love 'em all

I just spent a long weekend with my brothers and sisters (which counts in-laws since I don't really think of them that way anymore). It started about 7:00 pm Thursday night when a bunch of us piled into trucks and headed to St. George. We laughed and talked and told funny stories the entire way. Really, there wasn't a moment of silence. At 3:00 am we were still laughing our way down the aisles of the grocery store to buy Friday morning breakfast. Especially when Kelsey chucked a ball over the aisle and hit Matt. (And you can bet he threw it back. They can be naughty like that.)

The rest of the time? We woke up each morning and worked our buns off til dark. Then we'd all pile up on the couches to watch The Deadliest Catch and eat ice cream until the wee hours of the morning. We were doing a really yucky and hard job, but I hardly noticed (okay, so I noticed). But they all made it so much fun.

The past few days I've been thinking a lot about them. As Kate would say, my family rocks.

Last night, we got together in the dark to finish off our dirty job. But this time we brought all of our kids.

They rock too.

I really love my family.

to my knees

Yesterday was a crazy, busy day. Like normal. We were at home mostly, but I had lots of things to do, which after all was said and done, I didn't get accomplished anyway. One of those days where my list seemed to get longer instead of the other way around.

That said, when afternoon came, we brought the older girls home to a mess. (I was one of them.) One of the school girls arrived, as she often does, a little at odds with the world. A bit cross with everyone and everything. It doesn't make for a very happy welcome home. Instead of being calm and available, I wasn't. I didn't have time for her grumpiness. Looking back, I never once stopped. Talked. Loved. Hugged. Welcomed. Sure, I had a snack ready. I asked all the right questions ('How did your day go?'), but when no one was quite ready to spill the beans, I went on. In my mind, I moved to the next task.

After yet another grouchy confrontation between she and another of the girls, I'd had enough. After all, I had other things to think about, and this was taking energy I wasn't willing to share. That's what it really came down to. I put my foot down, laid the blame, and dragged two girls to time out. I went back to the task at hand in a huff.

And then came the lesson. (Although I didn't fully see it til I lay alone in bed last night, mulling through my day.) When I went to remove culprit #1 from time out, I found her on her bed, tearfully writing a note to me. She looked up, crumpled up the paper, and said something like this: "Mom, I just wanted you to know that I've had a really bad headache all day. And now I come home and everyone is so mean to me. And it sees like it's this way everyday. I am at school all day, and then I finally get to come home. But after I get home, I just want to go back to school."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

On one hand, this girl of mine has a flair for the dramatic, and I know this doesn't happen every day. (Some days I am actually nice.) But it happens enough. More than enough. And bottom line is, it shouldn't.

Last night I lay in bed feeling humble to the core. (I've heard it said that if you say you feel humble, you really aren't. But I was! I felt as low as could be.) And although I'd defended myself to her, letting her know that she played a role in the whole affair with all of her grouchiness (and boy, did that help me feel better!), I knew she was right. I should know better. I should remember how hard school had been. The stress of friends. Trying to fit in. Wanting to meet expectations. Feeling desperate to excel, but not always understanding how. It all made for some hard days. Some 'really bad headaches'.

This morning, I was reading in the Book of Mormon in the book of Enos. Enos was talking in a different context, writing about the unwillingness of the people to hear the word of God. But when I read his words, I heard me. At home. And the familiarity of it made me sick.

"And there was nothing save it was exceeding harshness, preaching. . .and contentions, and destructions, and continually reminding them (v. 23)." While I knew Enos was speaking of a completely different situation, his words took on a new meaning to me. They sounded like me.

A few verses later, Enos writes a beautiful description of his impending death. "And I soon go to the place of my rest, which is with my Redeemer; for I know that in him I shall rest. . .then I shall see his face with pleasure, and he will say unto me, Come unto me, ye blessed. . ." As soon as I read those words, I knew what I wanted to become. I want to offer that rest. I want that the Savior to be a part of me. After a long hard day, I want my girls to know that no matter what they encounter in their world,

There's no place like home.


P.S.
I wasn't going to post about this, you see. It felt too personal. But in the end, I had to.

