enduring well

I am one day away from completing one of my worst mothering weeks ever.  (Notice that unfortunately, I said one of my worst).  Every time I think I've hit a new record in grouchiness, I outdo even myself.  Isn't that something to be proud of.

It's not that I haven't tried. That's what is so dismally discouraging. (Did that sound dramatic enough? Dismally discouraging? I hope so, because that's what I'm going for.)

There is something you may not know about me.  I have tendencies toward this depression/anxiety thing.  I think it's official medical name is Womanhood, but I'm not quite sure.  My symptoms include but are not limited to:  Irrationality.  Unreasonable expectations of myself and kin.  Lots of tears (usually guilty ones after having blown my top at the people I love the most).  Oh, and another thing.  I feel like I can't breathe.  Especially when I look around at all of the undone, unclean, and seemingly impossible tasks surrounding me. 

Whew, I said it.

I was just thinking the other day how I haven't had a bad spell for quite some time.  And wouldn't you know?  The very next day. . .KABOOM! 

I immediately knew where I was headed, so I jumped on it.

The worst thing about this whole deal is that most of the time I am completely aware of  how unreasonable I am being- how irrational my thought process is.  I try to stop myself in my own tracks.  However, despite my best efforts, my soon-to-be train wreck forges straight ahead.

I have tried prayer.  I have tried reading my scriptures more abundantly than usual.  I have attempted slowing down, and when that failed I gave speeding up a try.  I even carved out the time to go running this morning, thinking that was the answer.  When I wasn't sure that was working, I ran faster.  When my heart threatened to stop, I thought that maybe I needed to force myself to be happy.  It's this naturally occurring phenomenon I've heard about called Smiling.  I thought that if perhaps I forced a smile onto my face, my mood would automatically follow suit.  So it was that I spent the last half mile plodding along with a smile plastered on my face.  When none of the above seemed to cure me, I bought myself a hot fudge brownie milk shake.  Nothing a few extra pounds can't make worse, eh?

And still I felt in the dumps. 

I drove to Logan this afternoon, crying all the while.  (I wore sunglasses so I didn't look so silly.)  While I sobbed out all of my discouragement, I listened to a talk by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf.  Elder Uchtdorf reminisced of a time when, as a 10 year old refugee in West Germany, he struggled in school.   Whereas he had previously learned Russian as a second language, he now had to learn English.  He explained, "There my educational experience was a different one . . .For the first time in my life, I began to wonder if I was simply not smart enough for school."

Elder Uchtdorf goes on to say "Fortunately I had a teacher who taught me to be patient.  He taught me that steady and consistent work- patient persistence-would help me to learn.
From that experience, I learned that patience was far more than simply waiting for something to happen- patience required actively working toward worthwhile goals and not getting discouraged when results didn't appear instantly or without effort.
There is an important concept here: patience is not passive resignation, nor is it failing to act because of our fears.  Patience means active waiting and enduring.  It means staying with something and doing all that we can- working, hoping, and exercising faith; bearing hardship with fortitude, even when the desires of our hearts are delayed.  Patience is not simply enduring; it is enduring well!"

So that's the ticket, I suppose.  Learning patience.  Learning to endure with the knowledge that sooner rather than later, the sun will shine.  Working, hoping, and exercising faith.  Remembering that my girls will probably still love me in spite of me.  In fact, a good friend of mine (I think of her as my second mother) comforted me the other day with this advice.  Her children are all grown now, but she told me that she still has a quote written on her chalk board which goes something like this,  "As long as your children know that you love them, that important knowledge will cover a host of parental mistakes." 

I know one thing for sure.  I have a host of mistakes.  Parental and otherwise.  I guess my quest will have to be making sure that during the in-between times my girls know without a doubt that I love them.  If they are sure of that, hopefully they'll  make it through all the days when they must wonder who I am and who kidnapped their mother. 

In all actuality, I'm afraid this enduring thing goes two ways.  The first part is mine.  Learning to endure my own weakness as I seek to become the woman I long to be.  The second?

Well, please say a prayer for my girls.   

you can laugh too

I have a list of a million things to do, but I can't seem to get myself going.  So here I sit.

I should be out running.  Or biking.  I'd feel better.  But I have a little one safely tucked into her little bed for a nap and a big one sick in mine.  So here I sit.

