Oh Boy!

I saw Zach yesterday during his lunch hour (I was at the school to drop off a lunch for Sam (don't tell his Dad or Dr. Wells that I did that). He was happy and busy with friends. He waved to me and ran over to the car to say "hello."

When he came home he got a phone call and headed into the den. He stopped to ask if it'd be alright for him to set up instant messenger or create a face book account, since he doesn't have a cell phone to text with, and he'd been assigned to work with a partner on a "Jingle."

His classmate was worried that they weren't going to be able to work together with out those afore mentioned resources. I told him that he could talk to him on the home phone (he was doing so now) and that they'd get through this. He smiled. "My mom doesn't fell good about setting up face book," he said into that archaic device.

When I returned a few minutes later he was emailing back and forth on my yahoo.
After 30 minutes, he received another phone call. He came up to ask me if he could walk up to a friend's house -- they needed to talk. (What about the phone call they'd just had?) I reminded him of his imminent piano lesson. He returned a minute later and reported that Jacob would meet him, and the two of them could walk to his lesson together.

He returned after an hour. I asked, "How'd you do at Piano?" "Good." --The phone rings. He answers. It's for him. He starts wandering while he talks. He's laughing a lot. He's smiling and making jokes. "What is this?" I wonder. He makes another joke. "This must be a girl," I decide. I don't know how I feel about this.
Another minute of his pacing and smiling and plopping down on the couch in the living room (he never goes in there).

"Hey, Zackie?"
Into the phone,"just a minute... Yeah Mom?"
"Umm what are you doing?" (Probing parental question)
He comes in the kitchen with his hand over the receiver." I have to do Spanish assignment with a partner. And I don't have face book..."
"Okay" (I say hesitantly)
To the mystery friend, "My mom says I need to hurry."

Several minutes more. I'm searching my memory for how I felt in 7th grade. I'm pretty sure I talked to some boys on the phone. Some of those boy's parents seemed kind of strict. Hmmm.

"Hey, Zach?"
Into the phone,” My mom just called me, so that means she needs my help with something --gotta go. ----Yeah---See ya tomorrow."

Back in the kitchen he sighs, "Sheesh -- this is what I call a social homework day!"
"Uh-huh" I respond. "So...who is your partner for Spanish?"
"Oh that girl I was telling you about. She sure gets distracted easily. I kept trying to get her back on track so we could finish the homework, but she could just talk for ever."

"So mom, Jacob wants to have a late night for Halloween."
I'm trying to coax SkyMax to open wide for an oatmeal/carrot combo.
"You know, Mom, Jake and I really haven't been able to spend much time together."
"Are you saying you're not going to be celebrating with the family at all?"
He smiles and shakes his head a little, "Mo-om."
"Hey -- I'm still doing baby food around here. I'm not ready for you to spend your evenings on the phone and computer and then leave us on holidays."
He laughs. "Oh, Mama --you're so funny. …So can I tell him we're on?"

Oh Boy! I can feel it coming -- this adolescence thing.
"Something's comin,' don't know when....maybe tonight, maybe tonight."

Hey! I Have a Joke!

Child development sources will tell you that it is normal for children to go through a joke-telling phase. Our first experience with it began about 8 years ago, when Zach was 4. His were hard to follow, and most included a punch line with "bonked on the head."

We never seem to have completed this "humorous" phase. One child will come home with a joke or a riddle, and another will pick up on it, and we'll have days full of "Why did the monkey cross the road" jokes and variations on that theme.

It has been made made manifest to me on many occasions that having taken 4 years of High School Drama has served me well. Living with "funny" children makes me dig deep into my dramatic past:

"Hey, Mama, you wanna hear a funny joke?"
"Oh" I say with a broad smile and only a slight pause. "Yes!"

"Knock, knock"
"Who's there?"
"Isaac."
"Isaac who?"
"Ivan working on the railroad," she sings back, and laughs.

"That was a funny one!" I try on my Thespian chuckle.

"I have another one!"
"Really?"
"Yeah -- Why did the volcano get really mad and punch somebody that commed by?"
"Ooh" (I show a confused and worried face) "Why?"
"Because somebody erupted him and he was still talking and that made him really mad until they said they were sorry!" --Laugh, laugh.

