Grown and Flown

 Many times as a mom I've spent time documenting, memorizing and counting the firsts: first smile, first step, first day of school. But sometimes you don't know the lasts until they are passed: the last climb-in-your-lap snuggle, the last time saying amp-elope instead of antelope, the last time asking for help zipping a coat.

On Sunday, with a small "holiday weekend" congregation, Dallin was asked to sit at the sacrament table, which hasn't happened in a while. The current Priests Quorum has it covered and Dal has been busy leading the music as the chorister, so I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard him bless the sacrament, but as he knelt to pray over the bread I knew that this was a last...likely the last time he'd bless the sacrament in our home ward. I wanted to memorize his voice, his inflection, the feeling of gratitude that my boy is worthy to perform this ordinance on behalf of our ward. I remembered the first time he blessed it; I felt nervous for him, hoping he'd get it right, hoping he was ready, hoping we'd reviewed with him all the things he needed to know.

He's grown in height and maturity since then. He's become so responsible, so capable, so grown! And tomorrow he's flying from the nest, away from home to experience his first apartment, his first time in college, his first foray into adulthood. I'm feeling those same feelings: Will he get it right? Is he ready? Did we review with him all the things he needs to know?

This morning I woke up with an ache to hike, and I wanted Dallin to come with me. Luckily, he's easy to convince so we headed to Pulpit Rock after we dropped Annie off at school. We followed worn trails, winding our way toward the steep climb up the rock formation that overlooks our city: Dallin's home since kindergarten. He doesn't seem nervous to leave or worried about college. The anxiety is left for me to hold, as it always has been at each of his first steps onto new paths. His new paths have always been mine, too. His growing was my growing; his new phase ushered in a new chapter for me, too. Sometimes, I didn't feel ready. 

When he was four years old and out playing the front yard of our new home in North Ogden, he met the neighbor kids and raced in to say, "Mom, they all are playing with squirt guns. Can I get mine out?" And then "Mom, they are all having popsicles. Can I have one?" And lastly, "Mom, they are going to play on the playset next door. Can I go?" It was hard letting him out of the yard on his own that first time. I feel the same with this new phase of parenting an adult. Except I can't spy on him through the kitchen window to make sure he's doing okay.  I'm wondering if I'll get it right? Am I ready? Do I get a review of the things I need to know? Luckily for me, Dallin has always been a most patient first child, forgiving of my shortcomings and full of grace for all my foibles. I'm sure we'll navigate this new chapter together, like we always have, but separate, too, which will be new. 

Sending all my love, and a bit of my heart, to Idaho tomorrow with my baby boy. Love you, Dal!

Spring

I woke at 4am with a headache, which is never a good start. But, after I got the big kids tucked away at school and activities, I loaded baby girl in the stroller for a walk in the Springtime. She watched for dandelions and asked me to stop and pick them for her. We paused to smell the blossoming crab apple trees. She got out for a quick run and back in for another ride.  More than once. I smiled as I looked down at the cup holder, full of withered dandelions from a different day's adventure.  And, the stroller basket, strewn with pinecones. I breathed in the lilac bushes and turned my face toward the sun and thought: Ahhhhh.  It is a good life.

Farewell to the Van

We sold the van today.  It is a good thing.  We recently got a new ride with a bigger engine to pull the camper and more seats to fit the growing carpool.  It is newer and fancier and has way too many buttons.  I'm still getting used to how big it is, and sometimes miss the van and it's automatic door (even though it often didn't work) and the wonderful turning radius (for all those times I go the wrong way and have to flip a U-ie), and the fact that I no longer had to worry about how sad it would be to get the first ding in the car door.


The van was the first car we bought all on our own (which means, not from my dad).  We bought it when baby #3 was on the way, and we were feeling quite grown up and in need of a family-mobile.  That baby never joined our family and I continued to drive around this HUGE van with only two kids for a couple more years.  It sometimes felt silly to have such a big car, but it was convenient when I could pick up my sister and her two littles and we could adventure together.

