the circle

Grandpa walked in slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. When he reached the couch, he carefully lowered his worn body down. "The arthritis is bad today. But, I'll feel better tomorrow. It always goes up and down."

My baby crawled over to him, pulled himself up to standing at the coffee table, and reached his hand over to rest on Grandpa's knee. It made the old man smile. Baby started to walk around the table, using it for support as he side-stepped along. "He's really coming along with that walking," Grandpa commented.

I marveled at the circle of life on display before me. One man, near the end, struggling to keep his mobility. One child, near the beginning, working to gain his. Both dependent on having something, or someone, help them with each step; walking carefully, cautiously. Moving on.

And, still smiling...

vacation

In the words of Mom's favorite...
"The packages have all been sent, the Christmas rush is through."

Phew!

After the Christmas program yesterday at Church, I finally feel like all the craziness of the holidays is finished. Now, it is time to just enjoy. Time to enjoy:
* no school
* sleeping in (a bit)
* holiday goodies (thanks to many delivering friends!)
* games
* play-doh marathons
* a bit of pre-holiday organizing
* (but not too much!)
* and books. Oh, how I've missed my friends! I haven't had a chance to read anything for too long. But, today, the kids and I took a trip to the library to stock up on books for the break, and audio books for the long car trip to Grandma's house. And, I was surprised to find TWO books on hold for me. Books I've been waiting 'in queue' for. Yeah!

I can't wait to get lost...

repetition

Yes, I said repetition. And a lot of it.

Back when I was young and easily bugged by my kid brother, he used to love the way his voice sounded saying the same phrase. Over. And over. And over again. In his case, he chanted, "Bicentennial, centennial." Over. And over. And over again. It was insanely annoying. Especially in the car. (Come on, back me up here, Kam!). I thought Preston was probably the ONLY child in the world obsessed as such, and it was my unlucky fate to have to take road trips with the kid.

Not so.

My boy; my sweet, nearly perfect (until he went to first grade), oldest child is also a repeater. Luckily, he hasn't yet chosen a 'special phrase' that he uses each time. But, anything that comes out of his mouth is subject for repeating. Just to make sure it still sounds as cool the second time. And the third. And the 15th.

"Five-oh-one. Five-oh-one. Five-oh-one. Five-oh-two. Five-oh-two. Five-oh-two. Five-oh-two."

Etc.

That is simply ONE example of ONE time (out of many today, unfortunately) that I had to remind Dallin that repeating things over and over again is annoying to those around you.

It is only the first day of Christmas break. Help!

P.S. I have to say, by way of redemption, Dallin IS my most festive child, so it is fun to have him around. When he's not busy repeating everything, he SINGS Christmas carols all around the house. It is darling and reminds me of the magic of Christmas.

P.P.S. For my CS friends...if you haven't already, you need to check out the light display on Windjammer that, as Kate says, "dances to the music." Drive by with your kids. They'll love it!

it's magic

"I just like to have a little magic in my life."

That's what my friend, Rachael, said to her husband (a rocket science engineer who makes bio fuel in his garage, just for fun), when he asked her why she wasn't curious about how some gadget worked. Like Rachael, I'm clueless when it comes to the 'hows' of almost everything. And, I sort of enjoy the ignorance. When I turn the car key, "vrooom" the car starts up. Magic! When I flip a switch...light! Magic! When I push the little ON button, "click" the TV is magically glowing back at me.

So, even though I have no idea how it happens that a tiny camera, embedded in my computer, can transmit the image my beautiful baby boy 600 miles away to Grandma's house, I'm certainly grateful for this technological magic. Here he sat, digging into his first-ever chocolate cupcake after the strains of "Happy Birthday" bellowed, surround-sound style, from here in our home AND through the speakers of the computer. On the other end, a roomful of grandmas and grandpas and other grand folks enjoyed their own dessert and watched the birthday boy smear said cake high and low, as virtually all one-year-olds do. Virtually.

It was magical. And, amazing. And I'm so glad they could join in his one-year-old celebration, even from afar. Hooray for iChat!

Happy Birthday, Bitty Boy!

wanna know a secret?

I hate to spoil the surprise, but I think you're getting a fleece blanket for Christmas.

