breath puffing visible clouds into the air as we crouched in the bushes, waiting for just the right moment to set our secret gift on a doorstep.

I want that for my children.

I want them to be filled with light.

The lights on our house are no show-stopper. You won't find any cars lingering at our bend in the road. But that old-fashioned glow is making me happy, charging my little life.

Yes, it's Christmas, and I am all lit up.

Back to Books

2011-11-29T22:52:00.012-05:00

Yesterday we dug out the Christmas decor, slid holiday books into our book nook, positioned the poinsettia on the table, hung our advent tree, then flopped onto the couch. All four twins sidled next to me, and we read our first Christmas book of the season. The old favorite by Clement C. Moore, 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.

As the kids scampered off to choose their next selection, I got to thinking. You're probably on the hunt for books to wrap rather than pile onto your nightstand right now. Yes?

I was planning to post our favorite books from 2011 in January, but maybe it would be helpful to share them before Christmas. Thoughts?

For now, here's what I'm currently enjoying.

Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese is a stunning novel about twin boys born in Ethiopia of a secret union to an Indian nun and a British surgeon. These twin brothers, bound by a strong connection to each other and a love for medicine, come of age as Ethiopia hovers on the brink of revolution. Verghese's writing is excellent, and I am loving the story. But I have to warn you, his sordid details and unbridled description of medical procedures are not for the squeamish. I was whisked right back to all those hours in the cadaver lab, dissecting tissue layers, memorizing tendons and following venous pathways. But I like that kind of stuff. So I'm thoroughly enjoying the book. I'm also intrigued by the attention Verghese gives to the twin relationship. It's a gripping story, even if a little hard to stomach.

Everneath by Brodi Ashton - Brace yourself people, Everneath is going to be big. If you want to know what your teen daughters are going to be reading for the next few years, click the link and order your advance copy now. This new YA novel comes out the end of January, but since Brodi is my dear friend from childhood (we both still remember all the words and actions to an awesome rain dance we choreographed on her trampoline), she was kind enough to loan me an ARC version.

I don't start reading until 11PM most nights, but her book has kept me up until 2AM some mornings. It's hard to put down. I don't reach a lot of YA fiction, so it's a change of gears for me. But I am thoroughly loving Brodi's story.

Brodi's heroine, Nikki Beckett, has vanished into the underworld, known as the Everneath. No one knows where she has gone, then suddenly, she returns - to her old life, her family, and her boyfriend Jack. She has only six months before she is sucked back into the Everneath, so she tries to mend the relationships that matter most to her, and escape the grasp of an Everliving (immortal from the underworld) named Cole, who first enticed her to the Everneath. Pulled between two worlds, Nikki has to make the hardest decision of her life. Cheat fate and stay with Jack? Or return to the underworld as Cole's queen. Brodi's book is based on the greek myth of Persephone, queen of the underworld.

The most interesting facet to Everneath is that Everlivings stay alive by feeding off the emotions of humans. They can draw out all the suffering a human feels, take it right from them, easing both physical and emotional pain. Tempting, right? But if you let an Everliving stay around too long, they will rob you of every emotion, even the good ones.

Brodi's book is being published by Balzer & Bray, an imprint of HarperCollins, and was picked up by Barnes and Noble for a stepladder display in January. No small deal if B&N wants your book in their front window for several weeks. Everneath will be the first of a triology you won't want to miss. More about Brodi and her journey to getting published here.

Segullah's Fall/Winter Issue. This is our contest issue and I must say the winning essay is riveting, heart-rending, and worth a read. It's the true story of a young mother who loses her four-year-old daughter to a sleeper wave on one of California's northern beaches. In this piece, Brandy Tingey bares her soul about real loss. It is beautiful and hopeful, and it was a privilege to work on her piece.

Also featured in this issue is artist, Cindy Ferguson, who does paper cutting. See the cover above as well as this piece below, called Squirrel Village? Pretty amazing. My girls keep stealing this issue off the kitchen counter. They love the underground worlds Ferguson has created. And I'm with them. Her work is captivating.

Just a teaser for the journal. I wrote an essay about this crawly friend Eliza happened upon last August, and it will appear in our Spring/Summer issue.

I Didn't Plan to Be a Witch by Linda Eyre - This was the perfect year for me to read Linda's book. I didn't plan to be a witch, a maniac, a grouch, or the devil herself. But each of those demons showed up at one point or another over the last twelve months. I think I'm going to look back on this year and think, Wow. That was the year I almost lost my mind. With the age of my kids, Doug's work schedule, and menopause. Mmm. It's been tough. The copyright is 1988 (my mother read this book!), but the ups and downs of mommy-hood have not changed. Linda is still speaking the right language and I value her perspective, her honesty, and her ideas. Her book has been a real comfort to me on those ugly, witchy days. (Thanks Anne Marie).

Lastly, I just started Tinkers by Paul Harding. Harding is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop and won the Pulitzer in 2010. Since I'm not far enough in to give you my own explanation, I'll give you the one on back of the book.

"An old man lies dying. Propped up in his living room and surrounded by his children and grandchildren, George Washington Crosby drifts in and out of consciousness, back to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in Maine. As the clock repairer's time winds down, his memories intertwine with those of his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler and his grandfather, a Methodist preacher beset by madness. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, Tinkers is an elegiac meditation on love, illness, faith, and the fierce beauty of nature."

Sounds good, doesn't it?

Do you have time to read this month? If so, what's on your nightstand? And would you like our lists of "favorite" books before Christmas? If so, I'll try to oblige.

The Grateful Pay Attention

2011-11-23T23:20:00.015-05:00

"I doubt there is such a thing as a measure of spirituality - but if there is, gratitude would be it.

Only the grateful are paying attention.

They are grateful because they pay attention, and they pay attention because they are grateful."

- Barnes, the Pastor as Minor Poet, quoted by Douglas Wilson

I've been counting gifts now for sixty-one days. Trying to discern with keener eyes what God is doing for me. For all of us.

149. sami bathed in afternoon light, raking leaves

But on mornings like this one, when I slip in the door from my run to a dark house - so cold I can't warm up, even after a shower. And I send Doug out the door with a disappointed goodbye, because in the end, he had to work today. And then I spill my bowl of cereal all over the desk counter, soaking my calendar, the novel I'm reading, and a bunch of sticky notes, only to turn around and knock the cereal box onto the floor, flinging cereal everywhere...

I have to admit, gratitude isn't the first thing on my mind.

It was a rough morning. We had nowhere to go, but I was unusually sluggish and unaware. In contrast, a few days ago, I squeezed that space between dawn and dark into such a rush it was like someone hit fast-forward and we just kept yanking each other along - from place to place - with no time to stand still. No time to pay attention.

150. new crayons and all my girls coloring at the table

It's not easy to find a pace that allows you to be grateful. And it's even harder to feel gratitude for whatever the current moment is offering you.

But my gratitude journal has helped. I go there several times a day to record God's hand in my life, recognize his reaching. It is constant. And He is reaching out to all of us, if we choose to see it.

151. Our Thankful Tree

Practice (and failure) are teaching me this. Yesterday I found it in the paper towels my boys shredded throughout the house, a prolonged bedtime routine with girls who kept wanting to ask one more question and sing one more song. I saw it in the food caked onto booster chairs, the toys littering the living room. I didn't see it at first, but as I wiped chairs and picked up paper, I realized, all these things are saying matter-of-factly, you have children. And I felt grateful.

152. a yard to trim and rake

We have a house to live in - an old one. But I feel grateful as I gaze out the window into our neglected backyard that needs trimming and raking.

I feel grateful when I find all five kids hiding in the fort Eliza built under the stairs. (Or, on this particular day, when I found her snoozing.) They don't need our house to be shiny or state of the art. They just need it to feel like home.

153.eliza's fort

I am starting to believe we can be grateful for everything.

And when we are, the result is simple. We are happy. Our ears hear more joy, our souls feel more alive, and our hearts are more open - more full of thanks for everything as it is.

154.a warm day

I tend to agree with the quote above. If there was a measure of spirituality, it might just be gratitude. It really does reconnect us with God, especially if we've had a bit of a hiatus, rolled along without him for a spell.

