Anona-mom

Tears and Valentines

2012-01-28T01:57:00.000-08:00

Um, so yeah. I can do it aaaaalllll. I can cook (weenie-beanie XEIO soup, last night), I can clean (I think if you swept my floor right now, you could roll the contents of the dust pan in a little Elmer's glue and get a puppy), I can homeschool (Did you know there was a solar storm this week?), and I can, uh, um... I can... what was I saying?

So it looks like keeping up with posting about my life, returning phone calls and, apparently, shaving my legs, have all taken a serious back seat, as in last bench in the mini-van. These are a few high-lights and low-lights of the week:

Tessa begs to say the prayer every night, every meal. This week she sweetly asked God to bless "all da people in all da hostibles (hospitals) and all da people who are homeless, for that the people in hostibles will get houses an the homeless people will get better."

***

Ethan: "Do I have to take Spanish?"

Me: "It's a graduation requirement."

Eathn: "Why? I'm pretty happy with English. It's gotten me where I've wanted to go."

***

Sweet Adam wept in my arms this week when he realized that his female lizard, Dr. Jekyl was sicker than we thought. She died when I was away, and he didn't tell a soul. He just took her outside in a box he made at camp and through his tears he dug a little grave for her. Two nights ago, he came out of his room at midnight. When I asked what was wrong, he simply said, "I can't stop thinking about her." I held my big boy on my lap while he grieved his first loss. I talked about cycle of life stuff. It wasn't helping. So then I just held him.

***

Ethan thought it would be a terrific idea to feed a pinkie to his bearded dragon. A pinkie is a baby mouse. A live baby mouse. He did it in front of Ellie. And Tessa. And a four year old neighbor girl. I spent the next hour explaining more life cycle stuff to two sobbing little girls. It turns out that it does not, in fact, help to include in your explanation that we eat chicken. Now I am actually a murderer. Yup. I kill chickens. And if Tessa is ever put in charge, lions and tigers will eat salad.

***

I took the girls to the movies tonight. I had a ball explaining The Muppets to them. I sang along. They though I was weird and a little bit cool. I already knew the songs, so how cool was I? And Ellie said "This is prob'ly the first time I ever been to a movie on time!" (Sadly, she is not only right, she didn't realize we were actually late and we missed the little cartoon feature at the beginning).

***

My sweetheart gave away about four of his nine lives helping Ethan with school work.

***

I gave away many, many tears that my son will never appreciate.

***

I made valentines.

And it's not even February.

Softer Focus

2012-01-22T22:29:00.000-08:00

Ellen told me a story the other day.

A woman she knew was sleeping one night when her house caught fire. She ran from room to room in her house, gathering her five children and getting them out of the house safely, all the while oblivious to the fact she had gone to bed nude. As she stood on the neighbor's lawn, her five babies gathered safely around her, she watched in horror as her house was engulfed in flames, looking on as everything she owned was eaten by the fire. In that moment, a firefighter approached her and offered her his long coat. And in that moment she discovered that she, indeed,

was not covered.

She hurriedly accepted the coat as a rush of embarrassment overcame her. So great was her shame that she retreated to the emergency vehicle with her children, keeping her eyes downcast. Consumed by her shame, she no longer thought of all that she was losing, but focused on avoiding eye contact with the firefighters.

I can't stop thinking about that story. How could someone's focus be shifted so instantly from something that was literally all consuming, to something that truly, in the grander scheme, did not really matter?

I have been examining my life trying to see where my focus is.

Is it where it should be?

Is my house on fire while I fret over my naked insecurities?

As I played with Tessa's picture in the photo editor tonight, I cropped out everything that wasn't her sweet face. I brought out the light that was already there, and then, last of all, I softened my focus, so that what really matters

is what I can see most clearly.

Car School

2012-01-20T21:46:00.000-08:00

The days are short,

but long.

Laundry piles rise and crest and fall,

but just like the tide,

always return.

The baby poops.

The floors are dusty.

It's cold.

We read and paint. We experiment.

We homeschool.

I find myself driving a lot these days.

To electronics class.

To Medieval History class.

To Ancient Times class.

To Lego Engineering class.

To Fairytale class.

To Gymnastics.

To piano lessons.

I guess we really car school.

Sometimes we sit and wait.

I read to Tessa if she is not in class, while Jonah naps.

It is not quite what I had expected it to be.

My life is set by a different kind of clock.

One that runs on stories that lead to more stories,

and on questions that lead to more questions, then still more.

A clock that stops suddenly when cooking becomes science

and science becomes art

and art becomes history

which, of course, is story time,

after all.

And, in case you are still wondering,

No. I am not worried about their socialization.

They are doing just fine.

Three Stories of Christmas: Part Three

2012-01-14T01:38:00.000-08:00

Sorry I made you wait.

I know, I am done with Christmas, too. But I told you there was one more story.

Here she blows.

The night before The Great Hamster Escape we headed out to deliver goodies and a few other items to friends. I had an art order that needed delivering, so we decided we would kill two turtledoves with one fruitcake and drop it off as well.

Upon arrival to the beautiful home of our friends, we found no one home, but oddly, their keys were hanging in the door. We felt like we couldn't just leave them hanging there like a big ol' invite to steal Christmas, but while pulling them from the lock to hide them, I heard a click sound.

"You better check to see if it is locked or not." Guy said.

(This makes the following events his fault, by the way)

I checked the door handle, and the door popped right open. I pulled the door shut, locked it with the key and then began to look for a good-enough-to-hide-from-criminals but not so-good-they're-lost-forever place to stash the keys when,

(did you see it coming? Yep, you did...)

The burglar alarm went off. We bumbled around on the porch for a moment and then decided the go to the van and try calling our friends. Four calls later, all we had for our efforts were two hysterical girls in the back seat who were begging us to "please drive away before the p'leece come to put us in jay-yol". I couldn't hide my giggles.

