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.