Someday girls, I want you to know.

I am trying. I want, more than anything, for our home to be a place of refuge. A place of rest. I want you to see my face 'with pleasure'. And I am going to try to be more available. For a while now, I've known I could do better with this, but I wasn't ready to make the changes. Today? I'm ready. And while I know I'll never be perfect, I'd like to be. I'd like to offer you a perfect me.

Unfortunately, we both know that's not going to happen.

But someday, I think you'll understand. That, after all, is why I'm writing this down. Because someday you'll have all of this. Hopefully, when those hard days come (and they will, I'm afraid!) you'll pick up our books. I hope you'll laugh a little, cry a bit, and hopefully, remember that we weren't all that bad.

But you know what? I want you to remember that we had our bad days. I think it's important for you to know that you're normal. You're just learning. And what ever situation you find yourself in, there are days that you are going to feel sad. Unworthy. Some days will bring you to your knees.

You know what I'm finding? That's the best place to be.

just another day in paradise

This morning has been lovely.

We whisked the girls off to school. Only a few tears, and they were forgotten by the time we said our goodbyes. Even better, we made it before the last bell.

After arriving home, Claire and Emmy climbed into the tub for some fun. They had a great time.

And then Claire pooped.

A lot.

And then Emmy screamed, "If Claire poops in the tub one more time, I'm NEVER getting in the tub again!"

Then, the two of them gathered around to watch me make a delicate attempt at scooping Claire's little gifts out of the tub so I could disinfect it.

On the bright side, the tub needed a good cleaning, anyhow.

Sometimes, in the middle of a task such as this, I find myself laughing. In all those visions I had of myself as a mother, I somehow never pictured this.

And besides, the day can only look up from here, right? Just making lemonade out of lemons, I am.

Except, you'll have to excuse me please.

Buddy just peed on the carpet.

our gift

"Near the end of his life, one father looked back on how he had spent his time on earth. An acclaimed, respected author of several scholarly works, he said, 'I wish I had written one less book and taken my children fishing more often.' "Time passes quickly. Many parents say that it seems like yesterday that their children were born. Now those children are grown, perhaps with children of their own. 'Where did the years go?' they ask. We cannot call back time that is past, we cannot stop time that now is, and we cannot experience the future in our present state. Time is a gift, a treasure not to be put aside for the future, but to be used wisely in the present."

Thomas S. Monson, "Dedication Day," Ensign, Nov. 2000, 66

falling short

I found the following pictures on the evening of our somewhat disappointing St. Patricks Day.

Compared to her last visit, it seems the leprechaun wasn't quite so fun this year. When we poured the milk, it wasn't an acceptable shade of green. In fact, Dads milk was almost entirely white. "What?" I suggested that the leprechaun was possibly just a bit afraid of Daddy, therefore leaving his glass alone.

That went over like a ton of bricks.

To top it off, the bread, which was sooo festive last year, went untouched. The waffles were also unfortunately pale in color.

And for dinner? Papa Murphy's didn't quite pull off the shamrock pizza I had envisioned. (And, I tell you, it took quite a bit of convincing to make it happen in the first place.) Unfortunately, after we cooked the poor thing, it just plain looked like we got ripped off.

That leprechaun. Someone should get after her. (Crazy me, but I'm just wondering if she had a busy day. You know, doing frivolous things such as carpooling, feeding, and basically keeping her posterity afloat.)

So anyway (excuse me while I take a deep breath), when I uploaded these pictures of our recent Valentine's Day celebration, I was once again reminded of the dismal state of yet another holiday.

Turns out, Cupid wasn't so great either. She did much better last year.

The breakfast meal fell short of charming. The decorations seemed far too. . . undecorated. In fact, in a desperate attempt to save the day, I may or may not have made the girls close their eyes while I quickly hung some hearts on their doors. There. . ."surprise! Ta Da!" (It wasn't quite the same.) Oh, and the traditional update to their Valentines Day books? Replaced by a hurried love note.

All in all, Miss Cupid fell far short of the girl's expectations.