155. Jesus

When I've felt that separation, I notice discontent and entitlement begin to creep in. Not that we shouldn't dream big or push hard, but sometimes circumstances are without our control and all we can really do is choose how to respond.

When this is the case, if I pause long enough to let gratitude fill me, time stalls. My senses take in every detail, and I want to reach up, extend my fingertips towards Him, and say "thank you."

This afternoon it was Spencer's warm skin, still incubating from his nap, as I pulled him from his crib. I breathed in his scent as I nuzzled my chin into the crook of his neck, inhaling long, like they do in the islands when they say goodbye. It was healing and I thought in my mind, "thank you for this boy."

156. spencer's warm wake-up skin, healing, as I breathe in his scent

It has been so fun for me to read some of your lists as you progress toward one-thousand gifts. I'm still numbering mine along my sidebar, as a reminder (to myself) to pay attention.

157. eliza and her bosom buddy, katherine, playing with the dolls they made

What about you?

Are you writing them down somewhere?

What are you grateful for today?

158. lots of little hands to help me plant bulbs

"It's not how much we have, but how much we enjoy, that makes happiness." - Charles H. Spurgeon

Thanksgiving Blessings everyone. May your tables and hearts be full.

Texts from Daddy

2011-11-18T16:20:00.012-05:00

Doug comes home tonight after two weeks of traveling and more than three months of working late nights and Saturdays.

This fall's tax season has been especially brutal for him due to extra traveling, presentations to prepare for, and additional deadlines for the SEC (I really don't know what I'm talking about when I say Q3s and such - I'm just throwing numbers and letters out there.)

I may not understand the specifics of Doug's work, but I do know we've seen less of him this Autumn than we have as long as he's been an accountant.

This parody on growing up to be a tax accountant will give you an idea for his life. Our friend, who emailed this to us and is also a tax accountant, said, "I don't know if I should laugh or cry."

While Doug's been out of town Ali had three cavities filled, Gordon fell off the bed and bruised his jaw so he couldn't chew for a day, Eliza and Ali had their warts burned off leaving Ali with an enormous blister that covers the entire back of her knee - so painful she can't bend it. Everyone had flu shots, including me, and yesterday we tried for a family photo - I had to have one taken of just the kids because we couldn't find a time Doug could be there (sad commentary, I know).

Needless to say, we are all leaping for joy at the thought of him coming home.

Despite the fact that Doug's job has been out-of-control busy and I'm super lonesome for him, I am grateful he has a job. I'm grateful he works hard to provide for us so I can be with our children during these intense years.

That said, I know his heart wants to be with us here at home.

One way he stays connected to us is through a morning text. Here are a few we've received over the last two weeks. I don't trump Doug enough for the way he tries to balance his professional life with our family life and still fit in a busy church calling, exercise, and a rare moment for himself.

Maybe these little blips on my phone will give you a flavor for who he is, how aware he is of our kids, what he wants to teach them, and how often he tells them he loves them.

November 6, 2011

Eliza, Ali, Sami, Spencer, Gordon - I love you all. Please be kind to each other like Jesus is kind. Mommy will need you all to be extra helpful while I'm in Virginia. Please help Mommy clean up the house and be obedient. Also, remember to eat worms for breakfast everyday. :)

I found Spencer on the kitchen counter with five pieces of gum in his mouth.

November 8, 2011

Good morning everyone! Today will be a great day. Are you eating your worms? I prayed for all of you and asked Heavenly Father to keep you safe. Ali - how are you feeling today? I prayed for you too. I miss you all. Remember to say your prayers. Also, please ask mommy how you can help her today. Spence and Gordy - let's play bear chase when I'm home. I love you very much. Daddy

Two weeks of artwork.

November 10, 2011

Cho-un acheem, cho-un acheem, good morning (in Korean). Happy Thursday! Eliza - have a great day at school. Is your snowman still standing outside? Ali - I can't wait to see your cavity-free smile. Sami - have you done any artwork this week? I love all the cards you and your sisters make for me. Spence - will the weather be nice enough to mow the lawn on Saturday? Gordy - let's play some Star Wars on Saturday. You, me, and Spence will try to save the galaxy together. I love you all. Mommy - I miss you greatly and look forward to being with you again.

Notes from the girls

November 15, 2011

Good Morning Ali, Sami, Spence and Gordy - sorry we didn't get to see each other this morning. I love you all and will miss you while I'm gone. Please be Mommy's great helpers while I'm gone. I'll look for Mickey and Minnie Mouse while I'm in Orlando and will send you a picture if I see any. Ali - how is your leg this morning? I said a prayer for you and asked Heavenly Father to help you endure the pain and that you will heal quickly. I'm on the plane now and ready to take off. I love you all.

Wound care twice a day has been no picnic for Ali

November 16, 2011

Good Morning Chilluns - I'm just starting my day. It's very warm here... and humid. It feels like summer and it's nice to be in a warm place. I have a little free time this afternoon so I'm going to go on a princess and prince hunt at Downtown Disney. If I find any I will take pictures of them and send them to you. Ali and Eliza - how are your blisters today? Everyone - remember to eat turkey feet for lunch. I love you.

Doug missed this doozy of a tantrum. Over a lollipop.

November 18, 2011

It's Friday! I'm looking forward to seeing all of you tonight. Since my plane lands late tonight you will all be in bed by the time I arrive home. However, I will check on each of you once I'm home. Mommy told me that some of you have not been helpful while I've been gone. You have the chance to change that today.

I want each of you to answer this question - what will you do to help mommy today? Once you decide what it is you'll do, then you need to do it. Be kind to each other. Our best friends in life should be each other in our family. Remember that Jesus taught us to love one another. When we love each other it shows our love for Heavenly Father and Jesus as well. Those are the two things you need to focus on today - serving mommy and loving each other.

Eliza - good luck with your spelling test today. Ali and Sami - dance like princesses at dance class this morning. Spence and Gordy - keep us safe from all the bears.

The pink leaf shows what Sami was grateful for one day last week. Me too, Sam.

Mommy - you are my hero. I am a better husband, father and person because of your influence in my life. The same is true for our children. It may be difficult to see this when the days are so crazy and hectic, but I see it and know your example, love and teaching is blessing their lives. I love you.

I needed that today.

Five hours and counting...

Nothing is Really Routine

2011-11-16T21:40:00.009-05:00

It comes four times a year - my favorite magazine. About the time I'm ready to let go of one season and embrace the next, I find it, folded into my mail box. It comes when the walnut leaves start dropping, when snow is stacked thick on the ground, when crocuses poke their heads and push dirt, when the sprinkler is hauled to the middle of the grass for tiny feet to scamper through.

I read it in two days, cover to cover. It is one of the few print magazines I receive. And it's unusually appealing, because it has no advertisements. There is nothing affronting or diverting, just gorgeous photography and graceful prose.

It's called Seeing the Every Day.

This magazine is put together by a talented editorial staff in Cambridge, Mass. who to my surprise, return phone calls when you leave a message, care if you don't receive your issue on time, and answer your questions happily and graciously. Because they like what they do.

Why print a magazine like this?

Here's their philosophy.

Our lives are the sum

Of each moment, each interaction.

Each day we work, eat, laugh, teach, play, read, remember...

And work at it all again the next day.

Within seemingly small moments we find opportunity

To build relationships, develop character, find joy

For the price of our time.

Life's most essential possibilities are realized at home.

Where we share, teach, grow, learn, serve, give

Our best without praise or fanfare.

Because every effort, every moment matters

In the development of a person.

Nothing is really routine.

Profound, isn't it? Those phrases drift through my mind often.

"We find opportunity to build relationships..." as I teach Ali how to shred lettuce, congratulate her on her careful work, wrap one arm around her as we stand at the sink together.

"For the price of your time..." We might be late if I stop now and open the flower press Eliza has been begging to see. What if I slow down long enough to crack its seams? What will it matter if we're a few minutes late?

"Nothing is really routine." I lather Sami's hair in the tub, pour water down her back, and smile as she tells me about school.

Family life feels routine. But it is composed entirely of moments that build lives, forge relationships, and make a difference not just at home, but to the world. We change the earth one family at a time.

We eat together.

We work together.

We play together.

We listen.

We teach.

We laugh.

We build.