Based on the 3 hour line I waited in at the cutting table in JoAnn's today, I'm pretty sure EVERYONE in the country is getting one. Fleece was, apparently, a screamin' deal this weekend. At least, that is what the mile-high piles in each cart would suggest. I was just trying to pick up quilt fabric so I can properly welcome my new niece to the world when I was bombarded with the hoards of crafters craving the soft stuff.

Luckily, the Christmas Spirit is still fresh and full. People were chatting with one another about their fleece selections (and wondering, aloud, what I could possibly be making without a stitch of fleece in my basket), laughing with the cutting table employees, and sharing coupons.

Thankfully, sharing coupons. Because I'd grabbed the wrong ad and mine had expired.

By way of advice, if you should venture out to JoAnn's during the fleece extravaganza, do take time for a full meal. The clementine and two pieces of fudge I shoved in my mouth by way of 'lunch' before I left didn't really do it for me. I came home with a headache, a growling tummy, some darling fabric, and a hope that my trips to the craft store are through until January, at least!

thanks giving

As a kid, Thanksgiving Day always seemed like it was a Sunday. Dinner at Grandma's table, surrounded by cousins and homemade rolls, gratitude and thanks paramount in mind...it just seemed like a worship-ful kind of day. That is, until we finished eating and headed to the bowling alley!

Today brought beautiful fall weather. Chad rounded up kids and company and got everyone out of the house while I stayed behind to tend the turkey and the sleeping tots. In the quiet kitchen I chopped, stirred, whipped, peeled and sliced. And I contemplated my blessings. Oh, so many, many blessings! I made a list in my head, had a prayer in my heart. It was a worshipful moment, a time of gratitude and peace.

A very thankful Thanksgiving.

gratitude

I went to Church one week after having my baby, but my arms were empty. Baby Dallin was still in the NICU, struggling for life. I hadn't even been able to hold him yet. The week had been a blur. The unbelievable was happening, and I desperately needed to feel the love of my ward family. Little baby Daniel was also at church that day. He was only a couple weeks old. His mom brought him over to me during the meeting and placed him in my arms. For those few minutes, I felt what my arms had been aching for all week. Her sensitivity to my needs was amazing. When I gently handed her perfect baby back, I didn't feel angry at my own situation or jealous of her beautiful boy. I just felt intense gratitude at the love being shown to me. She smiled at me and said, "If Daniel can do some small service, he should be allowed that opportunity."

-----

One of my most treasured possessions is a note written to be by another young mom I knew in Kentucky. Dallin had just, joyously, come home from the hospital. His life was the result of many capable hands, loving prayers and Priesthood blessings. I was so grateful to everyone who helped us, prayed for us. And, in the mail came a sweet note that said, in part, "I just want to thank you for the opportunity to pray for your baby. It has been a faith building experience for me and a chance to teach my children about prayer." I couldn't believe, after all everyone had done for me, this woman was THANKING me for the chance to serve.

------

One of those brave souls I have mentioned lately is my friend, Shaina. She is currently facing down her own battle for the life of her baby. She's stronger than me, I think. Her faith and fortitude amaze me. Her dedication and diligence are unwavering. But, because I've been there, I have to think she has moments of doubt, of weaker-than-you-want faith. I hope she can feel the prayers being offered for her, the love we all share for her son, the hope for their future.

I've been priviledged to enjoy a front row seat to some of the goodness being offered on their family's behalf. This weekend some friends and I are hosting a craft boutique, selling many wonderful, beautiful things, made lovingly and donated willingly, for Kimble. So many, many people have helped. Many who know and love Shaina, and many who have never met her. The generosity is overwhelming. The love, amazing.

I'm convinced that one of the reasons we are asked to suffer in this life is to build empathy; to learn to 'mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.' In the six years since Dallin's birth, I've witnessed the suffering of others with new eyes. I better understand a mother's desire to let her newborn be of service to another. I am more aware of the blessings that come from praying for, and with, others. There is still so, so much I have to learn, but these lessons are a tender mercy; they put my own heartache in perspective and teach me what it means to love.

It has been a very full and very, very happy day. I'm exhausted in a so-filled-up-with-appreciation kind of way. It has been a beautiful start to this week of Thanks-giving.