It's been one of those weeks.  A string of days where I feel like I'm trying so hard to do the right thing, only to end up in the wrong.  Ever have those?  Courtney and I talked on the phone last night.  He listened and I whimpered.  Poor guy.  Holding a phone conversation with a blubbering wife while sitting in a room full of guys does not make for an ideal situation, I am sure.  But I have to say, the guy is a champ.  He comes through with kind words and good, solid advice every time.

Emmy is six.  It is official.  She woke up at six this morning (as usual) and I rocked her in the rocking chair and I asked her how it felt to be six.  She yawned and said that she didn't really feel six at all.  Then I told her I thought she looked like an old lady.  You know, now that she is six and all.  She just gave me a sleepy smile.  I love that girl.  Even though she is so spunky I think she's going to make me into an old lady.  My, oh my.  Some days that girl about does me in.  I think I'll keep her anyhow. 

I took the girls back to the orthopedic doctor the other day.  They cut both casts off and did x-rays again.  We ended up with another cast on Claire (her third) and Emmy left with a splint (which she hates).  I was a little bit worried about taking them in, as Claire's face was covered in scabs from our trip to the lake.  It already looks like we beat the poor girls, and then I take my baby in looking like this?  You can imagine my delight when Emmy woke up with a swollen eye and a big fat lip.  Mosquitoes.  It doesn't get any better.  Soooo.  We waltz into the doctor office with two casts, three big scabs on Claire's face, one eye nearly swollen shut, and a big, fat lip.  To top it all off, when the doctor asked Emmy where she got her battle wounds, she told him they were mosquito bites from sleeping outside.  His face registered alarm and he immediately asked, "Is that safe?  Where do you live?"  He quickly turned to me for an answer to his interrogation.

Once again, Parent of the Year.

I won't tell him that I found Emmy yesterday, dressed in a leotard and no splint.  She was teaching gymnastics to Claire.  Awesome.  The best thing about it was that I was standing in the kitchen, five or six feet away from her the entire time.  It didn't even register until Ryenne walked in the front door and immediately noticed that Emmy was splint-less.  Mr. doctor had just given me a mini lecture the previous day, suggesting that I make an effort to "slow" the girls down a bit.  Hmmmmm.  I've given it a good whirl, but I'm obviously a little off my game.  I felt it best not to mention that while we were at the lake last week, Emmy had a blast on the tube and even tried to waterski. 

I'm really responsible that way.

Last night we went to walk lambs.  It was a disaster.  I am absolutely no help, which Kate frankly pointed out to me.  I blamed it on the fact that I'm always wearing flip flops and I don't want to get stepped on by the beasts.  She didn't look satisfied.  When Emmy's lamb continued to be his stinker self, I had to pass the stroller to Emmy and take Kate's lamb so she could manhandle Emmy's super stubborn one.   Ryenne had her lamb tied around her waist (which I had warned her against, by the way).  To top of her good judgement, she was wearing Grandpa's chore boots.  Despite her get-up, all was well until we turned around to head home.  Her lamb got anxious to get back home and took off.  She got all tripped up and Pork Chop (her lamb) ended up dragging her pretty good.  Skinned knees and scraped up hands galore.  Needless to say, she wasn't sure she was going to live through the night.  By this point in the day, I wasn't sure I was going to make it either.  However, I managed to step it up and take both her lamb and Kate's lamb.  We trekked the last half mile home listening to Ryenne's moans and Kate's wailing about how she was so tired and hungry and how come she never gets a break when Emmy and Ryenne always get a break.

I love nights like this.  And by the way Kate, I pitched in.  You can write that in your diary or something.

And today?  Don't even ask how our morning went.  In addition, I'm throwing a last minute birthday party for Emmy in a few hours.  We sent invitations via the phone less than 24 hours ago.  I'm not the birthday party type.  I went the extra mile with Ryenne's first party a few months ago, and I'm about two miles behind on pulling Emmy's off.  But her Daddy reminds me that she is, after all, six years old.  All she needs is a few friends, a silly game or two, and a cupcake.

It will be fun.  And we'll survive- after all, we always do.  Actually, now that I'm writing it all down, I'm already having a good laugh at all of it.   I'm honest enough to admit that everyone who has witnessed any of this has already had a good chuckle or two.  I figure I might as well join in.

Have a lovely day.

miss claire at age two

Claire.  She makes us smile every day.

Two years of smiles.  Really?  That is quite a lot. 

It's funny what happens with a fourth child.  What made me cringe with my first few now makes me smile.  The shenanigans that sent Ryenne to time-out at this age nowadays bring a laugh.  Those "big deals" that used to cause me to stew and fret now seem innocent enough. 