From Sam:
"What do you call a skunk that goes underground?"
"Hmmm.." (I look pensive, even though I have heard this one 50 times already)"What?"

"A SKOUNDHOG!" And he laughs as hard as he did the first time he made it up.

There seems to be so much pleasure in making someone laugh at something clever --
Simple pleasures are always the best.

S0...What do you get when you cross an Agnostic with a Dyslexic and an Insomniac?
Someone who lies awake at night, wondering if there is a dog.

(This is, incidentally, the only real joke I've been able to remember for years now, but it always make me smile.)

For the Beauty Of The Earth

Is there anything, ANY THING, more glorious than a warm Autumn day?

For the past few days it has been just chilly enough to have scripture study next to the fire in the early morning, and then open the screen door and widows in the afternoon. The crickets are serenading slowly, the sound of children's voices fill the air.


The golden light coming through the windows changes the whole house. In all this glory I find myself a bit restless. I want to bask in it -- sit on the porch swing, nuzzle the baby, and sing -- and yet I have this almost haunting awareness that it won't last. And it makes me anxious.

I wish to capture it in a bottle and breathe it in, just a few whiffs at a time throughout the rest of the year. I start feeling like Emily in "Our Town" by Thorton Wilder. Every day holds so much wonder -- I can't take it all in.

How quickly all of this parenting and sistering and daughtering will pass. I want to somehow appreciate the gift of it all.

Can I have the perspective that will keep it all near -- and then allow me to let it all go?

Oh these five senses of mine! This -- my joyful Hymn of Praise!

"C" is for Cookie

One of the benefits of having grown up in the Wells household is that I was given an opportunity to enjoy cookies frequently. Mom, with her homemade reversible apron safety pinned in the back, could whip out a batch of cookies from her recipe infested cupboard door in no time.

Now you may see pros and cons to this baking fetish that festered in Gaylee. I see it as a positive thing, since I now like to bake. And while it affected my body image differently than, say, Greg or Carrie, it helped shape me into who I am today: A Cookie Connoisseur.

I know (a sixth sense, really) what to look for in a good cookie; the texture, the number of chocolate chips, whether they are over or under baked. I can even name some of the ingredients of a cookie I taste for the first time.

For you "local yokels"-- here are some places to find the best cookies in Utah Valley.

If you are craving a good Raisin Oatmeal Cookie you've got only two choices:
Kneaders and Great Harvest. The texture and size is very different, but both are excellent.

What about a good Sugar Cookie? The weight and consistency of the Pink cookies found only at the Cobblestone pizzeria are by far the best. However, they are small and a whole dollar each, so it's kind of a rip off.(Sugar cookies are hard to get right. Lots of places try but they are either too cake-like or too brittle. My neighbor, Terry, once filled a cookie jar with sugar cookies and gave it to us for Christmas. They were fantastic -- I asked her for the recipe, but she must add some secret ingredient, because hers turned out much better).

Now -- the chocolate chip cookie: Mrs. Fields had good ones, except that there were too many chips. As far as in store bakeries, only Albertson's comes close. Great Harvest are good, the Provo Bakery also offers decent ones. Honestly, with Chocolate Chip, Ginger snaps, and Snicker doodles, homemade is best('course the right recipe is a must!)

Now -- a serious warning: If you come across cookies at a craft boutique, or at, say, TJ Maxx or Ross -- don't be swindled (these are not good places for good cookies). They aren't fresh and you'll be overcharged. There is almost nothing so disappointing as paying for a flavorless cookie.

All righty then, tune in later for more about this important topic. In our next discussion we'll cover some baking necessities.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?

Many in the world are faced with an indecision problem.

I am not prone to that. Every single day I meet up with a variety of dilemmas and decisions. And I deal with them --head on.

For instance:
*Should I mop this morning? Nah -- it will just get sticky and messy anyway.

*Read to Millie or to myself? --Millie --the time for cuddling will be gone too soon. (Maybe I could get in a few minutes while she'd at preschool).

*It's 10am, should I sample that piece of Halloween Candy? Yeah -- it's just a "mini" Twix.

*Is play doh a good choice today? Sure -- the floor is grody anyway (see?)

