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.

Halloween

I think I got the worst Halloween costume pictures of all time this year. Bummer.

But, here is how it went down, in case you were wondering....

Dal was a bat with wings courtesy of a (now dead) umbrella. They looked good, but he found that having such a big wingspan was prohibitive when reaching into candy bowls at the neighbors' houses. He still managed a sugary haul, so I guess it is all good. Oh, and he was a little disgruntled that the wings didn't actually provide flight.

Kate's {simple} request to be a mermaid proved a bit challenging to this mom who refused to create flesh colored anything and doesn't believe in shells for shirts.  Plus, my sewing skills are pretty minimal.  Luckily, she was thrilled with this funny tulle and sparkle fin and even agreed to wear long sleeves.

Have a 2-year-old at Halloween is so fun!  Love this little kitty!

Having a picky 3-year-old is NOT so much fun at Halloween.  Davis had a cute scrubs set, courtesy of Gram, and I cut down one of Chad's old lab coats (he is holding it in his hand), but he refused to wear ANY of it.  Except the stethoscope (his adoration of which provided the inspiration for the costume in the first place). Ah, well, maybe next year.

that's how it works

It was my turn to teach sharing time in Primary on Sunday.  The topic was about doing temple work for your ancestors.  In case you haven't been in Primary in a while, let me tell you, this is kind of a BIG topic for little people.  Here are a few funny comments that came from our discussion:

* (In response to the question of how someone could get baptized if they had already died) "In heaven, there are clouds with water in them, and that's how people can get baptized up there."

* (After reading a quote that said each foundation stone of a temple strengthens the power of God on the earth) "Are we supposed to just go around and put foundation stones in the ground anywhere we want?"

*"When people die, they go to the spirit world and then they learn about the gospel.  Then, if they want to get baptized, Heavenly Father sends their name to the prophet, and he tells the people at the temple."

Well, that's how it works, folks!

Gotta love kids.

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.

on blooming

Last September 24th, after nearly a year of planning and prepping, building, celebrating, crying, making changes and making do, we were finally moving into our house. It was a day much anticipated by everyone, but, as with any big change, also a little bittersweet. We had ended up living in our 9-month rental for 3 years and had many wonderful friends in our neighborhood. The kids, particularly, were sad to leave their bike riding, mud-pie-making, fort-hiding, Lego-building friends behind.
Chad picked up the moving truck Friday night, and on Saturday when the crew of helpers showed up to load it, we were surprised to find the most beautiful potted mum left, secretly, inside. I still don't know who the giver was, but the plant meant so much to me. It was the first thing I unloaded at the new house and it sat proudly on our front porch 'till the snow came.
When the blossoms started to fade, I was so heartbroken...I couldn't just throw it away. So, I planted it, right off the porch, in memory of my first 3 years in Colorado.
By spring, the plant wasn't looking so good. Other plants started to shed their winter brown, but the mum was just as crispy and dead-looking as ever. I started pulling back the leaves and nearly pulled it out of the ground completely, when, like Dicken in "The Secret Garden" I noticed a bit of green. It was wick, it had a light about it! (if you don't know the music from the musical, you must get it today!)
With hope, I made sure my baby plant got water every day, and after a few weeks, it started to revive.
Now, a year later, it is big and beautiful and blooming!

 Like my mum, I have grown a lot this year, too. It took longer than I thought it would to feel like I could bloom in this new place, even though it wasn't so far from my old place. But, I am grateful for the roots that are a pushing down here, for the people around me who have been my sun and water and helped me along, and for the opportunity to keep growing and blooming, year after year, in such a wonderful place as this.