I don't know if I'm relaxing or just getting lazy.  Probably a little of both.  On one hand, I feel like Claire is happier and easy going because I am learning to be.  On the other, I hope she doesn't end of in prison as a result of me letting my hair down, so to speak. 

Anyhow, this Claire of ours.  She's quite the gal and it seems we've all taken a liking to her.  A liking indeed.

We love it when she answers everything with "good". 

"Hi Claire, how did you sleep?"
"Good."

"Good morning Claire, do you want some breakfast?"
"Good."

Another favorite is her common "don't want it".

"Nap time, Claire!"
"Don't want it nap."

"Let's change your diaper."
"Don't want it diaper."

She likes to eat "dunch" (lunch) and especially loves to eat anything she can dip (salsa, ranch, ketchup.)  She loves her sisters, and runs around yelling for "Rye-Rye", "Katey-bugs", and Emmy.  "Where are you?" she hollars.  Claire is thrilled when her older sisters take her "jumping" (on the trampoline), swinging on the "totter-totter" (teeter-totter), or simply take her along on any of their adventures.  She can most often be found running after them, her little legs going as fast as they can in an effort to catch up.

Claire is a Daddy's girl and is happiest when he's nearby.  She loves his "tractors" and going on rides in his truck.  We love to watch what she does when he is in the room with her.  She will watch him and mimic his movements.  If he is standing against the cupboard, she will also lean back against the cupboard.  If his arms are folded, so are Claire's.  She'll cross her feet just like his. 

While she loves her Daddy, she kinda likes me too.  When I mow the lawn, she likes to ride in the backpack on my back.  She sits on the bar stools while I am in the kitchen, often crawling up over the back of the bar to sit on the cupboard next to me. 

I think Claire has been our earliest talker, with the biggest vocabulary at this age.  She is the queen of "please", "thank-you", and "I'm sorry".  I'm not sure what brought on her little streak of manners, but we think it's pretty darn cute.  Anytime we do anything to help her, she quickly tells us "tank you." 

Our little girl loves Grandpas.  Not just her own, though she has really good grandpas.  When we see a Grandpa, any grandpa, she'll walk up and take their hand,  "C'mon grandpa," she'll say. 

Our hearts melt when we tell her that we love her.  "I lub you so much," she replies.

We love our happy Claire.  We laugh at the funny things she does and smile when she is a grouch, knowing it won't last long.  The girls scramble to be the one to read her a story and tuck her in bed.  I love watching them be big sisters to her.  Through Claire, they are learning compassion and gaining important experience becoming caretakers, something I believe will bless their lives as they become mothers. 

When I think of Claire, I often think of her name and it's meaning.  Clear and bright.  Since Claire has come into our family, there has come a certain clarity.  A stronger sense in Courtney and I about what is important and what we can let go.  From the minute she made her grand entrance into our family, I have sensed a difference in all of us.  Daily, she helps us to see things a bit more clearly.  We are enjoying life more and celebrating each day, finding the joy these little moments have to offer. 

Each of the girls brings a special dimension to our family.  Lessons to teach, smiles to our hearts.  Claire is no exception.  I pray each day that I will be teachable.  That I will learn the special lessons each of them have to offer. 

I remember back to when I was a new mom, with just one little girl to look after.  As many of us do, I would sometimes wonder if I could love another child as I did my first.  If my heart had enough room for more than one.  After Kate was born, I remember the happiness I felt.  It seemed that instead of diminishing my ability to love, two children actually increased my capacity.  One day I pondered upon my former concerns and realized something new about love.  Our hearts grow!  Oddly enough, I had supposed that when I had another child, I would have to find room in my little ole' heart for one more.  Squeeze that child in there, somehow.   Oh, the joy I felt when I realized that I didn't have to squeeze.  Heavenly Father just made my heart bigger.  Bigger and fuller and happier.  With each child it has continued to do so, until now days I feel so happy at times that my heart seems to fill up every part of me. 

It's funny how love works.  When I got married, I thought I knew what love is.  Then I had a child, and I was sure I knew.  Next, two.  And then three.  And I thought I knew.  Now my family has grown to include four and I find myself learning more about love with each passing day. 

And my heart?  It doesn't feel crowded at all.  In fact, four feels pretty happy.

one, two, buckle my shoe

One.

First, Claire. 

