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.

sprinkles

This morning, after prayers, Lea leaned over to kiss her daddy and was surprised by his scratchy over-night whiskers.  She reached up to his cheek, rubbed it with her hand, and said, "Daddy,  you have sprinkles on your face!"

mind your manners

A couple years ago, at dinner, with the swirling crazies of our rambunctious brood overflowing the dining room, Chad captured everyone's attention by telling them, in a silly-perfect-daddy way, how awful their manners were. There were full mouths telling stories and elbows knocking over milk; raucous laughter, little ones doing laps around the table. There was reaching and grabbing and nose-turning-up-ing. And, Daddy emphasized all these no-nos with his over exaggerated reenactment of our meal.

Then, he told the kids about learning proper table manners at the home of his friend, Peter, whose perfectly well-mannered mother had hosted several teenagers in her own efforts to civilize the world. Our own family manners dinner tradition was born, and we chose Valentine's Day to be our special day.

This year, our schedules wouldn't allow for a fancy meal on Thursday, so our manners dinner was tonight. As I got dinner ready, the boys set the table using Grandma Great's special silver. The girls raided the dress up box to make everyone look "fancy." Dinner was served and everyone was very eager to be properly mannered. So cute!

We quickly reviewed table manners (which we do all the time, anyway, but something about being dressed up, made it more fun), but the manner Chad wanted to particularly pay attention to this year was "making polite dinner conversation."

I was amazed at all the lovely and detailed things my children had to say about their school day! Usually I am given answers like, "fine," "it was great," "nothing much," and "I liked recess" when I ask about how their day has been. But tonight I heard all the details about learning the drums in music class, the ins and outs of choosing partners in specials, and was even taught a new dance, courtesy of Kate (who asked politely if she might be allowed to perform) who showed us the circle dance they are learned at school today.

After dinner, everyone let loose just enough to join Kate in the circle dance, right there in the dining room, with our fancy outfits and our full tummies and this mommy's heart full of gratitude for the amazing little people I call "mine."

Happy Valentine's Day!

flutter

It was 6:24am when I felt the 'tap, tap, tap' my little one made on my shoulder.  Still 6 minutes until the alarm beckoned us all awake, I pulled her up into bed for a cuddle.  After getting her tucked in by my side, I felt it: that memorable but sort-of-forgotten feeling of the first flutterings of new life inside.  The baby, 15 1/2 weeks along, had just made those first discernible kicks.  Joy!

Feeling him/her move makes baby #5 seem more real.  I'm excited, but nervous at the same time.  On days like today, when I am pulled in 100 directions at once and I ache for one millisecond of quiet, I'm not sure I can handle another life in my hands.

But, in moments like this morning, during my six-minute-snuggle with my girl, I am so honored to be welcoming another little soul into my heart.

Blessed am I.

greetings

Bells

Last Christmas eve, we spent a magical evening with Grammy and Papa aboard the Santa Express. In a dining car lined with tinsel and lights we ate dinner served by elves, rode all the way to see the bright lights of the North Pole and met Mr. Claus himself. Once he had visited with each of the kids, noted their wishes and asked the "naughty or nice" question, he gifted them each a bell: a beautiful silver jingle bell on a leather strap, straight, he said, from the reindeer-drawn sleigh.

This year, we lovingly hung the bells on the tree as a remembrance of our fun night, but the bells don't stay hung. It is too tempting for little fingers to lift off the beautifully loud bells and ring them whenever they pass by the tree.

Tonight, as I did the dishes after dinner, an impromptu game of 'chase' with the bells broke out. Eight little feet ran circles through the house ringing their bells wildly and giggling all the way. The sound brought back a rush of Christmas memories of my Grandpa and his annual bell parade.

Each year, at the Ottley Family Christmas party, after the dinner but before Grandma tossed everyone a new pair of gloves (so many funny family traditions), Grandpa would start to ring his big, deep bell. It was the signal that all the grandkids were to gather for the bell parade. Grandma had set out a tray of bells. They were collected from all over. The oldest grandchildren had silver bells with their names engraved on them. Those of us in the middle had bells Grandma and Grandpa bought on their mission in Israel. The youngest ones had bells Grandma managed to find here and there on her shopping trips to Pick 'N Save or ZCMI. Bells in hand, we lined up behind Grandpa, and started ringing. He led our parade all around the house: through every bedroom, making a quick turn around in the bathroom, around the desk in his office, through the storage room where they had a giant sign maker (seriously, the wonders at my grandparent's mountain home never ceased), up the steps and past the wall of mirrors, through the kitchen and family room, into the long bathroom and out the other side to the greenhouse, outside for a quick, cold minute, then back inside, through the back door, and down the steps to the "grandchildren's room" in the basement.

The parade was loud. My ears rang for a hour afterward. I'm not sure the origin of this tradition. Is this something Grandpa started on his own? Or is it something that was passed down from the generation before? Maybe my mom or one of my aunts will read this and remind me of the family history. At any rate, I will never forget the big smile on my wonderful Grandpa as he led his posterity in a noisy, joyful march around the house.

I don't remember when the last bell parade was held, but it has been a year and a half since Grandpa passed away. Maybe he is leading a giant parade in heaven this year?  The last time I remember participating was the year Dallin was born. I have a video of me carrying him and helping him ring his bell, smiling and waving to Daddy behind the camera, passing on the joy of family traditions to a new generation of Ottleys.

It is great to know where you belong.