Oh, on a side note: it turns out that not one neighbor even so much as peeped through a curtain in our direction. Nice, eh? Ho, ho ho... Merry Christmas.

We figured we had some 's'plainin' to do, Lucy, so we hung around for over 10 minutes for the police to come. Apparently they were otherwise engaged, because they never did show up.

It felt weird, but we finally just drove away.

I don't know if it is so much a story as it is a lesson learned.

Leave the breaking and entering to Santa. He's better at it,

and committing felonies at Christmas seems to upset the children.

(This was one of those moments that you didn't have to look back on to find funny, and thankfully our friends were as entertained as we were!)

Three Stories of Christmas: Part Two

2012-01-09T01:01:00.000-08:00

Adam plays Rudolph with a lazer pointer up the nose

while we go to deliver Christmas goodies.

Eh-yup. That's my boy.

Three days before Christmas I was excited to attend my very first "Cookie Exchange" hosted by my hubby's co-worker. If you have never heard of one, the point is that you make a booty load of one type of cookie, and trade all around with other folks so that by the end you have half a dozen different kinds cookies for your holiday-googie-tray giving. I got a late start at making my goodies (my fabulous Toffee Bars that are more like candy than cookies), but even so, I decided it was more important that I go, than to have everything perfect. I spread the melted chocolate topping on the bar cookies that were still warm in the pan, Googled the directions and headed out. I was hungry for the brunch that would be served, and as I drove I tried to imagine how a Cookie Exchange goes down. I suddenly got stage fright. I imagined myself entering a room full of gorgeous strangers who were all tall, slim and tan, wearing flowing, trendy clothes and holding adorably packaged bundles of cookies with hand crafted tags and elegantly stamped recipe cards that matched. I glanced at my old jelly roll pan and photo copied recipes and got a lump in my throat.

Fast forward one hour:

I am still driving. A certain road had split and become two. Thanks for the warning, Google. You're a peach. Phoneless (has anyone seen my phone? It' been missing for 2 months. If I have been to your house, will you check in your sofa?), I asked directions twice (I swear the first guy I asked was just makin' crap up) and was now driving on several streets that showed up in the directions as intersecting. However, apparently while no one was looking, some madman rearranged these streets to all run parallel to each other. And in the scariest place I've been in since I took my last late night jaunt to the local Walmart. Seriously, Freaky People, do you all have to shop at Walmart? There s a creepy little Kmart not two miles away. Go there.

You know how some stories have a last straw? Well here it comes: upon finally reaching a street with the name of the street I was supposed to be on, and two blocks later hitting a dead end on said street just two blocks from the house number I needed, I flipped a U-turn - at which point my un-lovely recipe photo copies, along with my dang Google map and ultra-helpful directions, gracefully slid across the dash and landed in my semi-melted semi-sweet chocolate topping.

Just for kicks, let's fast forward a little more, saaaaay... one half hour?

Here you see a sad, sad girl driving aimlessly through the city, seeing the freeway just above her and not being able to find the blankety-blank on-ramp. There are tears streaming down her cheeks. There is chocolate smeared on her hands from the recipe rescue. She is yelling. Oh, yes, my friends, yelling at the top of her sad little lungs. Oops, look away; she is wiping her nose on her sleeve. Well, lookie there! A two-year-old temper tantrum, complete with steering wheel pounding! I hope, as she drove along, she landed on someones surveillance tapes along the way. Just for kicks.

Good times. Good times.

Shall we time travel one more time?

Two hours from the time I left the house, I kicked the door open, chocolate coated papers in one hand, cookie bars in the other. Oh, yeah, and hungry. So, so, hungry.

My hubby hugged me. He listened to me rant. He watched as I dramatically threw the recipes into the trash and grabbed a knife to cut into the cookie bars.

I stuffed one into my mouth.

They were finally cooled off.

I, however, would not be for another hour.

*****

Chocolate Toffee Bars

Make your favorite shortbread crust recipe and press it into an ungreased pan. Bake at 350 til just golden.

While that is baking, in a saucepan simmer: 1 can sweetened condensed milk, 2 tbsp. butter, 1/4 tsp. salt and 1 tsp. vanilla until it gets thick and starts to turn lightly golden. Spread out on crust and then bake again until the top is a bubbly dark golden brown. Remove from oven, spread a bag of chocolate chips on top and leave them to melt. Spread melted chocolate evenly with a spatula or your Google directions.

Then get lost for two hours.

Yes, that is part of the recipe.

They will be cool when you get back.

Cut and serve. But not to the kids. Give them the junky dollar store cookies.

Save these in your secret hiding place.

Dang, I said too much.

Three Stories of Christmas: Part One

2012-01-07T01:28:00.000-08:00

Five days before Christmas...

Santa brought a pair of hamsters for the girls so as to save them the long, cold flight from the North Pole. Rodents don't fly well. Guy and I went to a Petsmart to pick the puff balls up. While at the store the cute-spunky-and-all-knowing rodent expert helped us select two tufts of fur and an extra habitat. We had one on the way from the North Pole via US Air, but in case they didn't get along, we bought a portable and easy-to-assemble back up plan, then headed to Amanda's where she graciously agreed to watch over them for the week.

OK, this story is taking way to long. Let's move it.

Day 2:

I get a call from Amanda. The hamsters have been in a fight. They have been separated, but one is bleeding. Lucky for me the second habitat has just arrived in the mail. I rush over.

The injured hamster didn't look great. There was a cut above and below his little beady eye. I follow the maddeningly simple, yet somehow impossible instructions to put together the cage-thingy. There is a crash in the other room, followed by the barking of little Frodo, the family mascot. The meany hamster had managed to walk it's temporary jail-box right off the counter.