And the summation of all these efforts eventually becomes something much bigger than the noodles I put on the table for dinner, or the pile of laundry waiting to be folded. Yet, both remain part of the equation.

I share this with you because a year of reading these issues has changed me - helped me see what I want as a family - here and now - in the middle of so many seemingly rote rituals. It's made me more deliberate with the kind of home I want to create, moved me to see my children as a relationship I am building, not dependents I must care for. And it has reminded me that each interaction I have with my husband and my five littles, is anything but routine.

I pulled covers up to their chins tonight, caressed their foreheads as I sang their favorite songs, then kissed each child on the cheek. The work we do in our homes is unparalleled. It is hard work but good work, powerful work. And the more I see it for what it really is, the more joy I find in each chore, each mess, each clean-up, each child.

This magazine has become one of my favorite gifts to give. There is something so satisfying about holding it in my hands, leafing through it's elegant pages, and keeping it on the counter so I can open it again and again.

Each time I do, I discover some new truth. Some new way of seeing the every day.

Blessed be the Crib Tent

2011-11-14T15:15:00.014-05:00

Even Super Boy, with his super toddler strength, can't bust out of the amazing crib tent. Even Super Boys (plural) who are more powerful than Thomas the Tank Engine and can leap tall piles of couch cushions in a single bound are no match for its genius design.

Peace has been restored to our thriving metropolis. It's been over a week now, and the boys have napped every day, without a single hiccup. I am a kinder, gentler Mommy. And the world has been tipped back to its appropriate axis.

All because of the blessed crib tent.

Truly - whoever you are that created the crib tent - I will praise your name forevermore.

Thirteen days after the boys "gave up" their nap (backstory here), a box from Amazon arrived via UPS. I could have kissed the man in brown pants as he left our doorstep because inside that long slender box, were two crib tents. I had no choice but to be optimistic. I'd tried everything else. This had to work.

I opened the boxes and began assembling them, but my boys kept walking off with the rods. So I called my parents and they came over to help. My Mom read books to the kids while my Dad and I (mostly my Dad - thanks Dad) put up the tents. It was mid-afternoon when we finished (late for nap time) but there was no question, I was putting those boys down.

We prepped Spence and Gordy, told them how fun their tents were going to be. And when the girls saw the tents, they told their brothers, "Ohhhh. You're so lucky! We wish we had a crib tent to sleep in!" (Thanks for the tip about presentation Kara. You were SO right.)

I snuggled the boys for a bit, slid them into the tents, and zipped those babies shut. In less than three minutes, all was quiet in the boys' bedroom. They were out cold.

Silence isn't just golden, sometimes it's a miracle.

The next day when nap time rolled around I couldn't find Spencer. To my surprise, he had already climbed into his tent, snuggled into his mamie, and was waiting for a song.

The velcro on these things is intense. It's everywhere. And I'm not talking about two pieces of velcro pressed together. I'm talking about velcro straps pulled through button holes, wrapped around twice, then reinforced with another piece of velcro. While my Dad was strapping the first tent into place he said, "This was the invention of one desperate mother."

No doubt her buyers are desperate mothers too.

Doug taught the boys how to velcro their Star Wars figures into the straps, so they can be rescued from Vader and save the galaxy. Poor Luke looks like he'll need rotator cuff surgery after this adventure.

Here's a side view, in case you want to see how the tents work. It's just like a camping tent, with netting on all four sides. You slip the entire thing into your crib, then slide the mattress in on top and it holds the tent taut. Bonus feature? Binkies don't fall between the crib slats anymore!

Daily naps of 2-3 hours are back. Bedtime at 8 PM is smooth and happy. I'm not worried about midnight wanderers or dressers being pulled over. And boy was it nice to put the roll of twine away.

Super Boy and Super Boy are eating their dinners again. Rather than squashing their veggies with their thumbs and wailing over the fact that their bowl is the wrong color.

Life is good.

If you want to see some video as to how the tents work, watch below. I laughed when I viewed this a few minutes ago. While asking the boys questions, I got an echo response every time. One from each boy. And I think Ali was serious when she walked in whining for her own tent. They make for pretty cool sleeping quarters.

Blessed be the Crib Tent. (Here's the brand I bought on Amazon.)

And thanks to all of you who told me the tents were worth trying. I could kiss you too!

Playing Dress-Up

2011-11-09T20:29:00.014-05:00

For the past eleven years I have missed my sister's big Halloween bash. Eight years living back east followed by three years of too-small babies and untimely conflicts. But this year? This was the year I said, "We. Are. Going!"

Deb and her husband, Will, began hosting this party the year they were married. By popular demand, it's come back every year since. They invite a list of close friends and we siblings get to tag-along.

So these are my four sisters, minus our brother who currently lives in Kuala Lumpur - where Matt Lauer filmed this morning's Today show. (Dave and Shirlee can see the Petronas Towers from their apartment windows. As Matt said, "It's a very, very cool place." Still trying to figure out a way Doug and I can visit.)

Deborah is extremely creative, as you may have noted from my last post. Her invites are always clever, over-the-top, and they arrive in - not an envelope - but a box.

This year they looked like this.

The two oldies gracing the front of the invitation are actually our relatives. Job and Charlotte Welch, faithful pioneers who were born in 1810. I wanted to give them the respect of at least telling you their names, since Deb had to gouge out their eyes for the invite. Below the RSVP, it said, "We'll keep an eye out for you!"

Here are the host and hostess in all their royal glory. Can you tell who they are?

Yup. The Burger King. With this "whopper" of a pendant.

And the Dairy Queen. Clever.

Deb, of course, made both costumes.

I was planning to glide in as Scarlet O'Hara with Rhett Butler on my arm (or is Scarlet supposed to be on his arm?). But as the day approached, I could tell this evening wasn't going to be the best fit for Rhett. With a football game beckoning, and so many long hours crunching numbers and giving presentations (so many he'd had zero down-time and not a moment to himself), I let him off the hook. I told him I would go by myself. (Isn't that what Scarlet would do?)

Rhett was grateful for the reprieve and our parting was sweet. But when I arrived at Deb's, I still had to introduce myself only to explain that Rhett couldn't make it. The mumblings were audible.

"That's so like Rhett."

My response? "Well, maybe I don't give a d---."

And really, I didn't. Not that I wouldn't have loved his company. But sometimes you have to acknowledge what your spouse needs rather than push full-steam ahead what you think they need (or what you want). The result was a happy night for all.

My youngest sister, Rachel, and her good sport of a date, Dan, came as an Angry Bird and the King Pig.

My sister, Becca, and her husband, Neil, flew in as... lemme see... did you guess it?

Here's a clue. Neil is sporting a Smithsonian Institute badge on the sleeve of his jacket.

Still don't know?

Amelia Earhart and Larry Daley, from Night at the Museum 2.

The force was definitely strong with these two - my sister, Sarah, and her husband, Lance. So strong that Leia and Hans won best couples' costume.

Frankenstein and his lovely bride came in as a close second. This big green monster is Will's friend, Silas, with his wife, Amy. You should have seen the Doc Martens he was wearing. Somehow he glued a good four inches to the sole. They were something else.

And this captivating lady? In real life, she's my cousin, Liz. But for the party she was Jadis, the White Witch from Chronicles of Narnia. Take a peek here. Jadis creeps me out.

Liz crafted a perfect likeness, right down to her white eyelashes and icy skin. She won by a landslide for best overall costume. Liz made her wig, found the aqua dress on ebay for a steal, and even came with a box of...

Turkish Delight.

The house was decorated with all sorts of Halloween garb, including two more relatives. These portraits of John and Mary Hunter were painted in Milan, Italy, circa 1875. I wonder what they think each year Deb pulls out their pictures to increase the spook factor for her party. Seeing that they're related to my Dad, they probably just laugh.

We ate great food.

Visited.

Played Graveyard Guests (a guessing game with clues to famous people who died within the last year), then made our way out back for the much-anticipated...

Pinata.

Every year Will and Silas spend hours in Deb's garage bringing some character to life. It's quite amazing. They've made Darth Vader, Sponge Bob, Twinkie the Kid, Claymation Santa, Smurfette, and the list goes on. They work hard at getting even the tiniest details right.