Over the years that big car started to feel smaller and smaller.  More bodies filled it up.  More stuff got schlepped around in the back.  We added a car-top carrier for long trips because the cavernous space in the back didn't seem to hold supplies for seven anymore.  The van got us so very many places; to see loved ones we missed and back home when we got homesick; to practices and games and recitals; to school and work; to church; to help others; to enjoy the beauty of God's green earth.

As every mother knows, your car is your office.  It is the waiting room at soccer practice, the grocery getter, the kid picker-upper. The passenger seat, until recently when my big kids decided they were tall enough to sit there, was like a filing cabinet with all the things I needed to drop off, return, not forget, and work on. The van was a second home where we listened to stories on CD together, sang out loud to our favorite songs, passed back snacks during long drives. There was that one time when we drove it all the way to Nauvoo with a newly potty-trained Lea, and for long stretches of I-80, the van became an emergency loo, too, with the baby potty tucked in behind the front seat.

Chad sold it to a family who runs a church ministry across town.  I'm glad to know the van will continue to serve a family who will also make many memories in its seats.

And even though it was only a thing, and it was often sticky and grimy and smelly from the monsters who rode in it, it feels like a little part of me has said farewell.

To my soon-to-be-wed niece Sarah Elizabeth

Dear Sarah,

I remember the feeling so vividly of the moment Chad and I were first called 'the Murdocks.' We had walked into a ward function for our University of Utah married student ward.  We had only been married a short time, maybe just weeks? Or a couple months?  Our friend called out, "It's the Murdocks!"  Those words stopped me in my tracks. It was such a surprising title.  THE Murdocks.  That is how I thought of my in-laws: that big crew of parents, siblings and 12 grandkids.  Of course, I, too, was a Murdock (shiny and new), but no one had ever put that label on me before.  We were always just 'Chad and Adri.' I took a minute to let it sink in.  I liked our new moniker, but it still took a little getting used to.

This week we celebrated anniversary #16, and that day that our family name was christened seems like it was just last month and a million years ago, all at the same time.  The passage of time is funny that way.  But, with your wedding right around the corner I've been thinking back to those early years, when 'the Murdocks' meant just the two of us. What a wonderful, unique time of life!  I'm excited that you are entering this new stage!

When I got married, my mom told me, "If you work really hard to love your in-laws for that first year, after that it won't be work anymore because you will love them." That was good advice.  Not that it was really hard work to love the Murdocks, but it is a little different to embrace a new family as your own: their traditions, habits, methods of doing things.  As you and Blaine become 'the Davidsons' (your own new little Davidson family), it will take a little while to figure out whose method of loading the dishwasher is going to work, and which Christmas traditions you want to bring into your own family; how you are going to celebrate birthdays and if it is really that big of a deal if he leaves his toothbrush out.  It will be hard to split your time on holidays and to make sure you share all the good news with both moms at the same time.  But, learning to make this work is key to making a happy family.  Believe me, you do NOT want to live a lifetime (and eternity) with one family feeling like they can claim more of you than the other.  And, I do think my mom is right...if you conscientiously love your in-laws for a while, eventually it won't take any effort because they will become your own, too.

I'm so excited to attend you temple sealing next week.  The memories of my own wedding day are treasured.  It is hard to really appreciate the wonder of eternity with all the excitement of the wedding day, but go back and do sealings again as soon as you can!  It will help you remember and cement those wonderful words of promise in your heart.  The very best thing Chad and I did for our new marriage was to feed it with frequent temple visits.  We used to go every Thursday night, the weekly anniversary of our own wedding, and the repetition of those covenants created a solid foundation for our family.  Even though you seem really busy right now with school and work, I promise you have MUCH more time for temple attendance now than you will when the babies come.  Take advantage. The effort will pay big dividends!!