No harm done, but I think Frodo was plenty freaked out, walking boxes and all.

Crisis averted.

Christmas Eve:

Amanda calls again. She sounds downright dreary.

"Uh-oh, did it die?"

"Worse. One is missing."

"Missing?"

Somehow the hamster escaped. Perhaps it was her sleepwalking son, no one was quite sure, but the cage was still closed, but empty as a cookie jar at my house. An hour of looking had produced no furry fugitive.

Two hours later, another call, the voice on the other end, dejected.

"Well, we found it."

"Uh-oh..."

The fur ball was hiding behind some plaques that were leaning against a wall when Frodo found him. Frodo nudged into the corner, knocking the boards over, which scooped up the clandestine critter and flung him out into the room (did I mention that they don't fly well? Well, in this case they do), where Frodo snatched him up.

Everyone screamed, and Frodo dropped his piliferous prize, but not unscathed.

He was bleeding.

We waited a few hours.

The bleeding was just a small scratch on his nose.

He was fine.

Well, as fine as a hamster that has been in a fight,

fallen off of the equivalent of a four story building,

and then was nearly puppy chow.

***

On Christmas morning, the kids came out into the living room to see what Santa left for them. Amidst the squeals of delight, Tessa's voice reached my ears.

"Santa brought me a candy cane in my stocking!"

"Look some more, Sweetie. What else?"

"My own bag of beef jerky!"

"Look Sweetie, a hamster..."

"AND GUM!!!!"

Oh, well. Best laid plans of mice and moms.

I blame Santa and his darned planning ahead to avoid a last minute trip

to the pet store only to find they were plum out of hamsters.

He had to know that beef jerky would upstage a rat.

And gum. I mean, really?

Should'a just let Frodo have him.

He never stood a chance against gum.

Happy New List!

2012-01-06T00:05:00.000-08:00

New Years goals:

More writingg,, less editing (duh, I did that on purpose)

More authentic, less lying to myself, and therefore to others (um, not that I lie to you)

More listening, less blah-blah blah-blah BLAAAAAH

More cooking, less crap on their plates

More space, less stuff (um, yeah, that would also be crap)

More moments, less days-blurring-into-an-endless-stream-of-obligations

More seeing their faces, less seeing their messes

More flavor, less fat and sugar (insert whimpering sound here)

Less whimpering

More order, less searching

More smootchin', dang it!

More patience, ooohhhhmmmmmmm

More planning, less rushing

More sleep

More counting to ten, twenty, ... four million, whatever.

More present

More smiles

More prayer

More faith

More hope

More charity

More love

More the woman I want to be.

Lucky for me there is a whole year to do it.

****

Photo: Jonah playing with his Christmas gift, "The Toothbrush Chain". No, no it has not made him stop stealing our toothbrushes and brushing the dog with them. Thank you for asking.

Caught in the act - A Photo Album

2011-12-31T01:29:00.000-08:00

We've been busy.

It's that time of year, after all.

And we weren't the only ones.

I caught Santa.

On film.

Proof.

So since there is not much time left in the year, I am going to go hang with my peeps.

You will have to just catch up with our festivities

the old fashioned way...

Taken just five seconds before Jonah throws the glass ornament.

It does not survive.

Trying to focus on Christmas Present.

Dancing girls

and angels

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy...

Silent night, holy night

"Well, um, one million thousand dollars
is a tall order, Ellie. I'll see what I can do."

A whispered wish...

And the bravest little elf at the whole North Pole.

Christmas Eve snuggles

Stories...

and friends.

New Christmas Eve jammies with matching pjs for dollies.

Christmas morning and happy girls

Oooooooo! I don't know what it is, but I love it!

The rare sighting of teen-icus lego-tium.

And His name shall be called Wonderful.

A beautiful Christmas dinner, by Guy of course.

And a lovely anniversary dinner a few days later.

Our celebration dinner was watched over

by the Italian Patron Saint of Watermelon.

Such a busy few weeks, we are all tuckered out.

Sleep in heavenly peace,

sleep in heavenly peace.

Hot Snowman

2011-12-22T01:32:00.000-08:00

What do you do

when you find yourself with a houseful of kids, a promise of a treat, and nothing to offer?

You massacre a snowman. At least, you pretend to. My kids call our new concoction "Hot Snowman" or "Melted Snowman". Here's how to kill him:

For each person you will need:

1 1/2 c milk
1/4- 1/3 c white chocolate chips
several drops of peppermint extract (a candy cane will work, too, and makes a fun stirring stick)
1/8 tsp cinnamon
a dash of salt

Here are the very complex and intricate directions. Be sure to follow them to the letter, like, precisely, or you will completely ruin it. Focus, people...

1. Dump everything together.
2. Make it hot somehow.
3. Serve it.

Yum-o. Seriously.

This stuff rocks around the Christmas tree.

Do Over

2011-12-20T01:27:00.000-08:00

Last night we went to advent again at Kathy and Bishop's. It made me long, yet again, for traditions. For family. For tender moments with my children. For peace.

There hasn't been much of that around here lately. The squabbling has hit fever pitch. The girls are shrill. The boy, you know, that one, has been an obnox-i-teen on roids. Even the baby has been "on one"; he has ricocheted into the hitting phase, bonking and head-butting phase and the "steal eggs from the fridge and run away" phase -all at once (well, that last one is kinda' adorable). And I am not doing much better. My resolution to go a whole week without barking at Ethan lasted... count 'em... 18 hours. Oh, and I hurt my hubby's feelings today. I was in rare form.