This year it was a Cabbage Patch Kid. Complete with copyright tag on the left hip (1978), and an Xavier Roberts signature on the rump.

Let's take a closer look at that face. And those eyes.

I think it's fair to call this art.

It must have been "pick on the new girl night," because I was voted first batter up.

Always embarrassing when you slice nothing but air. But in the end, I dismembered the poor thing by tearing off a leg.

Out of curiosity, has anyone ever worn a hoop skirt? I felt like I was on a boat for the first five minutes, trying to get used to the sensation of something swinging from my waist. (Being blind-folded didn't help.)

Here's what was left of the Cabbage Patch Kid once his candy spilled out. It brought back memories of the family trip we took when my brother whacked my cabbage patch doll against the ceiling of the car so many times the paint came off her face. Hmmm.

We offered to pay Will a hefty sum if he would walk into the local Burger King in full costume. I think he'd have taken us up on the offer if he hadn't had so many guests to entertain.

Thanks for the fabulous party Will and Deb. We love you.

And what about you? Did you get to play dress-up this Halloween? If so, I'd love to hear about it.

Trick-or-Treat!

2011-11-04T00:10:00.016-04:00

It was a glorious Halloween evening - mild temperatures, no one wore a jacket, and I stood on the front lawn in jeans and a light sweater taking pictures before we went out. Absolutely lovely, especially considering last year's trick-or-treat was in the rain.

So here they are.

Cowboys, Fairies, and Wonder Woman, Oh My!

I love Halloween, but it is quite the adventure trying to costume twenty appendages, curl and adorn three heads of hair, tie shoelaces, tweak wings, and sew on extra tulle. Thankfully, Doug made it home just in time to wrangle the cowboys into their chaps.

And I mean wrangle. We couldn't keep the boys dressed for more than thirty seconds before they peeled their velcro apart, shed their vests, and ditched the hats.

But the evening held two miracles. Here's the first.

Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid kept their costumes on the whole night!

Spencer (aka Butch) is wearing the cowboy costume Eliza wore when she was two. But finding a second cowboy outfit that looked similar was a challenge. I kept striking out. So my cute sister Deb stepped in.

"Let me see the vest and chaps," she said, fingering the seams, examining the velcro belt. "I can make these for you. Easy. I have leather and felt and some faux suede at home."

Deb's amazing. You will never hear me say I can make anything for you easily. Ever. (Unless it's mac and cheese or cinnamon toast.)

One week later, my mom brought over Gordon's costume. It was beautifully made - complete with fringe and a silver sheriff's star. So darling. Even if we did make the boys wear their chaps backwards so they wouldn't undo the belts.

With a little bribing (a blow-pop) we talked the kids into smooshing together for a few more pictures. Here's The Sundance Kid, eyes a twinkle over the prospect of more candy.

Enter Fairies.

Purple Plum Fairy and Sunshine Blossom Fairy (they named themselves).

I would have loved some wings like this when I was little.

The girls flitted across the lawn, waved their wands and kicked leaves. I looked on wistful for just a few seconds as Ali danced and twirled and fluffed the tulle on her skirt.

It's so fun to feel pretty.

Sami chose some smaller rainbow wings for her preschool program and larger pink wings for Halloween night.

My favorite accessory? The glittered Converse.

And last but not least...

Wonder Woman!

Deb made this costume as well. She made it for her own daughter last year then added gold trim to lengthen the skirt for Eliza.

I think she did Lynda Carter proud. Don't you?

This is Eliza jumping over a three-car pile-up and lighting like a cat on the other side. Remember the "Wonder Jump?"

We watched a few YouTube clips of Wonder Woman so Eliza could comprehend the coolness of this seventies icon. Here's my favorite mix. And get this. I was digging Wonder Woman's pedestrian clothes! I guess style does come full circle. Watch her spin transformations here, unless you get motion sickness.

Gold wrist bands to deflect bullets. (One of which I lost Sunday night and was frantically trying to find. As if Wonder Woman couldn't trick-or-treat without a wristband.) And of course, you gotta love the boots.

Bribing the boys to stand in one place was laughable so I gave the camera a rest, we put the boys into the stroller... and the girls were off!

Look at those trees! The whole neighborhood was turning golden, leaves gently drifting to the ground. It was a magical October evening with sweet light reflecting off the mountains and window panes, jack-o-lanterns glowing from front porches.

We met up with some of the neighborhood families for a picture. I love these kids.

And then it was on to the first doorstep, the first knock, and the first shout of "trick-or-treat!"

You can see the energy in their faces. It was circling thick, floating us through the streets.

The Sundance Kid refused to part with his candies, clutched them tightly in both hands until they must have ached and he couldn't hold any more. We told him to put them in his treat bag for later, but he wanted none of that. So on he trudged, white-knuckling his hoard of sugar.

But this here? This was the second miracle of the night. The moment when Gordy released his candy into his tote, only to realize his fingers were now free to handle more loot. No small victory!

This picture makes me laugh, with Sam's headband falling across her face, but I had to include it because it's Miss Marion's house and she bubble wraps her stairs. Yes, I said bubble wrap. Complete with scary music, smoke machines and flying bats. How awesome is that?

I hope we left some popping for the other kids. Jumping down stairs that crackle and bang is way too fun!

We ate hot dogs at Robert and Susie's, scones at Kim and John's, donuts and root beer at Rebecca and Jason's. I love our neighborhood. I love the safe, happy feeling as we ring doorbells and hug people we care about. I love the generosity, the good parents, and all the sweet children.

My favorite memories from the night? Spencer lounging in the double stroller while putting down his second hot dog, our two cowboys swaggering up to each doorstep, Sami holding my hand and asking me to skip down the hill with her, carrying Eliza piggy-back up the last leg of our route.

To quote Garrison Keillor, a favorite voice of ours, "Nothing you do for a child is ever wasted."

Every costume sewn, every skip down the street, every smile shared? Never wasted. (Thanks Deb.)

That said, I had a good chuckle over my friend Saydi's approach this year. Visit her blog for a laugh and a dose of healthy perspective. Nothing wrong with a little "do-it-yourself" attitude.

Here's hoping your Halloween was a happy one!

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T11:24:00.007-04:00

Hard to believe two years ago we were stepping out like this.

With these two buddies along for a ride in the stroller.

Now all five are walking, or running rather, so fast we'll have trouble keeping up with them as they tote trick-or-treat bags through the neighborhood.

They change so quickly. Enjoy the magic today.

And may you not sweat the small stuff, like I did this morning over Wonder Woman's wrist band.

Happy (and safe) Hauntings tonight my friends.

S.O.S. (A Twinspin by Necessity)

2011-10-26T21:45:00.015-04:00

I'm about ready to wave my tattered, white flag and surrender. I think it's time to cry uncle and give it up for these two victors. Last week Spence and Gordy figured out how to climb out of their cribs.

Zoom in on my body language. With arms folded across my chest and one eyebrow raised, I watch helplessly as my boys scale the outside of their cribs...

You've been there? Ahhhhhhrg.

This picture was taken the first day they climbed out - the moment I found them standing oh-so-innocent-like in the middle of their bedroom.

Don't let their big lovely browns pull you in. They haven't napped in eight days (and not from a lack of effort on my part). Alll that cuteness evaporated with the nap. They are ornery, tired, hyper two-year-olds who are going out for the 2012 Olympic Games with their new gymnastic stunts. Or maybe rock-climbing.

Olympic Rock Climbing for three and under. Takers?

So I was standing in the kitchen when I heard the door latch. I stopped what I was doing and listened... to the sound of small feet padding down the hallway, my two boys conversing through binky-mouthed whispers. When we made eye-contact they turned tail and ran back to their bedroom. I grabbed the camera and followed them.

Here's the footage.

I think I said "Oh boy..." ten times in two minutes that day. Especially when I asked them to demonstrate their newfound skill and they slid out in three seconds flat.

I love Ali's comment. "They might be doing this in the night every time!" Umm-hmmm. Yup.

Knowing they would still need a nap (they're only two!) I put them back in bed with clear instructions. "Stay in your bed until Mommy comes to get you. You need to have a nap."

Two minutes later I heard them again. Here's Gordon just touching down. With Spencer, his good-hearted accomplice, waiting to hand Gordy his mamie (blanket at our house). And then they see me.

