The Holiday Season as an Adult

Happy Max with Santa

'Tis the night after Christmas and all through the house.... there are messes and disorder ---I feel like a louse. I plan every year with efficiency and care-- in hopes that when St. Nicholas takes to the air --that I will be snuggled down deep in my bed, and visions of peace will fill my head.

But it seems I move slower as evening wears on and I've just shut my eyes when Christmas morn dawns. I smile as they gasp with surprise and tear into packages of bargain buys, but I'm weary and I wonder how Mother carried out---seamless events without room for doubt --Santa was real, he was very consistent, but in our home even Tooth Fairy is resistant... to discipline and order, traditions galore --what if I can't pull off two decades more?

Santa brought Millie a Cabbage Patch doll, Sam a new "Rusty"dog better than all---the stuffed pets he cares for--and he's got plenty. He mentioned in fact that they numbered beyond twenty! Max loves his new cars, puzzles, and Jammie's --Abbie is crafting, changing outfits and hamming-- it up in front of the mirror, and Zach's decked out in all BYU gear.

Christmas Eve Jammies

So why more toys and clothing and such? Why give more when we've already so much?

I guess because children grow out of their clothes, and toys wear out and dolls lose their bows. Maybe the real reason we give --is so that each of these people we're raising will live --knowing they're loved, knowing we care... even if their parents are showing the wear... of sixteen Christmases come and gone, of sleepless nights and post-worry dawns.

It's different as Mama than it was as the child. I miss the suspense and being exiled---from areas of Mom's secret wrapping, the freedom from budget and energy-zapping---shopping and planning, stewing and fretting; Each Christmas I plan to do less forgetting --of where I've hidden this bag and that, and yet every year I do just that...

Cast picture at Joseph Smith's Birthday Party @ Grandma Wells'

But when I let Christmas' magic sink in...I'm grateful for the miracle of these kids and kin --glad that I have them, glad to be married, glad to be busy and often carried ---over rough spots, trials and cares--for they are proof that Christ is ever there---to lift and to lighten, to teach and release --- all grown-up burdens, for He is real PEACE.

Our Christmas box

Finding Contentment

I was lucky to attend a small private school for my Jr. high years. I was lucky because (in addition to other things) Louisa Dalton had few friends to choose from --and spent much of her time with me. Louisa was her Daddy's girl and much like him. She was quiet and thoughtful. She was concise in speech and writing. Her patience was a spiritual gift, but it benefited me.
There were days I remember feeling emotional and restless. Louisa would sit outside with me at lunch and let me ramble on about my "larger-than-life-drama" and smile...not a knowing smile, or even a "you're so silly" smile --just a "I'm pleased to be with you" kind of smile. As I finished she'd adjust her glasses with her shoulder and point out the colors on the Y mountain so close in front of us.

When I received my patriarchal blessing on my 16th birthday, I was promised contentment if I was willing to follow all the programs and principles established by the Lord for His children. In just that one word I knew that God knew me and my heart.

I now have a dramatic middle-schooler of my own. I also mother four others who vary in their emotional, physical, and spiritual needs every day. There are times I still feel restless. Sometimes it's when I daily gather five pairs of dirty socks from around the main floor. Sometimes it's while bleaching the tub for the third time in 30 minutes after three rounds of "shark-infested waters" courtesy of my youngest. Sometimes it's while struggling to stay alert while reading my scriptures (it doesn't matter what time of day it is). But the disquiet is different than it used to be. I am learning to "adjust my glasses" and change my focus.

When I allow my limited perspective to be altered through Christ's view of me, and my worth as a mother and wife, His grace(His gift) (just like Louisa's did all those years ago) can soften my nature and soothe my soul.

And for just a few minutes I Know what charity feels like... (until I wander into the master bathroom to find a box of cereal dumped on the floor and a some large piece of a broken light fixture set nicely on the counter by an anonymous friend --for me to find after they have gone to school).

It's crazy to recognize once again the blessing of a name. The little daughter whom I named Louisa Grace--before knowing why it would be such an imperative and lasting reminder to my heart to keep striving for peace.

For those hoping to do some reflecting on the topic --I highly recommend this book.

If he was looking for signs...

One week ago today the family was in pre-carpool-hurry-mode as Zach gave a powerful devotional about the theme for seminary: "Doubt not, fear not." He closed by telling his sleepy sibs that reading scriptures was really cool, and that this "doubt not, fear not" idea could apply to everything in life. He grabbed Dad's racing bike, secured his shoes into the stirrups, and called over his shoulder, "Doubt not, fear not!" -- like some "Hurrah for Israel" battle cry.