Buy I really wanted to catch the Christmas spirit. You know, sneak up on it, jump it from behind, stuff it into a body bag and force it to hang out with us. So we made goodies. We made wreaths. We went elf-ing and looking at lights. I wanted our night to be sweet and happy and cheerful, and sometimes there were ooo's and aaah's at the pretty lights, but mostly there were tears and complaints, teasing and whining.

My eyes filled with tears. Twice.

When we got home I went to run late night shopping errands. I wandered the store with my list, apathetically looking at the decorations, not wanting to buy anything but coal.

***

Late last night after advent, I sat up online looking at the lovely wooden advent candle holders and nativities from Germany like the ones Kathy has. It was like I might be able to capture the magic of that night by setting the scene just right. I found a place to order the things I needed to make one, and placed my order.

By the time I woke up the next morning, I was having buyers regret. What was the point of buying all of that the week of Christmas, when it wouldn't even arrive until after? And I guess I knew that just having the pretty candles and wooden figures wouldn't change what was happening in my house.

I called the company. I asked if there were any way I could postpone my order until later. The sweet little lady on the phone said it was no problem. She kindly put my order on hold. I hung up the phone with relief.

You know, this morning when that nice lady let me cancel my order, I felt like I had been given a do-over.

***

While I was gone to the store tonight, an elf had come here.

Someone was thinking of our family.

It was a kindness that was both unexpected and so very generous.

***

Maybe tomorrow can be a do-over.

Tradition II

2011-12-18T00:08:00.000-08:00

For many years now, I have been creating our family Christmas card. It always includes an original drawing or painting, the blah-blah-boring family update (you know, little Johnny got a tooth, Stevie committed arson...), and of course, several over-the-top, braggy pix of my gorgeous brats. I got it done early this year, as in "not the day before Christmas". I have not printed them yet (what's the hurry, right?), so you get a preview, and if you're on my mailing list, this may even save me a stamp!

It's a tradition.

I have been thinking a lot about traditions. Kathy (you remember, buff Kathy, workout partner extraordinaire?) has invited our family to a couple of her family's advent celebrations. She and Hubby Wayne gather their little chickens around them on the four Sundays before Christmas to sing, read stories and eat goodies by fire and candlelight. Each time we leave, I am recommitted to trying harder to focus on that whole reason-for-the-season thing. But by Monday, those old demons creep back in, the ones that whisper to me to be stressed out, to stop trying, and to give up on getting my family to get along, treat each other with kindness and start thinking about the needs of others.

I guess I have made a tradition out of being overwhelmed at Christmas.

I did do things this year to leave that history behind me. I worked on Christmas projects all year. I began listening to carols after Thanksgiving. I even got excited to decorate this time around. But old habits die hard. I may have over-reached a little, thinking I could fix my whole broken tannenbaum all in one year.

But it is a little better, at least. Baby steps.

And hey, you already got my Christmas card, so we're good.

Traditions

2011-12-15T01:02:00.000-08:00

For our December wedding,

one of our friends gave us a small box of Christmas ornaments to start us on our wedded way. In that box there were a dozen or so different lovely ornaments... and one rather odd one. It was a porcelain doll, about 6 inches tall, and pretty heavy for a tree decoration. It was also a little, um, froofy, if you know what I mean.

I don't know how it all started, but that first Christmas she began showing up in peculiar places; a pocket, the fridge, the shower. Whoever found her was next to hide her. As the years have tumbled by she has appeared in cereal boxes, rolled in underwear, visiting baby Jesus in the nativity, terrorizing the citizens in my little Christmas village, and even hung on a noose (yeah, that would be my dear husband. It must be a guy thing). It has become a quest to be first to find her in the Christmas wrappings when they emerge from the garage, and a bit of a competition to come up with new and better places to hide her.

I found her first this year.

I actually gave a sinister mua-ha-ha! when I saw her there amongst the baubles. I slipped her behind my back and headed for Guy's coat pocket. It wasn't even a full day before she showed up on me, though. She was kickin' it with the mamas in the studio, but her empty arms gave her away. As always, I stopped in my tracks and began giggling. But I left her there, for now. I have a plan.

I'll wait till Sunday to get my payback.

I think she is feeling religious.

Wish her luck.

Wicked Fun

2011-12-10T01:29:00.000-08:00

Addy's belated cake.

It is 1:29 AM.

There are seven 12 year old boys in my living room.

Some are asleep. The rest are in a heated discussion about MMA and football.

I hope to do some sleeping tonight, too,

but I am thinking that might not happen.

Tessa is curled around my foot because she is scared.

It's her new nightly routine.

She also happens to be awake.

Must be in the DNA.

Adam wanted to have a Nightmare Before Christmas theme for his birthday party, a party that had to be scheduled 2 weeks after the fact. That's what happens when you pop out of a uterus the same week as Thanksgiving (no, Thanksgiving did not pop out of my uterus, too. Work with me here. I'm tired!). We got as far as the invitations (his own design and artwork) and the cake.

I say "Good enough!".

Sometimes frozen taquitos and way too much soda have to be

reasonable substitutes for party favors and carefully planned party games.

I wish I could be the kind of mom that had goodie bags all made up

with the kid's names on them. The mom that made the goodie bags

to coordinate with the rest of the party decor.

Goodie bags make everything better, you know,

even if the party kinda sucks.

It turns out that, instead,

I am the kind of mom that lets 8 boys destroy my living room and watch movies all night.

I am also the kind of mom that will give 'em cold cereal instead of homemade pancakes in the mornin'. I am the chika that hopes I can get the kitchen cleaned up before the parents come to pick up their yawning, crabby-tired boys tomorrow, but I know I am the girl who would rather just shut the kitchen door and sleep in.

Wish me luck.

No, wish me a nap for tomorrow.

(While you're wishing, can you order up someone

to come clean up my kitchen, please? Thanks. I'll leave the door unlocked)

Now you get to play "Where's Waldo" with Jonah.