*"Word World" or "Clifford"? "Word World" every time. (That will give me a half hour to get ready for the day since Barbies were a higher priority earlier).

*Is today a good day clean the car? Yep -- Millie just threw me an open bag of movie popcorn while I'm driving ("Oops. Sorry Mama!"). We'll just pull into the car wash right now (Sonic has free vacuums).

*It's 1pm, should I try that Kit Kat hidden in my closet? Yes -- it will help my blood sugar levels. (I'm not working on "Body For Life" right now -- just "Body for Halloween.")

*The baby is down for a rest, the others are at school. Should I read or clean up? --Arggh -- clean (I know I'll be happier to have it done in the end).

*I'm at Savers thrift store scouting for Halloween accessories. Should I take a quick peak down the children's book aisle? Yes -- One can never have too many picture books.

*The children will be finished with school soon. Should I read or mop? Mop (with a mini Heath bar in my mouth).

*Is today the day I'm going to decide what to call my youngest child on a regular basis? No-- Not today.


It is apparent, I'm sure, that while there are many sick and afflicted (mentally and otherwise), I am not. Not today.

Wit and Whim

The phone rings. Caller ID says: Timpanogos Academy (de ja vu to you? Me too)

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mama."(I can hear the smile in her voice)

"Well Hello, Abigaylee."

"I hope you're not going to blog about this one too." (And so I must -- that rebel in me resurfaces)

"Oh Yeah?" I respond laughing. She's got me and I know it.

"Yeah. There was a paper that I was supposed to have you sign. Since you didn't...

"Did you show it to me?"

"No." She laughs. "But since you didn't, it's a requirement that I call you. I can just leave it out in my cubby for you."

"What happens if you just bring it in tomorrow?"

"I won't get class money."

--Thoughful pause on my end. Should I rescue her? Maybe I ought to make a mad dash for my Love, Limits, and Latitudes book by Dr. Gawain Wells.

"Mom?"

"Humm?"

(The voice smile has returned) "You should probably re-evaluate you list of to-dos and get to work."

 



That gets me laughing. I'm sure Dr. Wells would agree that a child with wit needs extra points.

--Got to run to the school. There's silly paper for me to sign in someone's cubby.

The Bishop's Wife

Remember Loretta Young? She was demure, graceful...as awe-inspiring as Cary Grant was suave and debonair

Not every bishop's wife is like that. We have a 9am church schedule. That means that the routine I had worked out for 4 children to arrive on time for our 11am schedule is not working for the 5 children by 9am. I have tried a variety of tactics. Not many have met with success. However, we've only been at this since September. I have full faith that we'll meet up with that success at some point.

Our good bishop is, surprisingly, not as full of that same faith. He taken to calling me to repentance. He has bribed the children and me. He has begun making a Sat. night "we can be on time tomorrow" pep talk (Who is WE? I ask). This morning he set his alarm for 5am, got up and readied himself for his early meetings. Then at 6am, his alarm went off again. I heard it, saw that the bathroom light was on, and waited for him to take care of it. He was slow in coming. He appeared when I had stretched myself across the bed to shut that annoyance off. Just as I did -- mine began buzzing. "Oh, Stef! What a good girl! I appreciate that you'd plan ahead to get yourself completely ready for church before the children are up" he said. I laughed -- I had not set my alarm at all. What a sneaky bishop the Lindon 5th Ward has.

Want to know something crazy? As I slid out of bed onto my knees and turned on the little fireplace, I was reminded of another bishop's wife that used to pray right where I was praying. And I realized that there were a host of other women around the world that were doing the best they could, to do what they could, to make yet another Sabbath Day Holy for their families -- without help from their spouse.

I had an entire 45 minutes to myself, listening to beautiful music, and getting ready before the children emerged and the chaos took over (it has been a long time since I have had that kind of quiet).

I might even call it "awe-inspiring."

"You Wanna Play with Me?"

It is with mixed emotion that I make the following announcement:

Millie is officially as socially hungry as her older siblings.