Four or five days after she breaks her arm, we realize it.  Although we still don't even know how it happened, we have a pretty good idea it has something to do with the approximately 602 times she falls on her face every day.  Her little body runs everywhere she goes, but sometimes her feet can't keep up.  Turns out that she's done a number on  both bones in her wrist.  We feel like parents of the year.  Claire chooses a pink, sparkly cast and doesn't even seem to notice.  The only thing she cares about is getting a pair of fancy, purple gloves like the ones the nurse wears. 

Two.

Emmy falls off her bike a week and half later, within the first hour of the Wo-Jo family reunion.  We are staying in a cabin in the mountains.  Courtney and I watch out the window and wait to see how she reacts.  A fairly decent crash, but we hate to make a bigger deal out of it than she does.  She stands up, props the bike against the wall, and comes in the house where we are all talking.  After standing next to me quietly for a few minutes, she leans over and whispers in my ear, "Mom.  My thumb hurts really bad."

Sure enough, her little digit already looks like a little balloon.  Swollen and purple.  So. . .like any good parents would do, we wait.  Again, parents of the year.  (In our defense, we did call Aunt Jodi, who is a nurse.  She talked to her husband, who is a doctor.  They talked to their friend, an orthopedic.  And he said we might as well wait until Monday.  Whew, glad to have that off my chest.) 

So.  On Monday we went to visit Dr. Murray for Claire's follow-up visit.  Except we brought along Emmy, too.  A two for one, perhaps?  We arrived with the expectation that we would be losing Claire's cast and possibly getting a new one for Emmy. 

One x-ray, two. 

Next, we field more than a few questions from the kind doctor, who (for obvious reasons) was digging a little to make sure we aren't beating our poor children.  We pass the test (I think) and learn that Claire's arm could use a little extra time (might have something to do with the 602 falls.)   Emmy?  Sure enough, it's broken.

One cast, two. 

This time?  We leave the office with two matching, purple, sparkly casts.  Waterproof, too.  (We begged, as we are spending next week at the lake with the cousins.)   And the satisfaction of having been the first family to have had two siblings casted in the same appointment. 

We've made another appointment to see Dr. Murray in two weeks.  Courtney has made it known that if I haul in a third child to that appointment, he's not going.  And.  In the slight, but obviously not impossible chance that it happens, he has advised me to find a new doctor. 

sugar and spice

Because we have four children of the female sort, we get a myriad of comments every time we venture into public.  Many of them come from well-meaning folks who offer up their own parenting experiences on a platter along with a decisive statement regarding which gender is easier to raise.  Surprisingly, our running tally denotes that according to this scientific approach, boys are easier to raise than girls.  The only ones who seem to disagree with this are those who are currently in the trenches raising a boatload of boys.  These parents often cast us wishful glances and wonder at the seemingly easy life of raising sweet, innocent girls.  I suppose it seems to them that while they are chasing frogs and playing referee to endless wrestling matches, we are home sitting serenely with our embroidery, dolls, and tea parties. 

Now, I have a sister who has five boys of her own, and I agree that yes, there are definite differences between boys and girls.  Boy oh boy . . . is there ever.  

However, this guy can tell you that things in his girl-filled neck of the woods ain't all sugar and spice.

Take, for instance, an event as simple as opening birthday presents.  These pictures were taken recently the morning of Kate's eighth birthday. 

Isn't this a sweet exchange?

This next picture captures Emmy singing the "birthday wish song".  During this ritual, the giver gets to hold the present over the receiver's head and sing/yell at the top of her lungs "Heavy, heavy, hang over THY poor head.  What do you wish with a BUMP on the head."  If the recipient is lucky, they only get one gigantic bump.  However, if the giver is so inclined (and they usually are), they may choose to bump the present as hard as they can every. single. word.  We're nothing if not thorough.

Along with the gifts, the receiver sometimes  offers up love notes.   This was one of my favorites of the day. 

By Emmy.

To Kate.

You. rockn.

Following the present bashing, I generally try to get a picture of all the girls together to document how they change from year to year.

This, as you will see, is a piece of cake.

Attempt #1

Attempt #2

Attempt #3

Attempt #4

(. . .just before I throw in the towel.)

 

Now, if you'll excuse me please, I'm off to intervene in the latest bed jumping contest in an effort to prevent another broken arm (yes, we had one of those last week).  It's a hard job, and I can hardly find the time amongst all the tea parties and such.  However, I must not get discouraged.  Right now (I am told this often by the experts), is the easy part.  The sugar, I presume.