Art by Adam

On three, exhale....

2011-12-04T02:17:00.000-08:00

Photo of my kiddie sweat shop, Make 'em earn their keep, that's what I say!

Whhhhheeeeeeewwww!!!!

And with that, the sale ended.
On day two, the people came, and I broke even.
On day three, more people came, and I saw a profit.
It was exciting to see people fall in love with a painting or a little piece of pottery. I felt all warm-fuzzy inside when someone would find a little pot that just had to go home with them, and they carried it around like a long-lost treasure,
and smiled when they brought it to me like it had found them.
They went to good homes, my little paint and clay children,
and that is always a comfort to a mother's heart.

I learned a lot of things this first time around.

Like:

Thanksgiving weekend: good for Walmart, bad for boutique.

They who eat the most samples do not necessarily buy the fudge.

8 hours on the hard stairs = sore cheekies.

It's never too late to meet your neighbors.

I really stink at math.

Netflix is a fabulous babysitter,
but 8 hours of it gives 5 year-olds nightmares.

What takes 2 days to set up comes down in about 20 minutes.

I may have learned more, but I'm too tired now to remember what it was.
Thank you to all of you who came and supported my little effort at bringing art into peoples lives. What we earned will help with Christmas (since our Christmas stash went to a big car repair last week!). I am also glad I could provide a place for my friends to sell their lovelies. I walk among giants.

My favorite moments of the day:

Jonah sneaking fudge samples
(in case you were wondering, 15 month-olds can and do sneak.
It's the cutest dang thing you ever saw).

A 90 year old woman who fell in love with Jonah.

Him running to hug her when she left.

The woman who came back to buy a painting
because she dreamed about it all night.

The woman who was so sad that a necklace she had fallen in love with (but talked herself out of) yesterday had sold, and being able to say, "That's ok, I will just make you another one just like it."

Ruth doing all of her Christmas shopping while I held gorgeous baby Autumn
(it was rough, but I toughed it out!).

Telling Ethan he sold both his paintings.

Having several solid hours to visit with friends while we tested the fudge samples
to make sure they were still good.

Hearing people tell me how lucky I am to be married to a man who can cook (yes, I know I am. And cooking is just the start of all the good things he does).

***

We'll have to do this again sometime. How about next year?

Thanks, again friends!
And thank you Guy for all your hard work and support.
My mother always said I was a kite,
and I needed someone who could hold my string,
but I think you are more like my hot air balloon.

No Strings Attached

2011-12-02T02:20:00.000-08:00

It was meant to be

breakfast in bed.

It ended up as breakfast after the shower.

No strings attached, just my girls bein' sweet to me.

On Sunday I lost my voice.

On Monday I could whisper.

On Tuesday I could croak.

And though I was feeling much better by Wednesday,

the girls decided to take pity on me, all out of the kindness of their sweet,

and in no way cunning or manipulative little hearts.

You feel it coming, don't you?

Smell that little wiff of rat?

Come with me now to 15 minutes after I swallow my last chunk of apple.

Ellie tenderly asks, "Mama, do I get a kindness bead for making you breakfast?"

Huh.

Just when you thought you were doing something right as a parent.

Yes, this week we re-instituted the bead jars. Beads = kid currency. Earn one by doing your jobs. 2 kindness beads = 1 bead. Earn kindness beads by being caught doing a good deed.

I hear Tessa is planning to make me a get well lunch tomorrow.

'Can't wait.

****

Don't forget to come by tomorrow (or Saturday. It's OK, I know you're busy. I'll wait up for ya').

The Studio is so fancy you could eat fudge off of it.

I made you some really cute snowman earrings.

I'll save 'em for ya'.

Clay Pots and Cathedrals

2011-11-27T00:09:00.000-08:00

We interrupt your regularly scheduled weekend to bring you this update:

The sale has begun.

But someone didn't get the memo.

Five great ladies (and one slightly frantic one) have slaved away for weeks, nay, months, to prepare this amazing conglomeration of artistic endeavors the likes of which this humble hamlet has ne'er before seen.

It took two days to set up.

You sooooo should have been here...

with the 12 other people who came.

Yep. Sad huh? It's okay, I wear waterproof mascara. But please tell me this isn't a commentary on the aesthetic sensitivities of Nor Cal at large. I am hoping this was merely a situation where everyone has a synchronous thought, that thought being "I'll wait 'til next weekend". Well, lucky for them there is still fudge left over. Of course, next weekend is six days away, so I can't promise I won't eat it every day for lunch between now and then (Dark Chocolate Orange fudge. Oh, yeah, baby).

Did I mention Guy's new Raspberry White Chocolate Ice Cream Topping? I didn't?

I joke, but this is really more important to me than just breaking-even on the cost of my materials. Like so many other things in our culture that are becoming "a thing of the past" (like music in the schools or basic respect in a Walmart checkout line), artisans are being replaced or out-moded.

By technology.

By cheap labor.

By TV culture.

By sheer laziness.

By crap.

Cheap, plastic and press-board CRAP.

I long for the days when someone thought it wasn't good enough to just make a chair, they wanted to make it strong and enduring and beautiful. It is through art that early man first began to record his history and hopes on cave walls. Yeah, sure, he always painted his dead mammoth a little bigger than the one his cave-mate killed, but he painted it. And later, someone along the River Nile said "let's bury this old guy in something beautiful", and someone else said "let's paint on our walls and ceilings,

and build cathedrals that reach the stars."

And just as humankind's genius seemed as though it was truly touched by God himself,

some knucklehead said "I think we could make this way cheaper in China".

And on the day the first man said "Let's build a mini-mall",

a deep sob welled up from the depths of history

and Di Vinci turned over in his grave. Twice.