She began as such a sweet little person --very willing to entertain herself, humming and singing. Her activities have been fairly consistent: coloring, building with blocks, doing puzzles, dressing up, and coloring some more. In the last few months she has added Barbies (where someone is always the mother, and everyone else is a sister) Littlest Petshops, and Polly Pockets. The characters are all named. We have Abigayle, Emily, Courtney, Polly, and some variation on the sound "AL-IE"(Lallie, Callie, Sally, BaJalli...) During my pregnancy we were determined to play "The Mom and Mudder (mother) Game" with everything from dolls to barrettes.

And now -- she believes she is in desperate need of friends outside the intimate circle of Mom and Millie/ Millie and Mom.

This would seem like a good thing right? After all, putting my best "mother-ease" voice to a butterfly hair clip can become taxing. However, many of her little friends are at school. Many of her friends think that the playroom at our house is the ONLY real place to play.

I remember when Zach turned 3 and decided that Mom was not company enough. We were living in a townhouse community. He would simply let himself quietly out through the front or back, and begin going door-to-door. He would patiently knock for as long as it took for someone to finally respond. It was discovered that despite his resemblance to his mother, he really had more of his father in him. That persistence in sociability has persisted. And is now being displayed in our "Millie-Girl." --SIGH---

I will need to find joy in welcoming pint-sized princesses and pirates for some years to come.



And Thank Goodness.

The Dream Catcher

I don't have one. I have wondered about getting one since according Native American folklore, hanging one of those woven, feathered, beaded devices can help your dreams become a reality (Maybe this was a primitive version of "The Law of Attraction" or "The Secret").

--Anyway---

I'm thinking I should NOT acquire a dream catcher.

Last night I dreamed that Barack and I were married.

As this presidential election draws nearer, there has been recent conversation about "coming out of the political closet." I'm just not sure I'm ready to commit to another man's closet in terms of matrimony.

I'm timid about asking Dad what my sub-conscious mind is going through in order to manifest itself this way.

Go Ahead, Make My Day.

I got a phone call around 8am this morning. Before I picked up the receiver I looked at the time. School should just be starting -- I'll bet the caller-ID will read: Timpanogos Academy. It was true.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mama, it's me. You know my history assignment from last night?"

"Uh-huh."

"I forgot to put it in my back pack, and I was wondering if you could bring it over before 10am. History starts at 10 you know."

"Okay. I will try."

"Thanks alot Mom. I was just wondering if you could. I love you Mama."

"Love you too."

So I re-evaluated my list of to-dos, and got to work.

When I arrived at the school, and tried to maneuver my way through the doors with the car seat and Millie(who has an amazing knack for walking RIGHT in front of me, and slowing down while in my blind spot) the substitute at the front desk said, "Are you Stefanie?"

"Yes."

"Abbie wrote me a post-it note telling me what you would look like and which class she'd be in. I didn't know you had a new baby."

Later, when I was buckling that mammoth car seat in again, she came out and asked if I needed any help.

"Hey, you look so cute."

"Oh,(with great surprise)thank you!"

For the next couple of hours I tucked in my tummy and felt like I was really lucky to have my life. That one compliment had improved my whole day.

I wonder what would happen if we all offered praise more often. We never know where the other person is coming from. It might just "make their day."

Go ahead.

"I am Sam. Sam I am."

Perhaps Dr. Seuss-type literacy was something we hoped our Sam would be interested in by first grade. After all, as a preschooler he was not interested in writing his name, sounding things out, playing mother/son spelling games on the chalk board, or even singing the ABC song. I decided that academics would come at some point for him -- in the meantime I would love him, read to him (he loved that) and hold him. We installed (screwed tightly into the wall studs (--his dresser required the same fastening --he's a climber)) a bookshelf in his room, with story-time favorites. He enjoyed looking through those books for as long as we'd allow.

Kindergarten came. He began to learn poems and tunes for each letter in the alphabet. And just like Abbie, when he reached the "RR" sound, his speech pattern was altered permanently. He soaked up all the information Mrs. Dorton could provide. He seemed to be doing well. He was happy being a student. And that was what I hoped for most.

Over the summer he discovered "Calvin and Hobbes." Many afternoons found him on his tummy, pouring over Calvin's antics and laughing to himself.