Goodnight.

Things

We just got back from California. It was fabulous. I could post a million pictures of smiling kids and fun times, but how predictable is that? Instead, I thought I'd share some things I noticed on the trip...


Things that make you go hmm?
-in sunny California, locals wearing mini skirts paired with big, fluffy, made-for-Denver-weather boots.
-spandex, spandex everywhere!
-San Diego-ites dressed in Polar Fleece (while we splash in the ocean)
-people wait 2 hours in line for THAT ride during the summer?


Things that make you go ahhh!
-75 degree weather in November
-the look on your little girl's face as she meets Cinderella
-bitty boy's snuggles with Grammy and Papa
-joyful reunions between cousins
-the ocean
-watching your 4-year-old spend $10 (of her own money) to buy her brother a souvenir she's sure he'll LOVE!
-visiting Disneyland in the off-season


Things that make you go AUGHHHH!
-the Tower of Terror
-Darth Vader coming out of the ground during Jedi Training
-6-year-old driving skills in Autotopia


Things that make you go huh?
-the requests from the not-quite-5-year-old to repeat-ride Space Mountain, Thunder Mountain, Matterhorn, Splash Mountain, Tower of Terror and the Haunted House. Yes, she is her father's daughter.
-the fact that said little girl screams bloody murder at the sight of a bug.


Things that make you go ugh!
-Mexican food...three meals in a row
-more eating out?
-the free breakfast at the hotel
-ANOTHER pressed penny machine????


Things that make you grin:
-watching your children play in the ocean waves, fully clothed and loving it!
-mouse-shaped ice cream bars
-two too-big kids stuffed in one baby stroller, dead asleep on top of each other
-penguins


Things that make you go ouch!
-$6 theme-park snacks
-a mis-step off the shuttle bus that resulted in a sprained foot
-the 2-hour (1 mile) 'trek' from LAX to the rental car place
-flying into Denver to discover...SNOW!


Things that make you cheer
-a great hotel pool
-Fantasmic
-Shamu
-6-year-old big ride bravery
-pulling into the garage, home at last!
-having a GREAT vacation with GREAT people in a very fun place! Hoorah!

modest proposal?

At the dinner table last night:

"Um, Mom?" said Kate, with the look of confession in her eyes. "When we were watching 'The Magic School Bus' they were talking about..." (in a hushed tone) "...the naked eye."

I choked back my giggles because, for my modesty-lovin' girl, this was evidently of grave concern. We talked about what the term 'naked eye' meant. I was sure I had made myself clear, citing examples from the same MSB episode where the class studies microbes. I explained the use of microscopes and magnifying glasses to see small things more clearly.

Then, Dallin piped in: "Today Nick was wearing naked eyes at school. He forgot his glasses."

clean slate

I love Halloween. I do. It is one of my favorites.

I ALSO love to take it down. First thing this morning (despite the Sabbath day...I couldn't help myself), down it came. Goodbye bats. Goodbye Jack and Jane-o-Lantern. Goodbye skeletons and ghosts and witches.

Hello THANKSGIVING!

Ahhhh...so, so refreshing.

success

It's been a long month. Bitty boy has been working out. Hard. Push ups. Downward Dog posing. Superman stretching. Rocking back and forth on all fours. And, today, amid the craziness of 30+ Halloween Haunters and their parents at our house for dinner and trick-or-treating, he finally (FINALLY!) crawled forward!

Isn't it amazing that milestones are still so exciting no matter how many babies you've had before?

And, he promptly took a bottle and went to bed. What a lot of work for our little monkey.

Happy Halloween!

a gift

In addition to my sweet sis, there are several other brave souls I'm privileged to know, who, as of late, are facing down hard things. And, in observing their struggles and courage, I've been the recipient of a gift: the gift of perspective. Trials beget appreciation for the simple joys of life, of which I have so, so many.

* dusting the snow (SNOW!) off the pumpkins and settling in for an afternoon of canceled school and pumpkin carving
* baby boy, dressed in a jogging suit, learning to crawl and cruise
* kids in footed pajamas
* a family-sized hamster nap in front of the fire
* reading together
* 4-year-old choreography
* 6-year-old creativity
* 10-month-old giggles

Really, life is pretty good.