30 minutes later as I looked with disdain at the last two large bowls of peaches waiting to be bottled, the phone rang. It was the Vice Principal at Maeser. He told me that Zach was in his office after being hit by a car while riding to school. My heart began racing. Mr. Marshall informed me it had been a hit and run, and that Zach had some bruises and road rash, but that he was alright. He wondered if I'd give the school permission to get the police involved. Through my tears I asked if I should come to bring Zach home. I was told he wanted to stay.

I called Star and he answered (2nd miracle) . He told me he'd leave for Maeser immediately. By the time I reached my parents and they arrived to cover Max (he was still asleep and stayed asleep until I came back an hour later (3rd miracle)) the police were leaving. Star met me in the parking lot, took one look at my puffy eyes and wild hair and said with a smile, "You are an emotional Mama." My feisty-mother-bear-ness retorted, "Yes! I AM! I need to see him." Just then Zach came out the door wearing his PE clothes. He saw me and came over saying in a really pleasant way, "Mom, hey-- thanks for coming." I hugged him to me hard and asked if I could take him home. He kindly refused --explaining that they were on their way to an ultimate Frisbee game...

The adrenaline wore off after a couple of hours. He called and needed some ibuprofen. When he hobbled out to the car, I convinced him to come home and let me get some neo-sporin on his scrapes and cuts (all on the outside of his hands and arms). We talked while driving, and as the details of the accident unraveled I marveled again that he'd not been more hurt. He said he'd been going full speed and noticed a car was pulling out from a business driveway on State street. In a matter of nano-seconds he thought "pull your feet out of the stirrups", and then his mind began going through the steps of a karate trick he'd just perfected Tues. night; his bike hit the car, he smoothly flew across the hood, then tucked and rolled --his head never touching the ground. He lay there dazed, then realized the car had continued driving, and decided he'd better get up --he didn't want to be late for school.

It was a day full of mixed emotions, and it took it's toll physically, but I kept recalling him say with confident conviction, "Doubt not, fear not." If any of us were looking for some sort of sign that God knows who we are and that we can be given the companionship of the Spirit -- this could count I think.

I cannot verbalize my gratitude.

You know I'm Mellowing When...

...I come upon a chewed-up, spit-out piece of gum on the landing just outside my bedroom door --and I feel GRATEFUL --grateful that it hasn't yet been stepped on so that it's mushed into the carpet. I grab it and toss it into the garbage (My newly purchased package of trident gum was empty in my purse --so I knew the gum was bound to turn up somewhere).

...I find an entire roll of toilet paper --unraveled on the bathroom floor--and I feel really FORTUNATE--fortunate that it wasn't emptied into the toilet. (I don't bother to ask who did it, I just pick it up and put it on the back of the potty for future use.)

...My 8 year old tells me that he ordered the Deseret News (he seems a little surprised and guilty when he carries it in off the driveway to explain)--I just pay the bill when it comes (it's less trouble than calling and getting them to cancel (we've tried that before).

...My Millie takes every toy she owns (practically) from house to house or out on the lawn in grocery bags---and I feel RELIEVED--relieved that I don't feel a compelling need to organize and sort them into cute containers anymore.

...My 14 year old receives a calling from the Stake Presidency to serve as a youth advisor in the area Special Needs Mutual--and I feel JOYFUL--joyful that he can be trusted, joyful that he's excited and humbled by it, joyful that I have the chance to be a mom (even though it will add another layer of scheduling and driving to my weeks).

So maybe I'm not consistently easy-going and flexible, but I'm coming along and mellowing --line upon line --right?

You Missed Your Big Chance

I offered --but got no takers.

It's too late now. I'm going to go ahead and keep my oldest--he calls me "pretty mama" and cleans up the kitchen without being asked. He waters and mows the lawns, weeds the garden, and helps me put children to bed. You can't have him.

Remember I asked if anybody wanted to trade? Tough beans. I'm going to keep my Abbie. She laughs and jokes with me (and at me), she bathes the baby, sings and reads to neighbor widows, and makes killer brownies. She babysits like a pro and befriends anyone who'll let her. She's mine.

My Harry-Potter-addict also now mows the back lawn (with much praise and encouragement) and rescues lonely lizards and badgers (raccoon? we're not sure which it was). He recently pledged to check his pockets before leaving friend's and cousin's houses, and loves to give me squeeze hugs.

Millie currently sings "Twinkle, Twinkle" and "I Am Like A Star" with loud vibrato. She reads her level 1 books frequently and with pride. She does her chores obediently and quickly. And when I lay by her at night in the bed that she and Abbie share I hold her little hand and know that life can't get better than this.

Schuyler behaves very much like a two year old. His smiles and hugs are worth the effort it takes to gain his trust. He's becoming friendly with the cousins (except Jules whom he hits regularly) and throws awe-inspiring tantrums. This boy goes all out. He kisses his own "owies" and folds his arms for prayer.

My spouse of 16 years works hard to provide for this crew. He does his famous follow-up, and builds up a formidable business. He takes on the weight of the ward and has attended every one of my RS lessons (unless out of town). He leaves me notes and says it feels like Christmas when I iron his shirts (it's not just an annual occurrence but...)