Did you know some ancient Native American tribes forbade women from creating images of animals and people, so afraid were they that her life-giving power might cause her images to come alive? Isn't that beautiful? I mean sure, she was still being repressed, but if you ask me, they had good cause to fear.

Women are powerful creators!

Look what we can do...!

We can raise human beings - more than one at a time - and still find time in the day to tend to the mundane, nourish little bodies and big spirits and hungry minds, type left handed while nursing, pick up stray diaper-nuggets (I did that tonight, so fun) and still create something beautiful;

A home.

A dinner.

A dress.

A garden.

A little clay pot.

May you find time this week

to build your cathedral to the stars.

And if you finish by Friday, stop by my studio to sample the fudge.

My studio was heard to be singing the song "I'm too sexy".

Pearls and paintings and pots, oh my!

Lovelies by Erin, Pat and Amanda.

Color!

Robin still wearing a smile, even after helping till 11pm last night and hanging with me for the day today. Thank you, Robin!!! You can tag and hang jewelry with me any time!

It's a darn good thing

2011-11-21T01:18:00.000-08:00

It's a darn good thing

tha I left my camera in LA last weekend when we went down for a family wedding. Because if I hadn't, I would have taken it with me Saturday to the Evil Pizza Place that shall remain Nameless. The one that makes you pay $10 to get in the door for their very unimpressive buffet, even though you will only have 2 slices of doughy-in-the-middle pizza and a small salad. I would have ended up taking pictures of my devil-spawn children NOT having any fun and complaining constantly.

It would have been a waste of pixels.

Trust me.

But because I know that you want the gory details, I shall tell you. But you will have to imagine it all, for alas, there are no pictures. And it's a darn good thing.

There had been no way around it. Adam had his last soccer game, and with all last-soccer-games comes the poorly planned end-of-season party and the "You showed up so you get an overpriced plastic trophy that your parents paid for". So while Guy went to a funeral, I wrestled 5 reluctant kids back into the van to first go buy an over-priced Gluten Free Pizza to smuggle into the Evil Pizza Place a half hour away (in case you were wondering, gluten-free in this context means "disgusting if not eaten immediately"). Upon our arrival to the second pizza joint, the perky staff at the EPP graciously accepted my $40, which included full price for the child who could not eat their glutinous glop. As drinks cost extra, I announced that water wound be fine. No, that was not a question, it was a demand. No child dare argue.

The party room that had been reserved was just the right size for a small group of pigmies, and so we managed to locate the only empty table in the nearby dining room. Whilst playing the food relay game with each child from the buffet area and back to our table, a courtesy-challenged old lady plopped herself down in one of our chairs and refused to move. "No English" she mumbled.

Oh, yeah, I believe you, Grannie.

I move all our crap to a dinning room somwhere in Outter Mongolia.

It takes 4 trips. I stomp the whole way.

Tessa's $5 "all you can eat" consisted of 4 cucumber slices, a pile of hard boiled egg crumbs, and two helpings of ice cream. Oh, but don't forget her cold, hard, $10 toppings-congealed on a gluten-free frizbee. She ate 1 and 1/2 slices.

I told Ethan he had to eat enough to last him for the entire day because I had to pay adult price for him. He had 4 slices of pizza and 5 ice cream cones.

Frankly, I think he could have done better.

Later, we packed into Party Room #3 to witness the awards ceremony. Some words were said, which no one could hear on account of the 2 kinds of music that were playing and the carnival on the other side of the partition.

Back out to the zoo-room.

No, make that the bathroom.

Jonah stuck his hands in the toilet during the 1.7 seconds it took me to pull up my pants. The girls enjoyed the automated everything in the bathroom.

Yeah, because that's why we came here, to play with the hand-dryer.

In a black out, may you never find yourself in the potty of the EPP.

Now back to the zoo-room. Not just arcade games, but rides and a playland.

Somebody kill me now.

Time for some math: Two girls + 10 tokens does not equal 5 games each when each game costs two tokens. I lug 27 pound Jonah around the arcade for 30 minutes while they play the "change your stinkin' mind every 4 seconds game".

Finally, no more tokens.

Halle-stinkin'-luja.

But now for my favorite part: the TICKETS. The meaningless, pretend the kid did something of value and reward him with tickets to trade for CHEAP PLASTIC CRAP THAT WILL BE BROKEN OR LOST IN THE CAR BEFORE WE GET HOME.

Now it is time for more math: 16 tickets divided by 2 girls = 1 cheap toy dinosaur.

But wait, by some freakish miracle, the pimply-faced boy behind the counter gives EACH of the girls a cheap toy dinosaur! One pink, one purple! He even guessed their favorite colors right!

Wait for it...

Tessa begins to cry. She didn't want THAT toy, she wanted a DIFFERENT toy.

I stand in the middle of the chaos and yell

"I HATE THIS PLACE! WE ARE NEVER COMING BACK HERE AGAIN!"

but my voice is swallowed by the dinging bells and wailing sirens

of the games and rides.

I grab the pink dinosaur out of her hand and march to the nearest trash can.

A sudden awareness and simultaneous appreciation for pink dinosaurs

sweeps over Tessa.

"No, Mama! I changed my mind! I like my dinosaur!!!"

Lucky dinosaur, that's all I've got to say.

Tokenless, we fill the last half hour in the baby play area waiting for Adam to finish up. I spend 67% of my time rescuing Jonah from the bottom of the slide and the impending bloody lip that I wish to avoid from some kid named Josh with freakishly large feet.

Jonah cries. He wants to nurse. No, wait, back to the bottom of the slide. No, nurse, no, slide...no...

Ellie whines that she is sooooo bored and she hates this place.

Amen, sister.