Practice

Tonight I'm looking for words. Words that won't seem to come. Nothing in my brain can explain the feeling in my heart.

My baby sister has cancer.

She's 25. Teaching her first year of preschool. On the brink of starting a family. Taking a detour through chemo-land.

And, my heart hurts.


It seems that only practice will make perfect, and in this case, we all get to practice having faith. Maybe through her struggles, we who love her can climb one step closer to perfection on the ladder of FAITH. I'm sorry that she's the one to have to set that stage.

She, however, seems to have this whole faith thing down.

I'm trying to let mine grow.
love to you, Jace.

Thanks---from Dallin

Dear Grammy and Papa,

Thank you for coming to Colorado to see me play soccer. That was really special that you would come just for me. It was a really good surprise. I love you!

love,
Dallin

haunting memories

As I was putting together the kids' 2009 costumes, I was reminiscing about all the fun ways we've dressed up in the past. I thought it would be fun to have those memories 'front and center' for the holiday. So, I dug up some of my favorite Halloween Haunts from years past, found Haloweeny-colored frames, and put them up.

Something simple that makes me smile every time I walk by this table.

done.

We’re officially done, Davis and I. After 9 1/2 months of cuddly closeness at feeding time, our nursing days have passed.

For the last month and a half my milk supply has been deteriorating and Davis’s appetite increasing. I rarely had enough to satisfy his hunger, so we’d been doing a lot of bottle supplementing. But, I was still able to squeak in a few feedings a day. Then, over the last week or so it’s been only a morning and middle-of-the night feeding. Last night, however, he wouldn’t nurse. Or, I should say, he wanted to nurse, but I had nothing to give. My heart tried to will my body to do what it’s instinctively done for nearly a year. But, for naught. After several minutes of trying and crying, I scooped up my boy, kissed him on his head, and plodded down to the kitchen for a bottle. I tried once again this morning. Nothing. At breakfast I realized it had been over 24 hours since I last nursed him. I had an inkling yesterday, as he snuggled in and sucked, content and happy and mine, that it was probably one of the last times we would do this. My body made one last ‘big meal’ for my boy, one last moment to enjoy. And, now, we’re done.

Another piece of babyhood, gone.

gift from my talented sister...

Thanks, Kami, for the DARLING pictures! We love them and we love you!

budding photographer

The latest 4-year-old obsession is the camera. She's taken hundreds of lovely shots. Here are a few favorites:

her prayers tonight

Thank thee for my family.
Thank thee for my good day.
Please bless that I can love everyone.
Please bless that everyone can be modest.
Please bless that Mikey will like playing with me better than playing his video games.
Please bless that Jesus can always be our King.
amen.

...I love sincerity in prayer...

finding joy

Long drives demand music variety. Which is how a hand-me-down John Denver CD ended up in the mix. And, days later I’m still thinking of the words to a not-so-familiar JD tune:

Joy was just a thing that he was raised on.
Love was just the way to live and die.

These words have me thinking about the role of JOY in the lives of my children; thinking of what I can do to make our day-to-day more joyful. So, even though it isn’t even close to New Years, a resolution I have made: find more JOY; find a way to make the work and the errands and the cleaning and the learning and the together time more full of joy.

Suggestions?

Welcome Back.

First Baby. First Grade. First Day. Today.

Table Manners

My siblings and I had a funny habit of singing at the dinner table. It is probably a genetic trait from my Mo-Tab mom, who upon hearing practically any word in the English language can come up with a song to go with it. Although, she’s not entirely to blame. My dad is a closet musician. He can play a mean guitar, harmonize with the radio and even lay a tune (or twelve) on the piano.

One evening, as dinnertime rolled around, the stereo was blasting the Les Miserables soundtrack. The music must have still been ‘in our souls’ because after we sat down to eat, someone bellowed out, “Red” from the song “Red and Black.” Dad instinctively sang, “The blood of angry men.” The volley continued, all of us singing the ‘reds’ and ‘blacks’ and Dad chiming in for the main lines.

Black
The dark of ages past
Red
The world about to dawn
Black
The night that ends at laaaaaaast!