They tell us the spice is still to come. 

Wowsers. 

You see, already we have such an abundance of sweetness and everything nice.   I'm just not sure our taste buds can handle all the rest.

kate turns eight!

We can't believe it, but Kate the Great is officially eight years old! 

To celebrate, we planned a mommy/daddy/kate date as part of our eighth birthday tradition.  A whole day with mom and dad!  Kate has really been looking forward to this.  On Ryenne's eighth birthday, we spent part of the day at Thanksgiving Point for the Tulip Festival, and then went to Temple Square where we watched the movie about Joseph Smith.  When I asked Kate if she might want to do the same thing, she said, "Well, I was thinking that it would be fun to do my very own special thing, so that when I came home I could tell Ryenne, 'Guess what I did today?'"  If you know Kate, you know she thinks through everything, and she had definitely thought through her special day.

And what did she choose?  Lunch on the way to Salt Lake City (chinese, please), followed by an afternoon at the climbing gym.  She did decide that going to Temple Square and watching the movie did sound pretty fun, and so we ended the day with dinner and a movie.  What a wonderful day.  We kinda love this girl.

Turns out that this girl is quite a climber!  We had so much fun!

Of course, the very most special thing about turning eight years old is being baptized.  An official member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints!

Kate's daddy was more than a little proud to baptize his girl.

And to make it all the more fun?  Kate's best friend Ashley was baptized on the same day!  These two are little peas in a pod.

Such a fun day, and so many people to share it with.

We love you, beautiful Kate! 

Happy number eight! 

(Can you see that handsome guy posing in the background?  Don't tell anyone, but I love him too.)

i changed my mind

I shouldn't be sarcastic.  I really shouldn't.

You know the other day when I wrote a flippant comment about walking lambs being "so much fun I can hardly stand it"?

My words have come back to haunt me already.

We didn't make it up to Grandma and Grandpa's house yesterday morning to walk those little buggers.  Gymnastics, math. . .there's only so much you can do before it gets too hot, and I've noticed a direct correlation between lamb-walking angst and the rising of the mercury.  Their poor little tongues hang out, panting- and they bleat, complain, and slobber on anyone who dares get too close.  The lambs and the girls.  The whole time I'm wondering if we're gonna make it back alive.  So, all things considered, we decided to put it off until evening. 

Last night, as the daylight began to wane, we headed to Grandma and Grandpa's, where the lambs take up residence.  Not because we don't have the room here, because we do.  It's just that earlier this year when Courtney and I suggested that we should pen our four legged friends at our house we were met with an absolute rebellion.  It seems that walking lambs, by itself, isn't all that great.  But add Grandma and Grandpa's house in the mix, complete with oreos, hugs, and a quiet, country road?  Therein lies the charm. 

As we pulled into their yard last night, we saw Grandma dragging the hose around the yard.  "Grandma!"  Shortly thereafter, Grandpa was spotted heading from the barn.  "Grandpa!"  Squeals of delight.  Even better, Grandma and Grandpa had grins to match.  "I was just telling Grandma that I sure hoped we'd see our girls tonight," Grandpa remarked. 

After rounds of hugs, kisses, and yes, a few oreos, the whole gang chore-booted up and headed for the lamb barn.  Soon Ryenne and Kate came marching out with their haltered lambs, laughing and smiling.  As they waited at the end of the driveway, we watched as Grandpa pulled, prodded, and dragged Emmy's feisty lamb into the fray.  Emmy followed close behind, carrying a large wooden cane.  We giggled as she wound up with a resounding thwack on it's behind.  Pretty soon she had it moving.  The poor little thing doesn't know what he's up against. 

Claire wasn't going to be left out, so we dudded her up in a pair of too-large chore boots. Holding mine and Grandma's hand she followed behind and we watched the circus make their way up the road.  The breeze was blowing, the air perfect, and we watched as the sun set in a sky of vivid, pink clouds.   Past fields of grain and rows of corn, we watched the tangle of girls, chore boots, and lambs up ahead, and listened as their giggles and Grandpa's corny jokes floated back to us.  At one point, we heard Courtney yell, "Hurry!  Someone grab Emmy's lamb!"  More laughter.   No complaining, no quarreling, just a troop of happy little girls learning a few good life lessons. 

It was a perfect night. 

And this time, I couldn't help but think to myself, "This is a whole lot of fun."