Finally, the boys cash in Adams tickets, everyone grabs a last cookie and the remains of the cold pizza-cracker, and 2 hours and 37 minutes after we first arrived, we straggle to the van. Tessa cries the whole way because she couldn't have the cookie. It has gluten. A tiny vein bursts in my right eye.

But wait. Do you hear that?

Is that air whistling out of the giant inflatable hammer that Adam chose for his prize?

Oh, why yes. Yes it is.

"It's OK, Mom," Adam says quickly, as I rather animatedly throw the van into a sharp U-turn.

"OH, NO it is NOT ok! That is a $40 hammer, young man, and by darn, you are going to get one that works!"

I march into the EPP and announce to the room at large that my son WILL be going back in, hand stamp or not, to trade in his toy for one that works.

No one argues.

Back at home, we tumble out of the van into the driveway, a mass of shoes and diaper bags and pizza boxes.

And then it happened.

You were hoping it would, I can tell.

It began with a whiny cry.

"Mom!!!!!"

"WHAT NOW?!?!?!"

"I lost my dinosaur!"

Oh. My. BLEEEEEEEP.

It was just under the seat.

But I have to tell you,

it's a darn good thing.

Previews and Excuses

2011-11-18T13:15:00.000-08:00

I have spent every fraction of a spare moment in the studio for the past two weeks getting ready for my art sale. There is or has been, in the last few days, clay on my knees, dye under my nails, and glaze in my hair. Hence, my house is destroyed, my laundry is piled and my blog is sorely neglected (a lone coyote howls in the distance, crickets chirp...).

I am panicked that I won't have enough to offer.

I am unsettled that no one will want what I do have.

I am freaked that I won't be ready in time.

And you know what? I won't.

That's OK.

I am the only one with expectations. Ridiculously high expectations.

At least there will be Guy's dreamy fudge.

And if it doesn't sell, I can EAT IT. And I won't sneak into the garage to do it, either. No, I will plop my tired butt down in the middle of my unsold wares and gorge myself until my eyes turn

Dark Chocolate and Roasted Pecan brown.

And, heck, whatever doesn't sell can go into my Etsy shop. And then YOU can buy it!!! (Oh, I can hear you now, wishing from afar that my sale does poorly so that you can have a fabulous selection.

Shame on you! If nothing sells at the sale I shall blame you, personally).

(Where are you, anyway? I will need your address so that I can come and shake my finger at you.)

If you are nearby, please come.

I hear there will be fudge samples.

I will also be offering prints of my four temple paintings; Salt Lake, San Diego, Sacramento and Oakland. For those of you who don't understand the fascination that "Mormons" (or members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) have with temples, I can explain it simply. In the same way people of many faiths look to symbols to remind them of their commitment to God, we look to our temples as a reminder of our devotion to God and our commitment to the promises we have made to Him.

It's a First!

2011-11-10T00:35:00.000-08:00

I am so excited

to announce my first (hopefully annual) art sale!!!

I have invited 6 lovely ladies to join me

to sell their wares, and this is just a little of what will be available

for your holiday buying delight:

Paintings, pottery, hand-painted silk scarves, fudge (by Guy), jewelry, temple prints,

handmade cards, key fobs, baby items, hair bows and flowers, vinyl wall hangings,

(even chair massages to melt away holiday stress)

and so much more!

Stay posted in the coming days for previews of some of the things I will be selling. If you are in the Sacramento area, comment on this post to get location and other details!

Hope you can come!!!

An Art House

2011-11-06T15:47:00.000-08:00

We live in an art house.

Art is a huge part of our lives.

It is how we pass the time.

Sometimes it is how we communicate.

It is definitely how we express our emotions.

We eat off of hand made pottery. We draw and paint for each other. We sew, felt, paint, sculpt, carve, mosaic and "throw" (that's the term for making pottery on the wheel) our gifts and offerings to the world.

You might say we eat, drink, and sleep art.

And last night, we dressed it.

Or rather, Jonah did. He dipped my socks into the clay water.

After he dropped all of my almonds into it.

There are a lot of things about our lives that I wish we did better. I think people who have the courage to ditch their TV completely are super-crunchy and way cool. We turn on the boob tube and sit all square-eyed way too often. And then there is the sugar thang. It is my bestest-best friend on woesome days. I won't say that a good mother would trade her kids Halloween haul for granola bars and trail mix, but she might not let them eat 2 lbs of it in 6 days (did I say I did that? No, I did not.)

(I did that).

But in this one thing, I am tickled mauve.

My children are artists.

I have not taught them much. If they were fish, I would let them swim in clean water. If they were rabbits I would set them free in a meadow. But they are children, so I let them loose in the studio.

They are creators to their very cores.

Last night as I sat at the potter's wheel singing along to the song Guy was playing on the piano, I felt a rush of joy that I have had the blessing of the arts in my life. Soon the kids were all around me asking questions and poking fingers into wet clay. And even though Jonah used my socks as mops, he also stood next to me for an entire hour while I worked. I gave him a tool and a lump of clay and he dug away at it with glee.

As part of the homeschool philosophy that we follow,

there are principles that I am learning to embrace. Right now, my favorite is:

"Inspire not Require"

It is sort of the "If you build it, they will come" principle. And it is all about mom and dad modeling a joy for learning and the habit of being anxiously engaged in life. We can't force another person to learn anything, but if they are inspired, they will fall all over themselves to learn.

I don't know if any of my kids will grow up to make art for a living,

but I know they will all be artists.

They already are.

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up."

Pablo Picasso

Candy Quote of the week

2011-11-03T22:05:00.000-07:00

"That Baby Ruth was naaaasty!

I had to eat two Milky Ways

just to get the taste out o my mouth."

Boo! A Halloween Album

2011-11-02T20:42:00.000-07:00

Adam with a beard of wool and Karo syrup glue.

It is that time of year again.