So --Sorry Charley. The offer no longer stands. I'm in this thing for the long
Ha(u)ll...

(However-- if you have an interest in taking turns with laundry duty --we could still negotiate something..)

The Porch

There are some Summer evenings when ending the laughter and squeals of my children by beginning the bedtime regime -- is just too much. It is these nuggets of time that I know are fleeting.

After receiving the news that one of my Dad's childhood friends had passed away, I went up and retrieved Schuyler from his bed (he was still talking and singing to himself and his "tiger guy"), and put him in his stroller. Sam and Millie climbed off the neighbor's tramp, hopped on their scooter and bike, and joined me. Zach had been hard at his karate work for hours, but he insisted on walking with me. He said he thought I could use the company.

The wind was cool. My children surrounded me --circling in front and behind again and again. I walked briskly and breathed in the smell of rain. The sky was growing thick and lovely. I could not bring myself to go in. I sat in my red rocker that Star had painted for me. Millie brought out her blanket and filled my lap. Sam came out with a bag of grapes, and Schuyler ran back and forth laughing and yelling.

The porch became our home for a bit as we watched for the light in the bishop's office across the street to go dark. We sang nursery rhymes and primary songs as the rain began in earnest.

Porches and children, red rocking chairs and blankets --I am a pensive, but lucky girl.

Spring Break

We tried something new.

Star took off work for the week of Spring Break, but instead of heading to Lisbon or Lafayette, we hit Lindon. We had a family council, made a plan for each day of the week to include some fun, some inside work, or some outdoor work. The big item on the agenda was the barn. Star has schemed and dreamed for many years about fixing it up to be a playhouse/hangout for our growing children.

The barn beginnings --in bitter weather

As we cleared things out and cleaned things up, a fire was needed to reduce old sticks and leaves that escaped the rakes before the winter snows had invaded.

The faithful fire-tenders

The crew (plus Darth Vader)

We had big lunches mid-day, and movie parties (and a bowling party) at night.

Sweeping out the loft

Sam surprised us all by making scrambled eggs for breakfast. Millie set the table. It appears Abbie's dealing with tween fatigue.

A formidable task (thank goodness Darth's got such a serious work ethic)

I had dealt with a mild case of anticipation anxiety over the event, but it turned out to be one of the happiest vacations we've ever taken as a family.

And there was still time for puzzles, puppet shows, and the Piano.

A Hissy Fit

These snakes are just some of the MANY that like to sun bathe in my hollyhock patch directly out my back door. On other years I have been able to avoid them better, but this Spring, Schuyler has taken on the full-time job of keeping J. (the dog) company. I've begun just leaving the back door opened some, the screen door propped half-way. Schuyler will be contented until he wants me to get more Scooby snacks or until he wants me to be in their band of brotherhood. Then I get terribly startled when a snake darts in front of me.

Now to be perfectly clear, snakes give me the willies. So one Saturday I required that all snakes be removed from sight. This kept Sam, Abbie and Millie busy for several hours. In the end they caught 13 and placed them in a large metal tub on the porch.
The next week Sam carefully placed 3 in a shoebox and took them to school for show-and-tell.

Much later that day, I was driving on the freeway when Sam exclaimed, "Hey Mom, there's only one snake left in the box back here." With a bit of concern I asked, "You didn't take them out of the car after school?"
S: " I forgot."
M: "Sam, that is very bad news. Do you know how I feel about snakes?
S: "Yeah --they give you the willies."
M :"Are you sure you had all 3 after show and tell?" (not that I'd wish that for the school halls but...)
S: "I'm sure. Somebody must have made the air holes too big while it was out in my cubby."
M: "Sam --if those snakes are slithering around this car and one comes by me, I could have a heart-attack, and then Dad would have to re-marry, and then you'd be stuck with a wicked step-mother. You'd better start looking around the car right now." Sam was searching diligently, but having no luck. I headed towards Mom's since they were closer than home. Ahead of me were construction workers holding a stop sign. I began to slow. Just then my peripheral vision caught something move. I looked at the dash and began screaming repeatedly. I pulled over and sort of parked the car diagonally, then flew out. A snake was coiled near the steering wheel, it's mouth open and tongue hissing back and forth at me.

Sam was crying --my sudden volume had frightened him, and he was too upset to deal with the reptile. Abbie reached across my side, grabbed the snake, and deposited it in the yard of a little girl whose lovely skipping had been interrupted by my car lunging toward her fence. She ran yelling into her house (the look on her face...)

I felt like I needed something--proof --anything. I grabbed the only weapon I had: the video camera in my purse and began recording (Star was not going to believe all of this). On film I asked Sam to free the snake still in the box, and find the one unaccounted for. He sadly sent it into the poor skipper's yard, but we couldn't find the third one.