I am so grateful for marriage.  Marriage is the foundation of eternity.  It is worth all the effort it takes to keep your marriage strong and happy. Despite the temporary and disposable treatment marriage gets in the world at large, I know, for a fact, that God intends marriage to be for now and for always. It is His way to help His children learn and grow and become as He is, as well as His way to provide bodies for precious spirits still waiting to come to earth.  As I've bent my own selfish desires and tendencies to be 'one' with Chad, I have become more compassionate, more patient, more loving, better. When you let it, marriage makes you more than you can be on your own.

This is the most important decision you will ever make and I'm so proud of you for doing things in the right way, in the temple and for forever.  You are on your way, my cute niece! See you on Tuesday!

much love,
Aunt Adri

Paint and a Heart Made Light

One year, when I was a teenager, my dad set out to paint the house. Actually, I'm not sure if he intended to paint the whole house, but one wall lead to another, and soon our house that had been completely white-walled, was not.

He's kind of a perfectionist, that dad of mine, so the painting looked flawless.  I'm sure he knew that someday I, too, would have a house, so he wanted to prevent bad paint jobs (or maybe just prevent his having to come in and fix my bad paint jobs), so he told me to come learn how to paint a wall.  I actually liked the idea, so I was eager to learn. When I entered the room, he told me to sit on the {drop cloth covered} couch and watch.  He showed me how to roll the right amount of paint onto the roller; how to avoid drips; how to roll in a 'W' on the wall, then back over it again, until it was completely covered.  He talked about taping and edges. He told me a lot. And, he said, I could try it someday...on my own house.

As chance would have it, I have ended up having a couple houses and a few paint jobs over the years.  But, I married another paint-perfectionist (he painted houses during college), so I've not actually done much painting at all.  A few weeks ago, when our Relief Society offered up painting services to a local charity, I signed up with glee.  Finally, those decade-old tips about painting in a 'W' would finally come in handy.

On a cold Thursday night, a handful of women and I pulled into the dark parking lot, but were greeted by the sunny smiles of two women who were charity personified.  They were delighted to have some help and generous with their kind words. After a few instructions and a quick run to Lowes, we were ready to get at it.  We laughed and chatted as we worked.  A few hours later, we finished.  The walls were lovely.  My face and hair were speckled. My heart was full.

I have had very little time over the last several months to think about service beyond my usual circle: my baby, my children, my husband.  And yet, serving others is such balm to the soul.  It heals, rejuvenates, lightens.  On that night, in that place, helping people who really needed and appreciated my small offering, I was lifted in a way that cannot be found in retail therapy or 'me' time.

Contrary to what the world says, giving is really receiving, after all.

on becoming

You know how when you blow up a balloon, then let the air out, then blow it up again, and let the air out again, and do this over again, the deflated balloon starts to look misshapen and saggy?  I used to hate that, as a kid. I'd wish that things could always just go back to the way they were at first. And, in the case of post-pregnancy abs, I still have that wish. But, in regards to the soul, I am so grateful for the stretching and the bulges, for they indicate increased capacity.

When Annie was a month old and the last of my in-house help was leaving me to do this new life of 5 kids on my own, I sat on my bed and wept.  There was no way I could do it.  I couldn't even think about all five of my babies at once, let alone care for them all.  I felt completely in over my head (and, the postpartum hormones weren't doing me any favors).  Luckily, I stumbled upon an essay online written by another mother of five whose words buoyed me up; her words promised me that I would grow into this new normal. I clung to that hope, that somehow, I would grow.

This weekend, I called a sitter for Annie (her first who isn't a grandma), and took the four other kids to the Elementary School family dance.  I knew it wouldn't be a happy place for the babe, so it was a relief to just have the four.  JUST four!  I couldn't believe my own thoughts as we walked in, and I felt light, as if this was going to be EASY because I had so few children in tow.  Ha!  Without even realizing it, my capacity had stretched.  My balloon grew!  As lumpy and misshapen as it surely is, it has stretched and made more space. 