I crack up when I watch this, especially when I see Gordon slink behind the rocking chair. But I've had a week to process their new freedom.

Talk to me four days ago and I was not, I repeat not, laughing.

Our predictable, hard-worked-for routine of two boys napping long into the afternoon has suddenly vaporized. Vanished.

I like to call it...

nap annihilation: the calamitous cessation of a nap due to toddling twins sharing the same room.

Since they won't stay in their beds anymore, let alone sleep in them, I open the door now to two empty cribs and the sound of muffled giggles. Only to find them hiding under one of the beds snickering - burying their faces into their blankets so I won't see them.

Or I find them jumping up and down together in the same crib - crazy wilda style. I mean what's not to love about a trampoline in your bedroom?

Or I've found them both on top of the dresser. With everything in the dresser rummaged through and dumped out.

Yes, believe me when I say nap annihilation is calamitous. It's destructive on a couple levels.

Not many things are predictable in our family, but naps are. I'm kind of a nap nazi. All our kids have slept through the night at early ages and they always go down easily. It's the only way I could survive. We "cried it out" (literally) with each one of them, but it paid off.

Now? All that hard-earned peace of a routine has gone to pot.

I've tried tying the door shut (I know - that sounds awful, but the old doors in this house won't latch shut so they pull open easily without twisting the knob). Tying kind of worked. But I didn't want to clothesline anyone who got up during the night to use the bathroom, and I couldn't decide which was worse - having them up at quarter to six in the morning roaming the house, or cleaning up the Hiroshima-like devastation in their room after opening the door.

This is Spencer's idea of putting their clothes back in the drawers.

Notice I have stripped the room of anything that could break (or might hurt them). I did that a few weeks ago when they started cracking their blankets like bull whips. They whipped their lamp right off the dresser. Broke it twice.

And this was after they figured out how to disrobe during nap time and take off their diapers. That was a fun week. We now masking-tape their diapers before bedtime.

I have no frames on the walls (partly because I haven't stripped wallpaper in this room yet, but also because they would have been yanked off and hurled onto the floor.

Basically, the dresser is left to tear apart, and I figured, I can handle cleaning up that.

The girls have been sweet to help me fold, stack and put away. Again and again.

(Don't miss Gordy perched atop the crib. Mmmm-hmmm. Trouble.)

But then, two days ago, I heard a thundering crash. I was all the way downstairs and ran up to their bedroom to find they had tipped the dresser over completely. It had landed on Gordon. I went into fight or flight syndrome, adrenaline pumping, as I realized Gordon was screaming because his legs were pinned under the dresser. I heaved it upright, with serious effort, and turned to examine him. Remarkably, his legs were fine.

When I looked back at the dresser I could see that the changing pad (several inches thick) had landed on Gordon's legs first, cushioning him when the dresser fell. I whispered a prayer of gratitude right then. Out loud.

We've been through half a roll of twine, but unless we anchor the dresser to the wall, it just isn't safe to leave them in there anymore. Ali told me we need "set a trap" for the boys. Not a bad idea.

Barbed wire is sounding good.

And what about crib tents? Have you used them?? If so, do you think my boys are too big for them? Would it be worth the investment?

My sweet guys are morphing into monsters every afternoon. Last night Spencer cried through his entire dinner, didn't eat a bit, just tossed everything I gave him onto the floor. All tears he was so tired.

Gordon sank into his seat drowsy, and only touched his food long enough to saw his banana in half with the middle of his fork and squish his carrots into a pulp with his thumb.

Gone are these days. Of snuggling and singing before I put them down for a nap. And it makes me boo-hoo. A lot.

My boys aren't as obedient as my girls. They don't stay in their beds when I tell them to. Surprisingly, my girls did. These boys are amped up to a whole different level when they're together. They collude, conspire, and egg each other on.

So what have you got twin moms? Suggestions? Thoughts? Personal experience to share? And even if you're not a twin mom, I'm desperate for ideas.

I think it has been officially annihilated.

The Beloved Nap

R.I.P.

Everyone is finally asleep and I'm pooped.

I'm calling it a day and waving my white flag...

The Switch Witch

2011-10-21T14:51:00.007-04:00

She's coming to our house on Halloween Night. Word on the street is that she's building a candy castle so she's on the hunt for supplies.

So after your trick-or-treaters have changed their costumes for pajamas, and visions of bubblegum dance in their heads, she creeps into their rooms, cackles quietly when she sees their pile of goodies, and switches them. Their extra candy for her unsweetened treasures. Something like a pack of glitter pens, stickers, a box of new crayons, or a star wars action figure.

My girls are pretty sure the Switch Witch is this pointy-nosed beauty who sits on our mantle. Apparently, she comes alive on Halloween Night.

Who knew? Those are the leaps of little imaginations.

I pulled out the treat bags last week and so far they've made for great purses. The boys keep packing theirs full of toys, blocks, cars, and dinosaurs. Then, sliding them up onto their shoulder, they call to me, "Bye Mom. I go work!"

But five of these filled with candy? Man. That's a lot of sweets. And we're already dentist-bound for three fillings in November.

So that's what we'll be doing with all our excess of...

this.

Now. You should also know, the Switch Witch usually ends up with a surplus of candy, and she's slightly worried about cavities too, so she boxes up her extras and sends them to this charity, who mails care packages to US troops.

I'm not really into more fluff and stuff. So maybe next year we'll have the girls fill their own box for the troops. I think they'd be game for that after picking out a few candies of their choice.

But for now, the Switch Witch has been a fun incentive for them to part with all that Halloween booty. (Thanks for the idea Shirlee.)

I, on the other hand, will have to use real restraint not to pocket all the Kit Kats, Milky Ways, and Dots as we sort through bags. We all have our favorites, right?

What's yours?

And what do you do with those copious amounts of post-Halloween sugar?

One Golden Day

2011-10-18T10:11:00.011-04:00

Texts were flying back and forth as I looked at the window. It was still raining - drenching the streets, the mountain, our plans. I finger-tapped the question. "What do you think? Do we take a chance?"

Cami tapped back. "I was really hoping to go up into the mountains."

"Then let's go," I typed. "Rain or shine, we'll make the best of it."

Making the best of it is Cami's specialty. Cami is my cousin through marriage. But I claim her as my own. So we informed the others, and at nigh noon, we met at the bottom of the canyon.

The rain had stopped, the sun was soaking the sky blue, and the air was deliciously warm. It was Cami's idea to round-up as many cousins as we could. And for those who came (we missed the rest of you) the day was... golden.

We stopped to picnic part way up the canyon, then loaded the kids back into cars and drove to the top. I noticed a trend on this outing. Try as I may, I'm always the first to start buckling and the last to finish. Always.

The roadsides were tipped with color. Mostly yellow. And once we reached the parking lot at the top of Millcreek, a dozen kids piled out and we hit the trail.

We had no agenda. It didn't matter how far we went. Or how long. We just wanted to see the colors. Breathe some mountain air.

I wish I'd tried harder to pull everyone together for a photo. This shot, however, sums up my efforts for a group pic.

As for who's who, we have Cami (she's kind of a celebrity - you might recognize her from these videos), Jesica with the dark hair (another cousin-in-law), my sister Becca (front and off-center), and my Aunt Shelli.

We made a great tag-team, watching everyone's kids, herding and shuttling children along the trail.

Here are some of my favorite moments.

My sister teaching her son, Gus, how to take a picture.

Ali showing me her treasures.

She even found this sunflower, a hold-out from summer.

Spencer refusing to hold my hand or climb on my back. "No. I do it myself."

Both boys preferred to walk. But especially this guy. He's all about independence lately (details on our latest diaper developments coming soon).

A special rescue mission to find Sam after she went the wrong way on the trail. She started to cry when she saw me. And I was relieved too as I swooped her into my arms. She rested her head against mine as me hiked up the hill to meet the others.

When I turned around to check on the boys, who were a dozen yards away, I found them completely derailed by a small pile of rocks and some weeds that were soft to the touch. Perfect for pulling.

I laughed.

What a scene. Those two with their crazy white hair, and the aspens steeping in gold.

But my favorite moment?

Standing behind the camera for these three shots.