I drove slowly toward my parents house. I was shaky and had a definite case of the willies. Dad would save me. After laughing 'til he was red in the face, Dad assured me that he'd take care of it.

Later he returned and reported they'd searched high and low but the snake was either no longer in the vehicle or up in the engine where we'd not need to worry about it.

I traded Star for the van. He drove the GMC for another 7 days before he called one afternoon to report he'd found the 3rd snake suntanning on the driver's seat when he came back from a meeting. He left it in AF.

"No one will believe me," I had said to Mom while waiting for Dad to search the car that day. "They'll believe you --things like this happen to you."

(Is this another reason nobody wants to trade?)



heading under the back patio where we're sure they must have a nest

The Power

Three weeks ago I was preparing for FHE, making dinner, and listening to Elder Packer on my iPod. It was the week after General Conference and I had plans to plug in the thing to download the latest sessions. I'd also finished all the "This American Life" episodes, and was eager to try some new ones. But the next morning I could not find the little device. Over the last 21 days I have looked under beds, in drawers, closets, cars, and pockets. It's absence has weighed on my mind and heart. Alas--I have become dependent on the ease of tuning into Conference and Copland, Sedaris and Chopin whenever I needed a boost.

I had faith that I would be inspired to look in the right place one of these days, and that this longing would end. My good bishop asked if I'd prayed. I told him yes, but I knew, that like I do with so many areas in my life, I'd not really wanted to impose on the Lord for such a triviality. Sunday night, after pulling a new pair of Sam's dirty socks and underwear from under my bed --in yet another vain attempt to find my iPod, I folded my arms (I was already on my knees anyway) and pleaded humbly (and a bit timidly) for help. I told my Heavenly Father how much I appreciated the time spent with his disciples talking directly in my ears, and could use that extra time right now. I finished and went to put on my Jammie's. I made one last effort at feeling around the closet floor. I checked my sweatshirt pocket for the millionth time, then felt the pocket of the sweater hanging beside it. I have no recollection of having worn that sweater for a very long time, but my iPod was there, it's earphones wrapped neatly around it's slim frame. I called to the good bishop. I said nothing, just held out my treasure. He smiled, "You prayed didn't you?" I prayed again (I was on my knees anyway). Why do I make things so hard?

The truth is--there is power in prayer. Even seemingly silly ones.

And my humility was deepened once more.

To Do List

Ever since Daylight Savings began we've struggled to get back on top of our morning schedule around here. If I'm looking for excuses, I think Abbie's MDT rehearsals by 7am, and the work for her huge county report have added to the problem. But no matter what time we get up Sam seems to have an entirely different list of essential AM to-dos.

I've taken it upon myself to frequently empty his room of any books after he's finally fallen asleep --because if his path crosses with a book (or magazine, newspaper, or recipe, etc.) he's off track. It's tricky to know exactly what will distract him. Even when I try to anticipate the likely candidates, he finds something else. This morning, for example, he asked if he could help make his lunch. I praised him and talked him through some options. He was very busy for a few minutes --up on stools by various cupboards, climbing shelves in the pantry. Then he asked for help to locate the apple-corer-thingy from Aunt Nan. He worked with that tool for several minutes while I offered to help. As soon as we'd freed the fruit of it's core he disappeared. I was distracted with my teen and tween until I realized it'd been too long since I'd seen Sam. I went looking for him. I found him on the front lawn, with a shovel, making a determined effort to dig a hole big enough to plant his new-found seeds.

I did not anticipate this early-morning imitation of John Chapman. But it did make me smile.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_IrdS-zu48

Deep Thoughts

A direct quote from Millie:

"Mom, this morning I also looked at a picture of Jesus in my scriptures and it remembered me of Jesus, and I am NOT looking forward to Satan. And if I'm thinking of Satan, I am not choosing the right."

Maybe we should pull those pictures out where we can all see them, all the time.

Maybe then we won't look forward to Satan. Maybe...we could maintain some perspective.

Welcome, Welcome Sabbath Morning

When a family gives up their Daddy to Church meetings for years, Sundays begin to take on a different feel. New traditions are created and some old ones fade away.

Here are some quotes from last Sunday morning:

Zach, from the top of the stairs: "Mom, what should I do about this big hole in my pants?"
Mom: "Just wear your new suit."
Z: "These are my new suit pants, but I lost my suit coat --I've looked everywhere."
M: "How in the world did you get a hole that size?"
Z: "Maybe when I was trying to do the splits at the stake dance."
M: "You did the splits in your new suit pants? That'd probably do it."
He smiles.

Screaming is overheard from the children's bathroom. Abbie comes to the top of the stairs. She is draped in at least five towels (one for her turban, a shawl for her shoulders, one for a strapless top, one for a dashing skirt...)
Abbie: "Mom, can we have a family council today about the difference between being rude and stupid, or just being plain insensitive?"