I hope I haven't maxed out.  I'm still not capable of staying on top of the laundry or floors, or getting much more than the bare essentials done each day. The pile of books to read and sewing projects to finish and organizing tasks to tackle just keeps getting higher and higher. But, on most days, everyone gets fed and hugged; everyone is made to work and also played with. I am hopeful that as time goes on I will stretch a little further, do a little better, become more.

Today these words by Elder J. Christopher Lansing in the January Ensign ring true to my heart: "What we get during our life is inconsequential, but what we become in life makes all the difference."

As the ever insightful C.S. Lewis has said, "Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace."

With the Master as the carpenter, maybe, just maybe, a palace I will be...

 

mercy

I haven't felt like writing lately.  I've been busy, yes.  I've been tired. But, mostly I've been uninspired.  Which is primarily because I haven't been looking for inspiration.  I have found that whenever I look, I almost always find something that uplifts, enlightens and inspires me.  When I'm too busy doing whatever needs to be done, I miss all those little moments.  It is easy to do, and a careless habit I fall into much too quickly.  But, over the last couple days I've been praying to be more aware of the goodness in my life. And, just like that, the tender mercies abound.

This morning, like most week-day mornings, was a rush. We have to leave the house by 8:05 am at the latest in order to have enough time to drive Davis to preschool (through two major, long-stoplight intersections) by 8:15am and still make it back to the elementary school (back through the long lights) by the 8:35am bell.  At 8:04am Kate and Davis were still not dressed.  (Neither was Lea, but she can ride in her pjs and no one minds).  We finally pulled out of the driveway at 8:14am and I was in a foul mood.  I hate rushing (yet spend the bulk of my life doing it). I was annoyed at children who dawdle.

Usually I have a book on CD in the car so the kids can spend the 30 minutes listening to a fun story.  But, I didn't have one today, so we popped in Primary songs.  Despite my love of the sweet, simple messages in this music, my heart was still barred behind the walls of my bad mood.  We made it to preschool at 8:24 am. I dashed Davis through the rain and dumped him off in his room (probably a little too quickly).  I jumped back in the car and started to zip out of the parking lot. Rushing.

Then, the song "A Child's Prayer" came on the player.  The three kids in the back started singing, and when it came to the third verse, they split, Kate singing one part and Dallin singing another in perfect, child-like harmony.  The Spirit flooded the car, and my heart, and even my foul mood couldn't keep the tenderness away.  By some kind of miracle, both lights at the long-light intersections were green.  We drove from preschool to elementary school in a record 5 minutes, and the kids bounded out of the car with at least 30 seconds to spare before the bell.  Mercy.

Goodness abounds.  And, sometimes the Lord is willing to answer my prayers to see it, despite my hard heart, bad mood and unwilling soul.

My dad has always been a good gifter, and Valentine's day is no exception.  When I was a girl, he always had a little surprise for me: a necklace, a treat, and, one year, when I was probably 7 or 8, "The Queen of Hearts Maze Book." 

I thought the maze book was a treasure. Each page had an intricately created maze and a rhyming poem, and I loved it. I loved it so much, that I never wanted to actually WRITE in it.  I solved the mazes with my finger, over and over, but would never ruin the beauty of my book with a pencil.

I saved my maze book.  It made its way into my Valentine's box year after year, and this year, my own 8-year-old found it. She immediately headed upstairs to find a pencil to work out the mazes, not at all thinking that this must be a treasure, which is why it has such pristine pages. To her, it looked like fun.

As she sat at the counter, working the puzzles, I fought  back my instinct to stop her; to teach her the 'value' in doing mazes with your finger instead of a pencil.  But, I didn't. The book has been around over 25 years. It is about time it was actually used.