We all joined in and held the last, triumphant note. Glory, in the dining room. {uh-huh} And, even more embarrassing because, I’m pretty sure, someone had a friend over for dinner. But, I can’t, for my life, remember who it was sitting at the table in utter confusion at our shenanigans.

It might come as a surprise, then, to know that at one point Dad declared a ban on singing at the table. A new rule. An absurd rule. A rule most families wouldn’t even THINK of creating. It must have been an out-of-your-mind moment for Dad, but the rule was made, nonetheless. Followed? Well, that’s a question for another day.

I’ve been thinking of this family rule lately, because I’ve got a not-so-closet musician in my house. She’s full of song, day and night, and lately has had a hard time getting any dinner eaten because it interrupts the ‘performance’ at hand. It is cute and infuriating all at the same time. Especially if the milk gets spilled during some hand action associated with the current lyric. I’m starting to understand the wisdom in applying a no-singing-at-the-table rule.

Dang, I hate it when Dad is right!

Images

I've been 'home' for a few weeks, rediscovering the old and noticing what's new; immersing my kids in their roots. Dal and Kate are at the age where they can grasp the concept of the progression of life and are interested in how things used to be when Mom was little. We've looked at old photos, played with old toys and talked about things as they were when I lived here.

While visiting Grandma Great, Kate found a picture of my mom in her early twenty's: long, straight hippy hair, full cheeks and lips, dark brown eyes. She insisted it was Mommy in that picture (what a compliment!). It took a lot of convincing for her to believe it was Gram.

***

The other day, as I zipped down the hall, I glanced in a mirror as I passed. The image jolted me to a stop. The mirror was angled in such a way that I could see my reflection and, at the same time, see the reflection of my wedding photo hanging on the wall behind me. Eyes darting back and forth, I noted new forehead wrinkles and longer hair, same crooked teeth and smile. Me then. Me now.

***

I pulled an album off the shelf labeled "1982-1988." Dad didn't take so many pictures back then. With kids on either side, I laid the book on my lap and we slowly flipped pages, looking. My kids wondered at the different clothes and funny hair. Reactions included, "I see Maryn's face!" or "That looks just like Kate!" "Is that really Grammy? She looks very different!" And, as I closed the back cover, "Mom, those pictures were from a long time ago, huh?"

***

Later, as we were loading up in the car, Kate jumped in the van. I buckled in Baby. And, before I could get in my own seat, Kate put her face close to her backseat window and called to me through the glass. I put my face up to the outside of the window to hear what she had to say. Her smile greeted mine as I strained to see beyond the tinted glass. If I moved my eyes just right, I could see in; see her. If I gazed a different way, I saw my own reflection. Two images, in overlay. A glimpse, a shadow, of then and now.

***

It has been fortuitous but heart-breaking that my trip home was this month. 86-year-old Grandma fell soon after we arrived, and over the past two weeks her physical condition has improved, but her mental capacities have wavered. She isn't the same woman I've adored and admired and have tried, for a lifetime, to emulate. She is old and confused; unaware; weepy; void of expression. I haven't seen her laugh lately. When I look at her eyes, they often look through me or away from mine. I'm afraid we are losing her. But, I'm more afraid that my warm and sunny memories of her will be overrun by these new cold, gray images. Images of a woman I don't know; eyes I don't recognized; a voice devoid of Grandma.

***

After the kids grew tired of old photos and stories of "back then," I pulled down one more album: "1976-1981." I fingered pages until I found what I was looking for. Fall 1977. Young and skinny twins hold up chubby baby girls, posing in front of a Washington, DC memorial. Me and Jodi. "Twin" cousins, first born babes. We were on a trip to meet Grandma and Grandpa: missionaries in DC and lonely for family. I gazed at a snapshot of Grandma and me. Her eyes were bright, her smile contagious. She was young and active, fun and energetic. I'm sure I loved her instantly. This is the image I want to keep. This smile. These eyes. This Grandma.