Five-year old Millie is singing to herself in front of the mirror in my bathroom. She's combing her hair.
M: "Mom, do you have any cover-up?"
Mom: "Did you just ask for cover-up?"
M: "Sam accidentally hit my cheek, and I don't want that red mark there."
Mom: "I think you'll be okay without cover-up. You're such a pretty girl."
She returns a loving gaze to the mirror and twirls for a minute.
M: "Don't you think I look just like a teenager?"

Sam comes into my room to sit by the heater and read. I notice that he has put clothes on without being hounded. I'm ready to turn on the praise.
Mom: "Hey Sam, I'm proud of you for getting ready. Let me see you."
He stands up. He smiles broadly and then casts a spell on me from the Harry Potter books he's been devouring.
Mom: "Sam, I think that might be Zach's suit coat from when he was a deacon. Can you find your blazer? Also, those are great school pants, but not our best for church."
Sam begins to melt into the ground. His face becomes contorted.
Sam:"Mo-o-om, this is the only jacket that has an inside pocket for my wand!"
(Oh boy -- I know where this one's going to go --should I pick the battle? I must)

Schuyler comes running in --full speed. In just 10 minutes church will start.
Mom:" Did anyone find the baby's boots? Can someone please grab the baby bag and make sure there's a diaper in there?"
Max-o: "Go bye-bye? Coat. Woof-woof. Car."
Mom:"Come here, buddy. Let's get your hair combed."
He goes running towards the playroom--full speed. Laughing.

The organ has just stopped as we walk in the door. I hear my husband's calm voice from the pulpit as we hang our coats. Having taken his post as greeter a quarter of an hour earlier, Zach smiles as he hands us a program. He looks nice in his new white shirt, BYU tie, and tan school pants.

I take my toddler by the hand and walk toward our family's pew (on the other side of the room). Abbie has his other little hand, Millie's carrying her special bag with coloring supplies. Her posture shows she enjoys making an entrance. We are getting seated just as Sam comes running in --full speed. He is in navy pants, well-worn at the knee. And although his black blazer is rolled multiple times at the sleeve, it slips off the shoulder. He has "fixed" the job I did on his hair. I look up at the Bishop with a broad smile and a bit of a sigh. Another Sabbath morning down.

I'm feeling pretty pleased until Max takes the tennis ball he's been carrying and chucks it into the center aisle.

Marking the Miles

Wednesday evening Star told me that he was planning to take the afternoon off for my birthday. (He's learned not to spring big surprises on me anymore --I seem to react better that way). Susie had arranged her schedule to keep Schuyler and the others would be in school.

Before we left on Thursday I asked, "should I bring a jacket?" He said we might want something even though it was a pretty morning.

For some reason I placed Grandma Hannah's old green and gold tweed coat over my arm. Then I grabbed my full bag of books, and we headed out. We drove south. We passed Provo, Springville, Covered Bridge canyon, past what remained of Thistle and Birdseye, and toward Fairview. I began reading Richard Peck's new book aloud, but we didn't get very far --too much to talk about --uninterrupted.

"Remember the time we drove to Montana together, and we came up with all kinds things we never knew about each other?" Star responded, "That was really fun. Do you want to play that now?"

Unfortunately I couldn't quite recall how the game was played or even all the things I'd learned about him because of it, but I knew that it had solidified things, marked another milestone in our marriage. On that trip he'd shown me the places he'd served as a missionary; he'd shared dreams that were more humble --deeper.

We were nearing Mt. Pleasant, "When you were very young, what did you want to be?" he asked. "A mother, and a teacher...until I was a teenager, then I wanted to be a lighthouse keeper. Even then though, I hoped for a family with several children ( just in thick wool sweaters and red galoshes). Later, in London, I began to imagine being a museum curator and living in big cities where so much culture was easily accessible, but mostly I'd wanted pretty small town stuff I guess."

It had begun to snow when we reached Manti. The temple stood -- towering over the little farming community. I remembered seeing it before us as we drove on that cold and rainy day in April of 1994. I was coming to receive my endowments. With me were my two older brothers, my parents, and this pale-blond boy whom I was engaged to. When we entered, I was greeted by smiling temple workers. They knew my name. They had been waiting for me.

We pulled up to the historic city hall to ask for a map (we'd missed the turn off to Spring City). Star opened my door for me. It had become quite chilly. He helped me into Grandma's coat. As we neared the door, I caught my reflection in the glass. Something reminded me of her... my profile? My long face? We went in and looked at the photographs of old barns on the wall. A young man came out of his office and welcomed us to Sanpete County; where were we from? He unlocked doors, told us the stories of how they'd come to renovate the building, and invited us to look around upstairs and wherever we'd like. He suggested visiting a little fudge shop further up on main street, and offered us a coupon they normally give out just during pageant season in June.