It got me thinking about my 'saving' ways.  Saving, of course, can be such a good thing. But, I think I fall into the manic side of the spectrum.  At least, I used to.  As a kid I had a huge stash of 'saved' stuff: stickers I never wanted to waste on a page, crayons I couldn't possibly ruin by using them, candy hoarded for another day.  As I've gotten older, I have tried not to save to the extreme.  I have decided it is okay to use the nice dishes; to wear the new nylons instead of making due with the ones that have the holes in the toes; to use up the pretty paper to make a card for a friend.  After all, if I save it too long, the dishes will just be dusty and old, the nylons might lose their elastic waist, and the pretty paper will look out-dated and frumpy. (Not that I know any of this from experience!)

So, here's to enjoying the beauty of today.
And, finally finishing up that maze book.

denial

I've been in denial about summer ending.  Even though the kids have been back in school for nearly a whole term, even though leaves are changing and falling, even though the calendar says OCTOBER, I was still thinking it was 'summertime'; wearing flip flops and short sleeves and basking in the warm weather.  Until yesterday, when Jack Frost blew to town. I guess Fall is really, really here.
Sniff.
I'm just not ready this year.

Lea, enjoying the last warm day with 'trampoline hair.'

science

I love volunteering at my kids' school, especially when I get to actually work with the kids. Today I helped with 4th Grade science. The students were making "boats" out of paper cups. They had to measure how tall their boat was, fill it with water, then measure the water with a syringe and beaker to determine the capacity of their boats.  Over the course of this 40 minute project I saw:
* one girl spend the ENTIRE time thinking of a name for her boat (and trying to persuade others to use her ideas to name THEIR boats)
* one group argue over who got to make the 6.5 centimeter boat (only one in each group could do each size and, apparently, 6.5 cm was the coveted size)
* one boy completely lose it because it was 'too hard.'
* one little guy wander around the room for 30 minutes looking for his misplaced pencil.
* one boy giving a very LONG explanation about the merit of the name SS Everest over the name SS Titanic.
* one girl quietly playing with the water, syringe, and cup without a clue about what she was supposed to be doing!

And, the take-home lesson:
Some children are definitely MORE likely to become scientists than others.

the family bed

This is what my bed looks like. Every morning.

Okay, we so we don't have a dog or cat (or, hopefully, a mouse and flea), but our bedposts sag under the weight of too many folks in the bed.

Although I used to be a big 'hamster nap' kind of girl, I'm afraid all this interrupted sleep is making me look more and more like the granny in this picture.  But, I'm trying to be more like my long-suffering hubby who says, "Just enjoy it. They won't climb in our bed forever."

At this point, it looks like they might!

sailors take warning

Mom always used to quote the little poem...
Red skies at night, sailors delight;
Red skies at morning, sailors take warning.

This is what took my breath away this morning:

Tonight, the wind sounds like it is trying to blow my house down.
We were warned.

I'm so glad when Daddy comes home!

lessons from a hospital room

This week, I was forced to

stop and sit,
think and pray,

as I spent a couple days in the hospital with my RSV-plagued baby.  At first, I was full of worry and fear and frustration.
But, once I decided to focus, instead, on my blessings, my heart filled up with all I have to be grateful for:
*a sweet, beautiful, baby girl, who is {thankfully} getting better
*friends who just say, 'Yes' and 'whatever you need'
*a husband who can do it all
*my boy: who knew he would wake himself up, get his chores done, and make scrambled eggs for, breakfast all on his own?
*a caring girl who, whenever she had a chance, would call and ask how her baby was doing
*a flexible toddler (and the kind, kind souls who cared for him in his grouchiness)
*prayers from afar
*a surprise visitor
*words of a prophet, and extra time to read them
*a phone (and everyone on the other end who let me talk)
*an exceptionally caring nurse
*oxygen
*the miraculous ways a body can heal
*the blessing of just being able to

stop and sit,
think and pray,

and remember that I've been given oh, so much.

Lea is home, still on oxygen, but feeling much better.

Oh, the irony...

When visiting a friend, a former caterer, the other day, I was directed to a comfy chair in the office where I could nurse my baby for a bit. As I sat there I noticed the collection of cookbooks that lined the shelves: Beautiful France Cookbook, Beautiful Thailand Cookbook, The Gourmet Cookbook, volumes 1 and 2, The Great American Cookbook. And, scrunched in between Death By Chocolate and Desserts to Die For is, of course, The Better Homes and Gardens New Dieter's Cookbook.

you know...