Doesn't Cami shine? She oozes with light and I can't help but laugh when I'm with her. She knows how to have fun. She has the most vibrant personality. And it rubs off on everyone around her.

It is obvious that her girls love this about her too. She can draw out smiles, turn your day around.

There's something so beautiful about her in these pictures. Her face. Her hair. Her daughters. The autumn world lit up behind her. All of it is golden. And I can almost feel the joy of her girls - the kind that comes when you're tucked into your mother's arms and you know with certainty, you are loved.

Our shot? Not so golden.

The kids were tired. Ali was contrary. I was realizing as we sat on that rock (due to the unpleasant smell), that someone had just stepped in doggie doo-doo. And a few minutes later, Gordon was stung by a bee.

Despite the last minute unraveling, I'm so glad Cami got us out there. That we didn't postpone.

Because the next day, it snowed. And our golden world turned flat, seamless, and white.

There's nothing like Fall. With her hunting and harvest moons, her hills glowing red and gold as nature shakes out her true colors. It never lasts long enough.

But I'm hoping for a few more golden days.

You?

A Field to Grow In

2011-10-12T22:12:00.019-04:00

My Mom wasn't there today, to walk us through her garden. She's somewhere in the middle of Tennessee, driving through cotton fields with my Dad. It's been three weeks now. The two of them drifting along together, taking in the farms, the towns, the coasts of America.

I wish she could have seen my children crunching through her grow boxes, skittering down the dirt paths, anxious to find their special pumpkin.

As we lifted leaves and snipped tendrils I thought of her - how she would have loved the light on our faces, the crisp sound of stems breaking, the ribbed feel of a pumpkin in hand.

Each summer my Mom buys seeds for her grandchildren. They dig in the earth together, help her plant and bury. Then, come August, she helps them scratch their names into small greenish bulbs that will soon become pumpkins.

The bulbs grow and so do the names.

And when October comes to stay, we cut the orange rounds and dress our doorstep.

When I returned home this afternoon, I read this post from one of my favorite writers. It was about her six-year-old daughter who has the same kind of fingers as my Eliza, the same kind of growing-up look on her face.

The sight of her photos undid me.

She wrote about pumpkins, harvests and growing - as if she knew I'd just spent the last hour in my own patch cutting pumpkins. As if she knew I needed her metaphor about growing something and growing it well.

I heard her loud and clear. What she had to say about... family.

"Family is a field to grow in. Where children grow up and parents grow patient."

Her word - patience - nagged at me. I've needed an ocean of it lately, but my wading pool always seems to tap out quickly. The lack of it makes me weary, guilty, and I long to be the mother who is not tired, who does not raise her voice, who has a soft answer, a wise answer, for every hard moment.

But I'm not.

I want to be.

But I keep stumbling.

Ann's words today gave voice to the why behind a decision I made last week. A decision to pull back, make my own cuts, step away from some commitments.

Something needs to change when you feel you are forcing life rather than flowing with it.

I have to say no to some things I really love. Things that are like air to me. For a season. The growing season.

These days when my kids are young and my home is full - they matter in big ways. I need more time to teach them joy. Fewer demands so I can feel that joy.

I need to spend those short hours after the kids are in bed talking with Doug (when he's home), or in study so I can be available, and ready to listen. Or in contemplation and prayer so I can know how to best help each child, determine their needs, and how to love them in the right ways. I need more sleep so I can give my energy to my family.

I'm hopeful that when my days open a bit wider, my children are in school, and a free space starts calling, those other loves will flow in again.

But for now, I know what I need to do.

"Aren't we all growing here together? And how can she be six already? Why is it lately that when she turns, that I can see it again, that long ago baby face, the way her eyes would look straight up?"

I hear you Ann. I see it too.

"These steps with the small, these are the giant leaps not to be lost. Saving the world, it begins with the salvation of one child."

I don't want to look back and wish I'd given my children more. More time, more energy, more love, more me. Even my own personal fulfillment, is not as important as them. As this.

"[Family]is where mothers grow in maturity and fathers grow in forgiveness, where sons grow in self-control and daughters in discernment and this is what He means - for us to stretch and dig down and reach out for family to grow us full in the faith."

Family is a field to grown in. And we are growing children. Etching their names into a reality, an eternity, tangible as the dirt smudged onto my hands.

I want to do it right.

We carefully lined up all the pumpkins on my Mother's backyard steps. Eleven of them. One for each of her grandchildren.

And coming home to Ann's words was a gift. A woman speaking my language, my thoughts. Saying what I needed to hear.

Our lives, yours and mine, they are different. Our paths, our scripts, our names, they differ too. The challenge, I think, is to listen to the whisperings, move when we are nudged, be willing to do the hard things. To change when we know change is needed.

Easy to say when we know it in our heads. But not always easy to do.

Spencer tripped while carrying his pumpkin down the hill. I picked him up, returned the pumpkin to his smalls hands, and watched him totter off to the car. Not the least unhinged. Can I learn to live like that?

"There is only a harvest when someone attends to the smallness of a seed."

And I need to attend with my whole self for a while.

Cultivate our field.

Do some growing.

The Living Moment

2011-10-05T22:23:00.017-04:00

It rained lightly at first - much like today.

I glanced out the kitchen window as the front lawn assumed a brilliant green and the driveway turned gray. Wiping the kitchen table clean from lunch, I mused over the graceful entrance of this storm. It was summer and the steady sound of water on tin was gentle, welcome. Just what this patch of desert-earth needed.

Suddenly, the sound changed from a steady prattle to a clattering, banging rage. The gutters began to spew, the ground began to swell, and just like that, everything outside was spilling over with water.

Rain drummed the house in a relentless rhythm. The sight of it blurring the air was too incredible to stay inside, so I gathered all of my children onto the front porch to listen.

The girls stayed by me no more than a minute. Soon, each had an umbrella in hand and they ventured into the downpour. They wanted to gauge its intensity, feel the rain pummel their canopy, soak their slippered feet.

How could I stop them?

I couldn't.

Children don't live in the past or future. They only know now. And there's a lot to be said for knowing now.

The girls were soaked in minutes. Eliza ran inside to change her clothes and put on a jacket. Then they stepped into the sheeting rain again.

Their first few trips were timid in comparison to what would come. Slightly inhibited, they kept their umbrellas open, their fists closed tightly around the handles, their shoes still on as they twirled in the puddles.

Then they began to loosen. Shoes became cumbersome and their clothes began to drip heavy. So they shook off their flip-flops and abandoned their umbrellas.

Who needs an umbrella when you're already wet?

The street gutters turned into rivers. Curls stuck to their chins. Their bodies moved at the pace of the sky.

It was pure elation for them to scuttle through this newfound stream, splat water with every step, splash and laugh until they had to stop and catch their breath.

Umbrellas were turned upside-down and placed at the top of the hill so the current would float them like boats towards the storm drain.

Even the boys couldn't be held back.

They were first to find the big mud puddle.

We had fifteen minutes of hard, pounding rain, and then it stopped. The neighbor kids came out to join us. Run-off was still funneling down their side of the street so we crossed the road and took up splashing in front of their house.

I am in love with little Luke, his yellow galoshes and princess umbrella.

He is Spencer and Gordon's favorite buddy.

Sami, of course, found the mud too. That girl loves to get dirty, dig in the dirt, and squish mud whenever she can.

Although it obviously wasn't deep enough to swim in, Eliza thought it would be fun to try. So they made a human train, laid down on their tummies right there in the gutter, and flutter-kicked.

Around the time the boys got brave enough to join us, I noticed our cute neighbors sitting on their porch watching us. Marilyn and Jay. Their children are gone. They grow beautiful gardens now instead of little kids. They let my girls swing on their swing set, pick their tomatoes, traipse through their backyard whenever they wish. And I love them.

Later that afternoon, as I was peeling wet clothes from little bodies, I received this text from Marilyn.

"Your kids will never forget today. And neither will we."

During those minutes, with a small camera in hand, pants soaked straight through, and laughter escaping my lips every few seconds, I felt completely alive.

The living moment is the most breathing, captivating, fleeting thing. It is magic. Emerson said we are always getting ready to live, but never living. Is he right?