The candy shop was warm and smelled heavenly. The walls were lined with red painted old apothecary shelves --just like in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Our Town." In preparation for St. Patrick's Day, much of their displays had been dipped in green: green chocolate pretzels, popcorn, Oreos, Nutter-butters. The owner was working in the back and came out to meet us. She seemed delighted to redeem our little gift certificate and offered all kinds of free goodies. The scent of chocolate reminded me of my Aunt Millie. Whenever we'd visit her tiny kitchen, it seemed she'd just finished creating something wonderfully chocolate and pale green. According to Mom's stories, Grandma Aggie (a chocolate dipper like her sister) would have smelled like this shop I mused.

After a tour of her kitchen and stories of how the business had come to be, we stepped out into a real snow storm. I pushed my hands deep into the pockets of Grandma's coat. My right hand felt something small and square wrapped in paper. I brought it out and felt full. It was half a piece of trident gum --the only kind Grandma ever kept. Her car and purse always had the faint odor of trident gum and lightly perfumed powder.

To be honest, I have been reticent about being closer to forty than thirty. I have wondered if I have accomplished anything of real value. But as I held Star's familiar hand while he navigated back slowly through the blizzard, listening to him dream about our future as missionaries and grandparents, my other hand fingering the tightly wrapped piece of gum still in my pocket, I have to acknowledge that most of what I've wished for has come true. I am not a lighthouse keeper --standing sentinel against the storms; I do not give daily tours about the great artists of the past and ride the tube to work at the famous museums of the world.

But I am a teacher and a mother, a wife and a daughter, a sister and a friend --much like my grandmothers before me.

And perhaps recognizing that --on my 36th birthday is a milestone worth marking.

Wanna Trade?

On our 1st ever Wells Women Weekend, we played a little game that Jayne had created: Would you rather? One of the questions was, "Would you rather keep your own life or trade for___?

Nobody wanted mine...
I've thought a lot about that since.

It couldn't be the Laundry could it?

Your glamorous life for mine.

Awareness

My Abbie is observant. She notices when teachers are sad, when kids are mean to each other at school, and if it looks like she's being excluded from some kind of celebration somewhere (anywhere).

Abbie can be outspoken. She asks the sad teachers how they're doing, stands up for kids that have been labeled, and reports thoroughly and loudly to her parents if the child-to-fun ratio seems unjust.


Sat. night she attended a high school production of The Ark with Dad, Zach, Sam, and a friend. At it's completion she was ready to return and report. Before I could ask, "How was the play?" she started in, "We saw a very congestive public display of affection when we got in the car tonight."

Like any good mom I responded, "What were they doing in our car?"

She knows what I'm up to, but she's not about to be dissuaded from giving the full scoop. "No-- (she laughs with exasperation) I mean we got in the car, but we saw two teenagers kissing passionately outside of our car."

"Oh." (pause, then with a sly smile) "So how was the play?"

"Mo-o-o-m."

How can she expect to share any juicy gossip tidbits with a dud like that? She's run up against this kind response before. Just when she thinks she's going to deliver a hum-ding-er of a tattle-tale, she gets confronted with a thick, maternal, Brooklyn accent*, "So Whadid He say?"(from On The Town w/ Gene Kelly).

*This is not a tactic from the reputable Dr. Wells --it's one of my own, but I like it.

I'm Doubting You, Phil...

I'm just superstitious enough to need to know his verdict every year, but just rebellious enough to want to prove him wrong.

Perhaps it's because the sun hits Punxsatawney sooner than Lindon, but I swear Phil has seen his shadow every single year. And you know what that means...six more weeks of winter.

But the temperatures have been in the high 40s and we've had more rain than snow lately. I've had to convert back to using a purse, since my big black coat with all the pockets (where I like to keep my keys, cards, and phone) is just too heavy these days.

Yesterday, while on a walk with Schuyler, not only did we notice the tips of the tulips pushing up through the ground, but a shock of bright green grass coming up around the chicken coop.

And today, even though it's brisk and the snow stayed on the lawns, I saw smoke rising off a newly plowed field on my way to Parent-Teacher conference (for the 3rd time that day--good thing the school is close)). I think I "Ahhh-ed" aloud.

So Phil, your little prediction just isn't gonna keep me down this year.

For Jayne.

Jayne loves to be warm.

Dear Jayne,

Spring and Summer are just around the corner.





You've got to click on this one--wish it could be poster size.

Happiness is basking in the Son.

Goin' Fishin'

Frankly, I have had some concerns about being the mother of three boys. Perhaps not all boys are challenging mischief-makers, but on occasion --mine have been.

They wrestle with Dad. They like to throw things. They "forget" parental instructions quickly.
They think camping is fun --anytime. They don't mind getting very sweaty. Boys.