At our 1st parent-teacher conference for our third-born, Miss Park tells us that she has no concerns about Sam's literacy capacity. He reads 125 words a minute, she reports. We respond with dropped jaws. We have nothing to say. Sam doesn't either -- he's busy reading.

After much praise Sam has made some new goals. There are various piles of books on tables, on couches, on floors. "Sam has a plan. A plan has Sam. A plan to read. Sam reads indeed!"

A Grief Observed

The children began to taste freedom last evening, as doors and windows were left open, and dinner was late. Absent were the reminders about homework and chores. Friends paraded through the house, and rummaged through the pantry –Fall Break had officially begun.
Nothing can ever be truly celebrated without a sibling sleepover. After ice cream was consumed, the linen closet emptied, and Sam’s already crowded room resembled “Once upon a Mattress,” (complete with a couple of teetering bean-bag beds), the “little ones” went to sleep. Zach was having a late night at a friend’s, Star was away “Bishoping,” and Abbie coaxed me into watching Emma Smith’s story on DVD.
Now… I already know what happens in this story. It is not a happy one. I appreciated the details and the faithful way in which Emma was portrayed. However, as those dearly anticipated babies passed away, I recognized a familiar feeling: desperate pain. A wave of grief washed over me. Mental images of Star and I in a hearse, a tiny pink casket between us; the penetrating (Dixie like) heat of the sun as we held a graveside service at the cemetery; the amazing loneliness of empty arms.

It has been six years now since little Louisa died. I have borne and kept two more babies. And yet, when those waves pull me under every once in a long while, I feel physically as though I will surely drown. I went up to Max’s room, rocked his sleeping body, and wept until exhausted. Star came. He knelt beside me, peeled the baby from my arms and tucked him into his little bed. Then he kissed my head, helped me up, and brought me into our room. He is no longer afraid of those waves. He cannot stop them. They are gone as suddenly as they have come. And only puffy eyes and a headache are reminders that they visited my world again. The intensity of grief always surprises me. But I do not wish it away.

Some Tough Questions

There are times that a parent is presented with some unexpected queries from their offspring.

For instance, when Abbie asked at age 4, "Mom, who teached Satan to be be mean?"

Try this one, "So when did Cinderella's Fairy Godmother come back and give her another glass slipper? 'Cause she had two of them for the wedding." "You're a good thinker." I return.

Or maybe "What good are those things anyway-- you know, after ladies are done feeding those babies?" "Well, we are mammals you know..." I begin.

Most recently, after showing my childhood photos to my daughter, "Wow, when did you get big like that... was it in 4th grade or 5th?" I just smile (stiffly)

Here's one for you from me: How would you respond?
My suggestion: So carefully.



As is illustrated in this encounter:
While I'm busy changing a diaper, "So, Mom, why do boys and girls have different body parts? (After a careful pause on my part) she says, "Is it just because girls have to produce?" "Oh Yes" I reply quickly. "Huh." She says as she walks away.

Ask me anything. I can take it. (Warning: I reserve the right to defer to my bother-in-law Eric eventually)

J. Golden Jr.(Jay Jay)

This year J J has been a wonderful blessing to our home. Mieka's (my aunt) friend, Steve, worked for a vet down by Draper/Herriman. They had a dog that had gotten ran over by a car. They did surgery on both his hips which were severely broken. He has healed well and he is now 5 months old. GO J.J.---- (posted by Zach)

To Sell or Not to Sell

...that is NEVER the question.

Today the children and their daddy hefted the large orange orbs out of the garden patch and onto the front lawn. It was time for their 4th annual Pumpkin Sale. Uncle Jed came and faithfully supported them --once again.




Supposedly this drive to be entrepreneurial, to sell, is part of the grit that makes us truly human. Should I be concerned then, that I balk when asked to simply offer free samples? I have been known to hit the floor and crawl beneath the large front room window when noticing that a solicitor is approaching my house. "Shhh, no noises," I have told my small children. And thank goodness for caller ID -- that has made my job much easier.