Too often I choose blinders without thinking and like the work-horse, I am bent to the plow, the laundry basket, the floor, the sink. Sometimes I am too bent on getting us ready to live that I brush right past the living.

D. H. Lawrence said, "The living moment is everything."

So glad I didn't miss this one.

Developments

2011-09-30T16:46:00.014-04:00

I think we're finally settling into the school routine. It's taken a while. I still feel like I'm running behind life, grasping at wind as it lopes ahead of me. I sure would like to get a lead on it - put some space between us so I can face each day head on - equipped, prepared and ready. But I might need a week off for that to happen.

I still don't have all the games, practices, and school recesses on my calendar. I'm still not making dinner every night. (My poor kids have eaten more than their fair share of mac and cheese.) Doug is still working late nights. (Two more weeks. I. Am. Counting.)

And yet, we are managing.

Want to know what the twinsies do most nights around 7:15 while Eliza and I do homework?

This.

And this. Just in case you wanted a second look. (Check out Ali swooned over the left side of the love seat. Quite the side bend.)

The boys are such a blur, jumping from couch to couch and back again, you can't tell who's who (which could be hard even if they were sitting still).

But, what-d-ya do?

I say, let them jump.

Until Doug can come home and act as bouncer.

As for other developments, my kids have been entertained with this little "road" I chalked onto the driveway. A brilliant idea that came from my friend Rebecca, who lives across the street.

On Monday she took all four twins for the morning (yes, she might just be superwoman) and drew a road on her driveway, complete with pit stops like a gas station, grocery store, pet store, and sweet shoppe. The kids loved it!

So Wednesday afternoon I backed out the minivan and chalked a thin two-lane byway into a curvy circle around the driveway. My only addition? Home Depot. So the boys would have a place to buy lawnmowers, buckets and shovels.

This pretend world has kept my kids happily busy for the last two days, their imaginations fully engaged. I love watching them.

These two are glued to their tricycles lately.

Sami and Ali have been talking and giggling more than usual at night. Yesterday evening I stood by their door and listened. They were cracking themselves up.

"You could be a picnic blanket for Halloween!" Sami chortles to Ali.

"Or Jupiter!" Ali says, laughing.

(They're doing a preschool unit on space right now.)

What is it about Jupiter that intrigues kids? It's definitely fun to say. Samantha stopped mid-prayer last night, after praying for the people in Japan and Africa to ask "Is Jupiter a world? Are there people on Jupiter?" She didn't want them to feel left out.

I took all three girls to the dentist yesterday and they are cavity-free. Except for Ali, who has three cavities and a dead front tooth. Poor girl!

Somehow I missed the traumatic event that killed the nerve in that front tooth. Maybe it was all the jumping and crashing onto couches.

With a renewed vigor for brushing their teeth (no one else wants cavities), the girls decided it is way too crowded with ten little elbows vying for space around one sink. So they created a girls' bathroom and a boys' bathroom.

I figure if I pay attention to the signs, I'll be able to locate my toothbrush.

Despite the wildness that seems to reign in these parts, the process of counting gifts for me has become a favorite part of the day. I am secretly giddy when I write something down. Especially if I jot it down right after I notice it rather than waiting until the day's end to relive the hours and hunt down blessings.

I feel alive when I count as I go. Today I started adding the time of day.

22. swirls of blonde hair shimmering in light over toast and cereal 8:46 AM

23. the scent of lemon roses 11:22 AM

(There's nothing like old roses.)

What developments have you noticed lately? Can I convince you to join me in counting gifts? Do you make your kids wear helmets when they jump on the couch? Do you even let them jump on the couch?

Counting Gifts

2011-09-26T14:14:00.018-04:00

"The world I live in is loud and blurring and toilets plug and I get speeding tickets... and I forget everything and these six kids lean hard into me all day to teach and raise and lead and I fail hard and there are real souls that are at stake and 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?" (121).

A few months ago, while reading Ann Voskamp's book, One Thousand Gifts, I stopped on this paragraph and read it twice.

In the margin I wrote, "How I understand!"

This question tugs at my heart because I want to know too - how to invert that daily vortex into a dome.

Ann believes the answer is this:

"Pay tribute to God by paying attention" (111).

One Thousand Gifts is about Ann's personal journey towards more gratitude. An invitation came to her inbox one day. A challenge from a friend that got her thinking. Could she count one thousand gifts? She was intrigued. So she picked up a notebook and began.

Her discoveries along the way have me convinced she is onto something. Gratitude is not as simplistic as we might think. The effect more profound than I imagined. It might just be the answer to most stumbling blocks, sorrows, hurts, and frustrations. Not all. Only Christ can truly heal us, and in ways we do not fully understand (Revelation 21:4). But gratitude helps us trust Him, turn to Him, see Him at work in our lives.

I've been dabbling in it - trying out this place of giving thanks for all things. I've been trying to notice the gifts, the ordinary things, the small joys that fall kindly at my feet, like children tumbling into our bed on a Sunday morning. And I believe Ann is right. Gratitude spins the world right. It helps you find your proper, humble, and dependent place in it.

See the ugly-beautiful - like the markers all over my boys hands this afternoon, the pile of lunch plates on the picnic blanket, the muddy smudges tracked across the bathroom sink - as boys wanting to write like their sisters, the gift of hungry little ones, and girls needing to dig into the earth. It flips your world. Gives you new eyes.

Say thank you and you give yourself the freedom of not wanting more, of being content.

I've thought a lot about it, and wondered if I could work on gratitude without counting gifts. Surely, I could. But over the last few days, I can tell I need practice. I'm not as good at counting gifts as I would like to be. I want to develop this skill of seeing God in the everyday.

So I started last Friday. The first day of Autumn.

Here was my list.

1. a husband home for dinner.

2. the slippery feel of a peach in my hand.

(We harvested enough from our tree to make one cobbler! Yes, I ate this entire bowl friday night. Scraped it clean.)

3. watercolors in celebration of fall.

I am writing each gift in the gratitude journal Mary gave me.

I'll also post them daily on my sidebar. Mostly for me. As an incentive to keep going.

Numbering gifts, writing them down, makes the invisible visible. As Ann says, "slapping a sloppy brush of thanksgiving over everything in my life leaves me deeply thankful for very few things" (57).

Counting blessings, however, helps us bless His name, know Him as the giver of all good gifts. It helps us accept our circumstances and learn to be happy "whether our hands are full or empty" (47).

4. remembering those wet curls and red tricycles in the rain.

5. A mother-in-law who happily takes my children.

6. Sami's flower - stuck like a toothpick into my burger.

7. Soft baby cheeks on mine.

I've also printed a gratitude book for each of my girls. Folding instructions here.

Here's what Ali and Sami were thankful for today.

Maybe we can learn this art together.

Want to join me? Count your own thousand gifts? I'd love to hear about it if you do.

And if you haven't read Ann's book, I recommend it. Her message, whether you hang on her kind of words or not, is worth the read.

Painting and Seeing

2011-09-20T15:00:00.019-04:00

Yesterday I noticed red shouts of color burning, branding themselves into the mountain. The scrub oaks are turning. In snatches now, with more coming. And the air is cooling. This is my favorite time of year. But I am finding it hard to say goodbye to summer.

Just a few weeks ago, I took Eliza to Albion Basin - an alpine bowl beloved by skiers, carved into the top of one of our local canyons. It was her turn for a date with Mom.

Red shouts of color met us there too, in the form of flower, rather than leaf.

Indian paintbrush, bright and brilliant like this, cropped up at our feet.

Every August, wildflowers bed this basin in a glorious menagerie of color. Pictures don't do justice. Words don't do justice. It's the kind of thing you have to see for yourself.

I snapped a backpack on, Eliza tucked our lunches inside, and we set off for Cecret Lake.

Bluebells were our first discovery. Wispy sprays of the faintest blue, dangling across the trail.

As we wound our way up the mountain, Eliza noticed each new pine, how it grew out of the ground new and glossy, like a tiny Christmas tree waiting for the perfect buyer. How soft its needles were, as we ran the tips of its boughs between our fingers. The smallness of these trees enamored Eliza. She wanted her picture taken by each one. She spoke to them, said goodbye and hello, even hugged them on occasion. (The true definition of a tree-hugger.)