There was only one thing to do. Considering the extreme state of holiday disaster we had found ourselves in, the girls decided they had better take things into their own hands. Armed with paper, markers, and ribbon, they headed to the playhouse.

If we were lucky, we'd get invited.

Turns out, they took pity on us.

Mom and Dad, in all our pathetic holiday unsplendor, were invited to the playhouse for tea.

It turned out nicely. But here's what I'm thinking . . .

I'm thinking Mr. Easter Bunny better get his game on.

too cute

Emmy was getting dressed for preschool this morning. She was wearing a dress. Emmy loves dresses.

Even when she wears them over jeans.

She picked out a cute headband. And asked me to curl her hair.

Then she wore her "high-heel" sandals. I think you would agree that the words "high heels" and "sandals" all in one sentence would make any five year old happy. Especially in March.

This morning, Emmy was pleased with life.

As she finished fastening her sandals, she observed,

"I've never gotten this cute before."

Ahhh, we all need a day like that every now and then, don't we?

my choice

I'm a mother. A mom. It's what I do. Who I am.

For a while, I was a little bit confused.

You see, I've been a mom full-time now for going on 10 years.

I've enjoyed it. Laughed, cried, despaired, and learned. (How could I not?) But still. I haven't had a lot of other options. And more importantly, we've been blessed as family in a way that I haven't had to find other options.


You might say I have settled into life as a stay-at-home mom. It just kind of happened that way.

But a few months ago, Courtney and I had this idea.

We have spent a lot of time tossing this idea around. Here and there. . .everywhere. In fact, it became a little consuming.

And then, our idea turned into an opportunity.

An opportunity for me. To learn. To develop some talents. To use my inherent creativity for things outside my little nest. It felt like a chance to really accomplish something. Why not? I reasoned. Emmy's almost in school. It's time I made something of myself.

I admit, it was pretty exciting.

Oh, the time I've spent thinking. Praying. Pondering. Planning. Researching. Dreaming. Agonizing.

But the answers never came.

I never felt at peace. Like I said, I did feel excited. But there was something else. I felt breathless.

I think the breathless part was the problem. Because the more I prayed and planned and figured, the more breathless I became. This has been going on for months. Have you ever felt breathless for months? It gets to be a little unsettling. For a while, I wondered if this meant that it was the right thing to do. But the other part of me (the part that I didn't want to listen to) was telling me that it was too much. Too much of something that was fun, yes, but that would take away from what was really important to me. I think it was telling me that instead of researching the possibilities, I should be studying me.

Finally, I sat down. I wrote a list.

I titled it, "Things That Really Matter To Me." (I inserted the 'really' part when after only a few minutes, I came to the conclusion that while there are a lot of things that matter to me, only a handful of those things really matter.) I also required myself to think long term. Not only about things that were most important to me now, but about the things that would matter to me when this life was over. I only wrote down the things that qualified on both accounts.

My list includes a mere 6 items. And almost every single one includes Courtney and the girls.

It made my decision much easier.

It's funny how a little list like this changed my focus. The thoughts that had only recently been all consuming now took a back seat. What had seemed so imminently important now suddenly moved to a "someday".

Why? Because this list helped me to realize that what is really important to me will take my time. It will take my focus. My talents. My creativity.

My list requires all of me.

Long ago, before I went to college, was married, or had children, I thought a lot about the profession I would enter. Later, as a social work major, I thought of exciting possibilities, such of being a writer for National Geographic, working with the homeless, and getting my masters degree in Chicago. Even still, the thought of these adventures make me feel excited. . . inspired. . .

Breathless.

Maybe someday. Twenty years from now, my days will be different. My calender will change. My "to-do" list will take on a new direction, new possibilities.

But for today I only have a little window. A short stretch of time filled with little feet, messy rooms, and dirty laundry. An all too fleeting moment of giggly silliness, endless hugs and kisses, and teaching moments. I want to delight in this. To delight in them. With all that I have.

For one day, at the end of my life I am going to review my list. The one titled, Things That Really Matter To Me. And regardless of the outcome, I will know that one day in March, the year 2010, I made a decision.

I chose to be a mother.