...it's been too long since you've vacuumed when you have to unwind, unwrap and disrobe the 'outfit' your 5-year-old put on the Dyson. Guess I better get to it.

{sigh}

hair days

"Even bad hair days are still hair days."

That's what my baby sis posted in her most recent blog post. It's my new motto. And I'm not even the 'hair' sister.

I love the 'gratitude' of it. Gratitude for each day, for life, for health, for family. I loved the words of the Prophet as he spoke this past weekend about having more gratitude.

So, even though it's not November, here's my list of what I'm grateful for today...

* my family. so, so blessed am I.
* my friends. you make my world beautiful.
* my home. it's not permanent or large or fancy, but it's filled with my favorites.
* my testimony
* crisp fall-time air
* mums on my porch
* smiles
* words. and feelings, when they aren't enough.
* sharing: time, food, ideas, heartache, healing, hope
* chocolate
* planning ahead
* looking back
* life....

the fashion world hates me.

In the year and a half since I was last pregnant, maternity clothes have taken a change for the "gypsy."
*Sleeves have gone fluttery (heaven help me).
*Shirts are supposed to hit you right below the bum (such an un-flattering place to land).
*Pants have tapered legs (this doesn't even look good when I'm skinny, let alone when I'm toting a baby bump).
*Nearly every top does this criss-cross thing across the chest, leaving LOTS of added room for that blossoming, pregnant bust line (of which, at week 23, I still have none).
*Dresses are, apparently, back in fashion. Except no one (I repeat, no one) can avoid looking like a campsite (read TENT) when wearing a dress over a prego belly.
*And skirts. Well, that's what I was really after. But, the mini is back (even in maternity...spare me), and well, I'm sure we all know why THAT won't work.

I spent all morning searching every store (with even a single maternity rack) in the mall. I didn't by anything.

Until I stopped at Borders on my way back to the car.
Books always save the day.

I {heart} cowboys

Two specific cowboys, to be exact.

Have you been following this season's 'Race?' In addition to making the GREATEST comeback in Amazing Race history, these brothers are, quite possibly, my favorite 'Race' team EVER. Holy Gravy! They are down-t0-earth, genuine, honest-to-goodness cowboys. I love their expressions (Oh, my!, good golly), their tenacity, their sportsmanship. I haven't been head-over-heels in excitement about an Amazing Race team since the Hippies from several seasons ago.

Why are they refreshing? No whining. No complaining. No blaming. No backbiting or name calling or manipulating of other teams. They are just doing their thing, honestly, and whooping up on all the rest.

Go, cowboys, go!

Sweet!

Last summer my kids and I took a tour of the Sweet's Candy Factory in Salt Lake City. If I could have moved in, I just might have done it. Pipes move pounds and pounds of CHOCOLATE around the facility. Taffy rolls off conveyer belts in waterfall-fashion. Everything smells of sugar. It was heavenly.

One place I found particularly interesting was the jelly bean-making room. Giant vats, resembling cement mixers, spun round and round, each with a different color inside. The tour guide walked us through the process of making a jelly bean, from the mold of the jelly on the inside to the hard candy coating on the out. To my amazement, she said it takes 7 whole days to make a jelly bean. A week. Really? I don't even like jelly beans, and yet these candy-makers spend a week getting their treats from start to finish.

This little bit of candy trivia has made me appreciate jelly beans in a whole new way. And, now that Easter candy has arrived (the best candy of the year, don't you think?), and jelly beans are available in so many different flavors, I just couldn't help buying a bag (or five). I still don't like plain old jelly beans, but Starburst jelly beans, Nerds jelly beans, Sweetart jelly beans and Jolly Rancher jelly beans...now THOSE beans are worth waiting a week for.

Happy Easter!