Maybe if I look closely at her now, I can overlay this long-ago image and see the woman that she really is.

an extra mile

We scooted into a booth for a quick Pei Wei dinner in Golden, Colorado. My children and I were hot and hungry after a day of museum-going and site seeing with grandparents. I had just finished a twelve day stint of scout-camp-induced single motherhood, and although I didn't have a husband home yet, I had the next best thing: Grammy and Papa! And, now I had a full tummy and a fortune cookie in hand. I cracked it open and laughed out loud as I read:
"The love of your life will unexpectedly appear before your eyes."

"Wouldn't that be hilarious if Chad really showed up somewhere?" I said to my parents. Even though we'd tried our best to make our summer schedule jive, it ended up that Chad had scout camp and I was heading to Utah with my parents, and we weren't going to see each other for a whole month! Like ships passing in the night, I left home on Monday and he was coming home Tuesday. "We can talk on the phone once he's back in town," I'd consoled myself. Unsuccessfully.

After our dinner, we dropped Grammy and Papa off to go to a concert and the kids and I settled in for some hotel swimming and bedtime. Then, the phone rang. Chad! I answered and said, "Are you at your base camp? Did you manage to get a cell phone connection?" His answer: "No, I'm home! Where are you?" A few directions and a speedy 60 minute ride later, Dal and Kate were running in jammies through the foyer of the Holiday Inn with Daddy's open arms in sight!

Sweet reunion!

I couldn't stop the smile or the tears. Together is where we belong.

I sent a text to my dad while he was at the concert: "Don't underestimate the power of the cookie." Fortune cookie or not, I feel 'fortune'ate to have had the "love of my life unexpectedly appear before my eyes" and know he's mine forevermore!



Post Script: The "unexpected appearances" didn't stop at the Holiday Inn. Chad also made a surprise visit to Utah for the 4th of July weekend, catching up with us at Bear Lake! What a guy!

re-created

From the time I was 5 to t he age of 11 our family lived in a darling, cozy home in East Layton. It was a small, split level, Tudor-style house and my parents were masters at finding a use for every nook and cranny. In the basement was one unfinished room. It was a utility closet that doubled as the laundry room and Mom managed to carve out a small space to be her sewing spot. From the backyard we could look down into a basement window and see our mom working on some kind of creation as we played the summer days away.

This picture, this snapshot in time, flashed through my mind today as I escaped to my cool, unfinished basement. I’ve also got a little spot, amid the food storage and the moving boxes, for my sewing machine. And, today I had a stack of hole-in-the-knee pants that needed transforming. As I cut off pant legs and hemmed ‘new’ shorts, I thought of my mom and the circle that life is. Once I was the recipient of the make-do creations Mom came up with in her cellar-dweller spot: homemade clothes; remade hand-me-downs; home-spun doll outfit and costumes and toys.

She was much more creative than I’ll ever hope to be. But, as I presented their ‘new’ clothes to Dal and Kate, they were excited to have more short pants in their drawers: summer clothes to play in and wear out and get messy. And, I was grateful for a mom who used whatever she had to create a childhood of wonderful.

life is not a straight line

I’m admittedly a Facebook holdout. I’m not sure why, except it is my own small way to be different. Like refusing to read “Breaking Dawn.” I’m such a rebel. But, I digress…

I think the real reason I can’t sign up with Facebook is because my brain cannot manage to be connected to any more people. What a problem! I’ve been blessed, in overabundance, with amazing friends, family, acquaintances, neighbors. People I really, really like to be in touch with. Christmas-card-writing season, while quite possibly my favorite part of the holiday, is downright daunting. I love it. I really do. But, Facebook would add to the crazies.

----

Friday night, amid a plateful of goodies and surrounded by the constant (wonderful) chatter of female friends, I was filled with gratitude for people. We were gathered to say ‘goodbye’ to two friends who are moving; two women who have managed, in only one year, to wind themselves into my heart. Maybe my moving three times in three years has made me good at getting attached fast. Maybe I’ve just been extra lucky to run into great people along the way. Whatever the reason, I think saying goodbye pretty much stinks.

---

“See you the next time you pass through!” I called out as we left the restaurant. We’d just spent the afternoon and evening reconnecting with a high school friend (and her darling boys) who were in town, waylaid for the night en route back home. A friend with whom I lost contact for about a decade, but who now (thanks to blogging and the common denominator of meeting up in Utah), I cherish as one of those “forever friends” Michael McLean crooned about back in the day.