We made it to the lake just as an afternoon thunderstorm rolled over the peaks. A few drops speckled our shirts, but nothing more. The hair on our arms stood up as we prickled at the sound of thunder, stuck our tongues out to catch rain.

I spoke with this darling mother on our way up the trail who was carrying her newborn baby. She was friendly and kind - even helped Eliza spot a beaver who was sunning himself on a rock. This woman's husband and sons had gone ahead. But I saw them reconnect at the lake and climb out onto a large rock together. I couldn't resist this shot. I wish I had been closer. It says so much to me about family.

The wildflowers were endless. We walked and explored, and Eliza climbed rocks. I had forgotten how extraordinary Utah summers are. Now that I'm getting out a bit more, I feel so thankful for the gift of living here. This wondrous place is only a half hour from our front door.

Eliza took this picture as she stood in a field of goldeneye.

I rather like the angle.

She also happened upon these asters, growing against all odds out of a diamond-shaped crack in the rock. Nature has such an indomitable spirit.

I cherish these one-on-one times with my children. They are rare. In the hustle of our busy household, I have to be deliberate about the time I spend with them. Taking them out of the mix on occasion so that I am alone with them is important.

Away from the kitchen chatter, they open up - tell me things I wouldn't hear at home. I notice the twinkle in their eyes, hold their hand in mine. It is so much easier to see them for who they are as individuals. I have more freedom to slow down. Long enough to hear what matters to them, and view the world through their eyes.

Eliza's one request for our outing was to paint while we were in the mountains. So after our hike, we found a hilltop with a view. I pulled the easel out of the car. She donned her pack full of paper, paints, and brushes, and we climbed to the top of this hill.

A family of moose (my Dad would call them meese) live in this canyon. We didn't see them on this day, but we've seen them before. So that is what Eliza wanted to paint. A moose.

Could any setting be more picturesque?

Turn a circle here - pivot 360 degrees - and you realize you are truly standing in the tops of the mountains.

I painted too.

Tried to capture this panorama.

Tell me it's about the exercise. The process.

Not the finished (or in my case unfinished) product.

It was a special time for us. Painting in this place together. I stepped away for a few moments and watched Eliza kick off her shoes so she could air her toes, feel the dirt, draw her brush across paper, free.

Seeing her barefoot against this green backdrop, with wildflowers at every turn, I realized we are all painting something. A life of our own. A life for our children. And what we see makes up the color, the size, the beauty of our work.

It's all about what we choose to see.

And who.

Last week, I was a bit mired down by the hardness of it all. I was having trouble seeing past the mess, the needs, the doing. But I am determined this week to see each day, each task, for the relationships being built. Not the job that needs to get done.

I smiled back at Eliza who glanced over her shoulder to see where I was.

It felt good that day, to see her.

High - Low

2011-09-14T23:02:00.023-04:00

Why is it that some days motherhood feels like an out-of-body experience?

One moment I feel that catch in my throat - something so tender I can't find words. The next I'm wanting to lock all my kids in their rooms so I can scream as Ioud as I can in the kitchen.

I am higher than high one second, lower than dirt the next. This might be the one thing mothers and drug addicts have in common. A polarized existence.

Extremes tend to heighten for me when a tax deadline is looming. Doug is burning the midnight oil right now, and when he's not around I have no one to spill to, vent to, share the funnies with, or offload some of the chaos to, and I get a little... crazy.

Does this bi-polar sensation lessen as your kids grow older? Do you find more consistency, more middle ground? Or shall I just chalk these last few days up as hormonal?

Yesterday I was mad as a hornet over a grape fiasco. Writing about it now, I think, Really? It was just grapes. But we have these delicious concord grapes growing in our backyard - so many I don't know what to do with them. (Do you live nearby? Come over and fill a bucket.)

But I didn't want to waste them.

So I decided to make raisins with my mother's dehydrator.

This will be fun, I thought. Everyone can pick grapes, pluck them from the stem, and place them on a tray. That should be easy enough.

Well, the kids fought over the ladder, elbowed for their turn, pushed each other around, and shook the ladder while I tiptoed precariously at the top of it.

So I took our two bowls of grapes and redirected traffic to the front lawn, where I gave every child a tray and a cluster of grapes. Everything was going as planned for a few minutes.

Then our plane took a nose-dive. The boys began stepping on the trays, flipping them over. I tried to play zone defense but they outnumbered me. Sami opted for squashing the grapes between her toes. (Wine press anyone?) And while Ali was walking with her tray towards the house to tell me the girls had strewn grass all over the remaining trays, she tripped. Her grapes shot like musket balls all over the front porch. Total bust.

I was frustrated. I sent two girls to time-out, carried two kicking boys inside, and left Ali crying on the porch. I spent the next forty-five minutes cleaning up grape innerds. This put us an hour behind for dinner. There was some spitting, hitting, and other unbecoming behavior while trying to ready the kids for bed.

My Mom arrived at 9 PM so I could go grocery shopping, but Eliza was still finishing her homework. So by the time I left the house it was 9:30. And at 10:45, I realized I'd locked my keys in the car.

Nothing is quite so irritating as staring at your keys through a locked car window, while your ice cream sandwiches melt in the shopping cart.

Today Spencer fell off the dryer and hit is head. Not because he climbed onto the dryer, but because I put him there (I know. I do have a rationale for this one.) But he fell right after Sami handed me a princess crown and said, "Here Mom. You can be the laundry queen!"

Yeah! Lucky me! I thought. And so appropriate, as I folded and sorted, and folded and sorted.

Some laundry queen I turned out to be. I couldn't even keep my people safe while doing it.

But after looking through a few photos tonight, I realized the highs far outnumber the lows.

When Sami came out of time-out, following the grape massacre, she was rather contrite. And she handed me this picture she had drawn.

"It's a picture of you, Mom" she said. "I even drew your green eyes." She told me she was sorry, then she helped me salvage some of the grapes. I felt my spirit soften and I held her on my lap.

Last Friday, Ali and Sami started preschool. They have the same teachers Eliza did, and I am happy about it.

I never wrote about their Joy School graduation. But here they are. Caps and tassels generously made by Doug because my to-do list had grown too long that day.

One afternoon after playing in the wading pool, the kids gathered around my lawn chair and I read them stories. Gordy refused to take off Ali's goggles. Wrapped in a navy towel, he sat there shivering, and I couldn't help but giggle every time I looked down at him.

My Mom gave me these garden gloves. They are absolutely divine when it comes to digging in the dirt.

So Saturday, while I was kneeling on the grass, working through the last flower bed, I heard Gordy walk up behind me.

"Hi Mama!" he said. Then his small arm slid around my neck and he tilted his head towards mine. With his curls tickling my ear, and our two heads touching he said, "I gi-you hug Mamma." And he stood there while I hugged him back. Then he touched my arm and held onto me for a few more seconds. It was love. Purely given. And it floated me along the rest of the day.

Finding Spencer in the clothes hamper - a common occurrence

Or snuggled into Eliza's arms. She likes to be the first to wake the boys from their naps.

Saturday morning, before Doug left for work, I caught these photos of him dancing with Ali. I wish they were better, but I didn't have time to fiddle with the camera. They were dancing to this song, and Doug was twirling Ali in a circle. I couldn't look away - couldn't ignore the sudden emotion I felt as I heard her dizzy laugh, saw her glowing smile. She needs him, more than most of my children.

The energy between the two was palpable as she kicked her head back and let Doug blow on her face. He was all hers for those few moments and I could have watched them a long, long time.

Then today, I came home from an errand to find this gift on my porch. It was tied with tulle and wrapped in this darling heart paper that Sami promptly made into an envelope for a friend.

It was from a woman I've been called to care for. Her name is Mary, and I am her visiting teacher.

But today, I was the one looked after. Mary's gift came on the down-swing of all those lows I mentioned, and her kind words, her expression of love, swung me quickly to the other side.

How did she know I wanted to start a gratitude journal? How did she know I need this new approach for examining my life? How did she know the date is set, I have a plan, and I will share it with you when I start?

She didn't. But her note made me feel like someone did.

Highs and lows. They are bound together. A somewhat unlikely companionship, but without each other, they would lose their meaning.

And so would I.