Last weekend they were up well before the sun. They were off for a day of ice-fishing (all except the baby).

Don't you wish you were out there too?
Is this a true sport I wonder? I lack the vision for it's entertainment value, but my boys were giddy with anticipation. When at 6am Br. Marshall's knock was heard at the door, Sam made an amazingly graceful leap (much like an antelope or deer) from the entry to the porch --all the while giggling delightedly. They had a splendid time, and thankfully for me, caught nothing.

Fisherman Sam

Dr. Marshall with one of his awesome "toys"

Today I went fishing.

You see, I realized --too late-- that the reason Schuyler was so contented in the laundry room was because he'd made some mischief. In an effort to help him gain identity and industry, I have been finding ways for him to contribute to household chores. I don't know that it's a really super idea, but since I was a early childhood education major --I keep trying to be true to Jean Piaget and John Bowlby. When doing laundry I pull the stool up to the washer and let him pour in the soap. I hand him clothes and he puts them in for me. Then he makes a big mess as he fills his soapy lid to the brim and dumps some in the washer and most down his front.

We'd just started a load to wash. I emptied the dryer and took the armful into my room to sort. When I returned he'd climbed in the dryer.

Industry vs. Inferiority
Ahh --how cute. I laughed and smiled at him and told him how smart he was, and then noticed he'd removed the lint catcher. I looked for it and then glanced inside the slot where it should've been. Whoops, silly boy --he'd gathered the lint off of the screen thing and pushed it all back down in the slot. I tried to reach it with a pencil, and then saw something shiny further down. Oh no! He'd pushed three toothbrushes down there as well. I found a wire hanger and tried to fashion a hook. I spent an amazing amount of time trying to finagle the toothbrushes out with one hand, while shining a flashlight with the other. Ever anxious to offer his services, S. was determined to hold the light, and the whole episode ended with him in angry tears.


Mischievous Max

Much later, after all the boys were down, Star's steady hand was able to retrieve the last toothbrush. And I was able to finally dry two soggy loads.

some of the loot

It takes real patience to be a fisherman.

Mistakes Were Made

NPR features a show called "This American Life." One of the episodes was entitled "Mistakes were Made."

It is a fitting title for our morning. Zach has a new elective he's crazy about: Healthy Living. He is called upon to demonstrate push-ups, sit-ups, and stretching techniques. The students are asked to keep a log of what they eat and when they sleep. Today was his day to bring a healthy snack. His Mom offered a veggie tray or a fruit tray, but Zach has become adept at cookie making and wanted to do some baking. She pulled out her Feed Your Kids Right cookbooks by Lendon Smith (unfortunately gathering more dust than it should) and Zach chose a muffin recipe.

He woke early (wanting them to be fresh) and set to work. The batter he displayed for approval didn't look like the right consistency for muffins. After studying the recipe and he realized that he'd only doubled the baking soda and salt, but nothing else. Also the oatmeal was supposed to be put through the blender first. Oh well.


He was trying to remix the stuff in between Dad's scripture study presentation (which not only went over poorly but also kept him from being ready when his ride came.) After the muffins were baked Mom allowed the baby to have one (they were mini-muffins and he was hungry). Then his Mother tried a bit of the stuff stuck to the pan. She said, laughing, "You might want to bring some honey butter or jam or --something" (not great for a fledgling cook's ego.)

She also suggested transferring the morsels into a basket, but he was eager to go and wanted to keep them in their pans. Three pans proved difficult to maneuver past the other Halls trying to grab backpacks, shoes, and coats. After wrestling Max-O into his coat, his mother turned around quickly, her shoulder bumping a whole tin of muffins out onto the garage floor. Poor Zach fled the scene. The children helped retrieve the muffins. Mother explained that it was simply like they'd been in the fridge for a minute, and that since the garage floor was so cold, the dirt couldn't stick. She nestled the muffins with plaid towels in a basket, put some butter and knives in a Tupperware and called to her oldest.

In the old van Mother danced and sang to Cyndi Lauper in an effort to lighten the mood. She signed bits of paper for make-shift Spanish logs, and wished them well. As Zach opened the door to step out, she said laughing, "did you do that on purpose?" "What?" he smiled back. And then she made some comment about his appearance. His face showed surprise and hurt.

What kind of mother does that? Shame on that mother. She knows better. She apologized several times. It was heartfelt, but she stewed all the way home.


Do you know that muffin-man? Pray for him today.

Mistakes were made.

That Darn Agency

My youngest daughter usually thrives on "being good." I have joked sometimes that she came after Sam in order for me to know that God really lives up to the "reward after the trial of your faith" idea.

Last week she was thrilled with her new primary class due largely to the piece of jewelry her teacher gave her. Millie made the announcement that she was now old enough to be a CTR, and then with much fanfare, she twirled around and displayed it --repeatedly.