---

“Life is not a straight line.” That’s what Lloyd Newell mused on this morning’s Spoken Word. Coming and going, moving and staying, passing through. I, for one, have been blessed by the lives that have snaked through mine.

brotherhood

I knew he’d be a great big brother from the moment I looked my very clingy 20-month-old in the eyes and said, “Mommy has to go to the hospital now so your baby sister can be born. Be a big boy and stay here with Grammy. You can come see me soon, okay?” Instead of tears and a death-grip around my neck, as was expected, he toddled over to Grandma’s waiting lap, waved good-bye, and somehow his young self knew he was stepping into, stepping UP to, a new role: Big Brother.

He has always been watchful of Sister; always aware of her needs and ready with a binky or a toy or a fun game to make her smile. When he was almost 3 (or maybe newly 3; I forget), I was loading the kids into the car after a trip to the library. As Dallin climbed into his carseat he noticed a wayward fruit snack, fallen from the bag he’d eaten earlier on our drive. This coveted treat was a surprise and the look in his eyes told me of his glee at this fortunate discovery. Instead of instantly popping it into his mouth he started twisting and pulling it with his little fingers. He was breaking it in half so Kate could have some, too.

Today was the last day of Kindergarten. As he packed his bag for school he carefully counted up his ‘blue tickets’: earned for good behavior and, today, to be used to ‘buy’ treats and toys from his teacher. When he came home bearing two new hair clips for Kate, I wasn’t surprised. His teacher told me he had carefully picked out something for her before he chose the treats and prizes for himself.

Dallin is the kind of big brother I always wanted; he’s the kind of older sibling I should have been (sorry K, P and J). He got this generous and loving gene from his dad, and I’m trying, every day, to be more like my boy.

growing...

5 months...can you believe it?

The Dog Days

We have a bit of magic that resides at our house. It is the magic of transformation. The 4-year-old who lives here is sometimes a girl, but on occasion she can 'magically' transform into a puppy. The changing is simple and reminiscent of Wonder Woman: she does a little spin and [voila!] she becomes a puppy. Nothing you say or do can get English words out of our puppy. She does, however, communicate in a very Blues-Clues-like 'wroo roo roo.' If words are absolutely necessary, Puppy will do the Wonder Woman spin and change back into Girl. But only for a moment, then she spins again, falls on all fours, and gallumps along in her canine way.

The up side to all this schizophrenia is that Puppy is very obedient. I can get her to do almost anything, as long as I preface the request with the pronoun 'Puppy.'

"Puppy, stand up."
"Puppy, make the bed."
"Puppy, fetch the remote control."
"Puppy, change back into Kate."

;)

Oh, the joys of pet ownership!

Watch out VH1...

My sister turned me on to the crazy fact that the Mormon Tabernacle Choir makes music videos. Who knew? They have several out there, but if you'd like to see my beautiful and talented choir-member mom, this one has a good shot of her. She is in the first clip of the choir, the farthest one on the right whose entire face is showing.

Go Mom!

answered prayer

Soccer season has started. It is our first foray into the world of organized sports. Yesterday, I sat watching across a busy practice field; watching my boy practice with his first team, first sport, first time. They were standing in a circle, each boy with a ball in front of him. The coach had them put their toe on the top of the ball and stand with the other foot on the ground. Then, jumping, they would switch feet, back and forth, quicker and quicker. I'm sure this exercise has a name, but I certainly don't know it. What I do know is that as I sat there, with tears filling up my eyes and blurring my vision, I was grateful for answered prayers; for the life and capabilities of a boy who wasn't supposed to be 'normal' or 'able' or even here. His little body, running and kicking and laughing, is my miracle. And, I'm grateful for the chance to witness the hand of the Lord every day.

blessed

blessing day, March 1, 2009

love love love this...

I was so inspired by this talk last fall, and am again motivated when I hear President Uctdorf's words in this video. Enjoy!

P.S. You can download this here.

Samoas

It's all because of the car seat...