Knowing that this almost phobic response is rooted deeply in my soul, Heavenly Father (with His keen sense of humor) has blessed me with children who would like to sell something whenever possible. Abbie wanted to hold garage sales every weekend one summer. I remember the first time Zach was determined to sell cookies. I had some sitting on the counter, and he was ready to charge $5 for each. I tried to reason with him without projecting my own insecurities. I was unsuccessful. I phoned Mom as I posted myself at the window --bracing against the rejection he was sure to face as his little body sat out on the curb with his rickety art table. Luckily Jed happened to be visiting Mom at the time and overheard my worries. He reassured me that every child goes through this sales desire; he recounted the time he'd attempted graham cracker sales. "Were there people who didn't stop--didn't buy what you were selling?" I asked. "Oh yeah -- so I just sat outside with a purpose, watched the cars drive by, and ate graham crackers." It had been was a wonderful day.

And so...every October, I post myself at the window -- take a few photos, and make hot chocolate and cookies for my little driven sales people.

Our Little Ham (not swine)

Miss Abigayle Hannah Hall recited a poem entitled "Going To Bed" by Marchette Chute today before an impressive panel of judges. This was her fourth round in the (school wide) Timpanogos Academy Poetry Competition. She took 2nd place out of the 6 final contestants and proudly wore her medal the rest of the day. Tomorrow she will start her much anticipated acting class at the Hale Center Theatre.

Her parents wonder where she gets her flair for the dramatic. They are both so timid and quiet. It seems to come to her fairly naturally however. We hope to encourage her to continue to expand her horizons and move beyond comfort zones.

The Windy City

Zach is becoming a real traveler. He boarded a plane in SLC, and flew alone to Chicago, Illinois on August 7. Uncle Greg and co. met him at the Chicago airport and whisked him off for two weeks of fun and food filled festivities. He had a great time seeing the insider's view of downtown Chicago and China Town. He also spent a full week in Wisconsin at a wonderful place called Grand Geneva. After educating his relatives on all the camp songs and Vocal Point repertoire they could handle, he flew back to Utah and waited. His goofy parents had remembered his arrival time incorrectly. And although they tried not to take it personally when he (for weeks afterward) reminisced about Nan's gourmet meals and the "awesome" time they'd had at the theme and water parks, his family was aware that he harbored a secret (although transparent) wish to belong to the Chicago Wellses.

A Mother's Heart/Mind

I've heard tell that a Mother Heart is one that is shaped by her children in the process of trying to shape them. While living, breathing, and praying daily, it is a commitment to step back, re-adjust perspective with performance. It is an effort to collaborate with God, to pursue balance between self and others.

It is a determination to better understand charity -- to see loved ones with a pure love and be Full of faith.



So... I have a passion for this kind of parenting. Trouble is... my mind does not seem able to keep up. This year, with three children now in school full day, and homework trailing each of them, I have made lofty goals. Also, I have taken notes at able Anita's house, and have raised my hopes once again. I have fed myself pep talks such as, "You can do this, Stef. You are c-capable of being organized." I have dusted off my books: Organizing From the Inside Out; Confessions of An Organized Housewife; The FLY Lady; Do I Dust or Vacuum First?; (unfortunately I've not found time to get through them all).

I have even created a color-coded information system for tackling this information age. Each child is assigned a color: Blue for Zach, Red for Abbie, Green for Sam (of course), yellow for Millie, and orange for SkyMax. I have a new white board -- centrally located by the phone jack (notice no phone ( a curios mind wanted to know how the phone jack worked). It is lovingly divided into color coded categories with matching dry-erase markers. (It is tricky to keep the necc. info. in tact since it is just the right height for little fingers to just "accidentally" swipe their finger across misc. phone# and vitals recorded there.)

Each handsome Hall has a new fluffy towel that corresponds to their color (The Better to Nab the culprit that leaves their towel on the bathroom floor with) However, this must take time to implement I guess -- since they are happy to use whichever towel is closest and deposit it on their bedroom floor instead. Perhaps I should see this as a positive thing... They are not respecters of color.?

By the end of a long school week, after many heart-felt reminders to do schoolwork, practice the piano, clean-up after ourselves, and speak kind words to each other, I find I need to retreat to my room for some "Alone Time" because of the grumpy look on my face.

And so I will to strive to have a Mother's Heart, but I may need to adopt as my new credo (as Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin's good mother suggested): "Come what may, and love it."