Since that day we have lost it and searched for it well over 20 times. She becomes frenzied and tearful when she discovers the empty spot on her thumb. The ring (although "adjusted" ) does not stay on unless she keeps her thumb bent.

Lately her behavior has visited the "disobedient" side, and her moods have resembled a roller coaster. When trying to discuss the errant actions, she tells me mournfully, that she can't possibly remember to do the right thing, because she can't find her CTR ring, or she isn't wearing right then. The other day I decided to pull out the "Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down Decision" lecture. "But, Mom" she responded before I could finish, "it's hard when my CTR ring isn't on my thumb."

I was hit with a brilliant idea, "Well, Millie you have been an obedient girl for years before you owned the ring. And even when you don't have your ring, you'll aways have your thumbs." I offer a role-play experience to illustrate more fully the "Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down" idea. She smiles and answers each scenario correctly. I feel like a good and empathic mother.

Today we went to the store in search of a baby gift for my friend in Colorado. Millie ran away from me the minute we entered. She fed green and yellow skittles (the only flavors she doesn't like) to Max who was fussing in the cart. She then put stuffed animals and books in the cart for him to touch with his sticky hands. I took them and the skittles he's been pulling in and out of his mouth.

He begins to yell. She asks me for toys. I tell her, "not today sweetie." She turns up the volume and asks again. My little brain flips through the what to do when a child is misbehaving in public file....Ah-Ha! "I know you're frustrated and I'm sorry, but the answer is No" I say calmly (the broken record technique from Dr. Wells).

After a panicked rush to the restroom she begins in earnest again. Max is inconsolable by this time and my calm-broken-record-voice is sounding more stern. We check out while the cashier tells me that she has children just about the ages of mine, but she has a rule about not allowing them to enter any store with her. I smile. Then I turn and repeat for the zillionth time, "I'm sorry but the answer is No."

In the car, after she has refused to climb in and I have had to forcibly remove her from the pillar at the store's entrance, I say low and cross, "Millie, I am disappointed in choices today." She begins to sob. "Mom, my thumbs really don't help at all. They're just there on my hands and I don't even remember to be good without my CTR ring. It's just too hard."

I know it's wrong, but I sort of wish she'd never been given a CTR ring... this agency and accountability bit is tricky.

Rational Repile Expert

Sam feels pretty confident that he's the Hall with the most knowledge about reptiles, dinosaurs, and strange phenomenon. These topics take hold of his able mind, and interfere with many of his thoughts. It shows up in his spelling sentances, pretend play, and on all car rides longer than 2 minutes.

In the middle of our homework session after school yesterday, he looked up from his math and said the following:
"People think that elephants could be the answer to the mystery of the Loch Ness Monster. Some books talk about it, but I think there are four reasons why 'Nessie' would not be an elephant.
1. Elephants weigh over 100 lbs.
2. Elephants DO NOT live in England.
3. The Loch is over 700 ft. deep and if anything weighs over 100 lbs. it could not swim in that water.
4. Elephants are not as big as the Loch Ness Monster is."

Now--I had already requested several times for him to focus. But this was just such a well organized argument, that I asked if I could write it down and asked him to repeat his reasoning. He smiled and said, "sure Mom. I love that you believe what I believe in."

"Try to Remember the Kind of September..."

Have you ever seen the old LDS film about the Last Leaf? My fuzzy recollection is of an elderly invalid who watches as the autumn comes and goes. She believes that she will die when the final leaf falls from the vine outside her bedroom window.

The master bath features a large window that looks out on a distant row of tall cottonwood trees. I felt much like the woman in the film this Fall --worried that as the colors changed, and the winds began to blow --that one day I would open my shutters and see that the last leaves had released their tenuous hold. I stewed and worried. I dreaded winter's return. Cold grey days can be hard on my system. My Anticipation Syndrome set in full force.

We were blessed with a lovely autumn, and every day I committed to recognize that the leaves were changing, but that I didn't have to. And then one day, when I almost lost Sam, Jaynie showed up and sent me on a drive. I turned on Jed's new Pilot CD (all humble folk hymns) and drove toward the lake. I discovered the old Vineyard city park. I put Eric Whitacre's choral symphony in my ears and began walking. By the time I had circled the park several times, I knew --no matter the season, no matter my personal season, Heavenly Father loved me and could speak to my heart in a way that would grant me the tenacity I needed --to hold on.

And as Nephi, I wanted to share it. That Sunday as the good bishop was busy "well-doing", I took the children back to that park. It was cold, but the colors were glorious.

"Hey Mom, we could have as many pumpkins as we wanted.."


Enjoying a little snack

Schuyler tries his new walking skills

Mom turns the guidance job over to Abbie so she can get more photos

...something looks different...

A close-up

Whoops --someone's had enough...

Is that a look of desolation or what?

Maybe Mom has an important role after all