With Bubbsy #3 we've ditched the expired Graco infant seat in favor of our fab new Chicco. Love it. Except, the one feature I didn't realize I was giving up is the little slat in the back that allows you to snap the seat onto the grocery cart. Now days, grocery shopping entails using 2 carts (one for Bubs, one for groceries) or the baby Bjorn. If Sis comes along, she pushes the food cart while I steer the 'steel stroller' and help her avoid crashing into the produce. If I strap Bubs in the pack, I am forced to only select items from the middle shelves as I can't reach as high or bend as low.

So, because of the seat, I try to shop when Daddy is home. In the afternoon. Which explains why I was coming out of the grocery at the exact moment the Girl Scouts, straight from school, finished setting up the goods on a card table in front of the store.

"Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies? They are only $3.25"

"If I have that much cash, I'll buy one."

I dug. $3.22. They had pity on my Samoa-lovin' soul.

mmmmmmmmmmm

I shared. A few.

Overheard at our house...

"Before Jesus was born, Heavenly Father had to do ALL the work."
---according to a 5-year-old

Hot From the Oven

There are a lot of things I'm not doing much of with a newborn, including blogging...

But, I've been asked for this recipe many times lately so I thought it would be nice to put SOMETHING up on my blog. This is a no-fail bread recipe from the bread queen herself: my sister-in-law, Cheryl. Enjoy!

Cheryl’s Bread
2 cups water
1/2 stick butter
2 1/4 tsp salt
1/3 c. sugar
1/2 c. oatmeal
1/4 c. 9-grain cereal (or wheat germ, or oatmeal)
1/8 c. vital wheat gluten
1 1/2 c. white flour (plus extra for kneading)
3 c. whole wheat flour
1 TBSP yeast
1 or 2 eggs

Microwave water and butter on high for 4 minutes. Meanwhile, mix salt, sugar, oatmeal, cereal, flour and yeast. Add egg(s) and water/butter and mix (I use a Kitchenaid) for 1 minute, until combined. Put bread hook on mixer and mix (knead) for 10 minutes, adding flour (about 3/4 cup) until it doesn’t stick to the bowl any longer. After 10 minutes of kneading, cover and let rise 1 hour. Divide dough in 2 loaves, roll under, and put in prepared loaf pans. Raise, lightly covered, for 30-60 minutes, until double in size. Bake at 350˚ for 25 minutes. Cool on wire rack (but cut a slice for yourself while it's hot....you deserve it!)

a glimpse at tomorrow...

Today I had a little peek into the future. I hadn’t seen Kate around for a while and realized I could hear her music in her room. She has a new CD player. It is still little girl-ish: pink Barbie-brand with two attached microphones on the sides. But, as I listened to her cute voice belting out the words to “Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed” along with the music, I couldn’t help but think that in the not-so-distant future I’d probably hear her singing other songs blasting from other music players. As she grows, will she prefer the solitude of her room like she has this afternoon? I’ll admit I enjoyed the free time. The baby was asleep; Dal was at school. Kate kept herself occupied with her music and her drawing pad for a whole hour. I got Primary things done, unloaded the dishwasher, checked my e-mail, changed the laundry: all without my little tag-along. But, I missed her. I wondered how many more years (or days) she’d want me to be around; ask me to play dress-ups or to color with her. And, as much fun as it is to see her independence and the enjoyment she gets from just creating all on her own, I want to still be needed and wanted. Because she is still needed. I need her. I need to be her ‘best mommy’ and friend for a long, long time.

Finally, I got too lonely to listen from the other room. I joined her for a little 'Fairy Barbie' (where the evil sea witch, Ursula, who was married to Captain Hook, chased the blue Fairy Barbie, being flown across the seas on the tail of Arial). Then, I asked if she wanted to help make cookies. And, my girl was mine again. For today. And, hopefully, for many more cookie-and-imagination-filled days to come.

to have and to hold

Spoiled. My baby is spoiled and so am I. I've had a mom or mom-in-law here nearly non-stop for the past 3 1/2 weeks. So, what do I get to do? I hold the baby. He loves to be held and I love to hold him. All day.

This morning when I woke up and looked at his sweet little face, he looked bigger. He grew overnight. And, it is all passing too quickly.

So, while I've read lots of inspiring New Years resolutions on the blogs of my friends (as I'm holding my baby), I can't seem to resolve to do much of anything besides enjoy him. 'Cause babies don't keep...