So busy. So fun. So stressful.

I love Halloween. My kids are thrilled by homemade costumes and the promise of all the candy their gullets will hold. There is no disappointment. I don't even make them ruin their costumes by wearing sweaters (not that they needed them in the balmy 74 degree evening). They are sugar junkies and I, for one glorious night, am Mother of the Year. I guess you could say that is my costume. It will be shed in the coming days as the pumpkins rot and the good candy is all gone.

Then I will just be mom again.

Stressbucket-before-Christmas Mom.

If I were in charge if things (not that I really want that job), Thanksgiving would be at the end of the school year (now that is a time to be grateful for!) and Christmas would be in September, after a nice long summer of prep time.

Alas, the winter cometh.

Short days with long shadows.

Heavy grey skies and soggy tennis shoes.

I guess Halloween is my last hurrah

before the world strips down to her skivies

and leaves me feeling as cold and drab as wet cement.

What a fright.

Can I book your vacation for you?

Hazel and Tink, from Watership Down and Peter Pan, the books we are currently reading. I love it that the kids are finding new heros through our homeschool adventures.

Handsome soldier or burly super-hero... how is a girl to choose?

I made this awesome straight jacket (complete with leather straps on the back) and mask for Ethan. It was good for a whole week of bribery. And I quote, "I'm sorry son, but if you don't get your chores done,

I will not be able to finish your straight jacket for you."

It warms the cockles of a mother's heart to see her baby boy

decked out as a serial killer.

* Sigh * weep *, that's my boy!

I learned one thing this year...

linoleum carving tools rock for pumpkin carving!

And now for something truly scary...

That is the "you must hold me now!" cry.

I don't know what this is, but it cracks me up every time I see it.

Candy Corn Soup. Yes, I put candy in the soup. I rock, that's why.

(it is not entirely made of candy corn, but of yams and bacon, but don't tell my kids!)

"So let me get this straight... we go up to the door,

knock, and then we don't go in? But I want to go in!

And you expect me NOT to eat every piece of candy as soon as they hand it to me?

What's the point here, people?"

~Mind reading quote from Jonah, the one legged lion.

OK kids... time to go Trick or... wait a minute... is that...???

my husband?!?!

Looks like more than one wild animal was on the lose Halloween night.

Too bad you can't see the back of his shirt. It reads:

"Grandma Lila's Childcare

555-HOME".

Now that's scary.

Gone Fishing

2011-10-29T00:58:00.000-07:00

I have been fishing.

Fishing things out of the trash.

And out of a 14 month old's mouth.

And out of the toilet.

Awesome.

And super gross.

We are at a new and delightful phase, it's called,

"Steal mom's glasses then see how fast I can run".

It is made all the more precious by the

"Now I can open the screen door to go visit the neighbors" stage (terrifying!).

More award winners include the "Konk the dog with jumbo legos",

the "Sit on sister's head when I get the chance"

and my all-time fave,

the "Remove my poopie diaper and make a fast get-away".

So. Awesome.

(Should I take it personally that the boy threw the mom doll into the john?)

Pilgrimage

2011-10-25T00:48:00.000-07:00

October may be my favorite month of the year. It brings cool evenings, red and gold leaves, and our annual pilgrimage to Sonoma County for Artrails.

We have been making this sojourn since Ethan was toddling, and as passing years brought more kidlets to our fam, we schlepped them all, each year, to see art. Some artists loved it that we bring our spring-offs, but some were visibly horror stricken. I'd call out "Art hands!" and the youngins would plunge busy hands into pockets or fold their arms snugly across their chests. Still, it was getting a little hard to enjoy the art, what with all of the car squabbles and "she's-touching-me!"s. So this year we farmed the littler pumpkins out and took just Ethan -because he likes art- and Jonah -because he likes breast milk.

It was a feast for the soul, as always.

And we were able to visit with artists we have come to call friends,

some who have known us since Ethan was Jonah's age.

Which brings me to Ethan.

(Pause and sigh with me.)

We got to the studio of a wood turner who immediately took Ethan under his wing, flipped the switch on the lathe, and handed Ethan a sharp tool, earning him the status of Ethan's new best friend. Ethan worked for over 20 minutes, only stopping when we dragged him away, but not before the artist told us about free wood turning lessons given by a master wood turner in our area. I was so excited for Ethan.

On the way back to the van, I had the following conversation with him:

"So, how cool was that?"

"That was AWESOME!"

"Well, what do you think about taking those free lessons in Sac? You should totally do it!"

"Nah."

"What? Why? I though you loved it."

"I did, but I just don't want lessons."

"But why?"

"I don't want someone telling me what to do."

Of course he doesn't. He's Ethan.

And now I understand more about the boy. Scratch that; the young man. He is like his papa. He must figure things out on his own, even if it makes his life hard and complicated and miserable sometimes. When Guy was a kid he refused to let his mom teach him the piano. Instead, he wrestled with the music all alone, and if she tried to help, he would stand up and walk away. I, on the other hand will pick the brains of anyone who will hold still (Nice image, huh?). If I see someone doing something that I want to learn, I fearlessly ask them to teach me. I have learned how to do lawn mower repair, sculpture mold-making, rose bush pruning, and soon we're learning to make cheese, all because I have cat-like curiosity and a frighteningly low level of stranger-danger. Despite our differences, there is no conflict between Guy and I because he's pretty much done learning stuff, old dog and all, and because I have learned not to make suggestions anymore while he is driving.

So, note to self: Ethan must be his own teacher.

Now that I know it, I just have to remember it.

I learned something about me on this trip, too. As we wandered the studios, we saw vast, organized spaces and tiny nooks, some sparse, some not. But the one that really got my creative juices flowing was a teeny-tiny studio in the back of an old building. The ceiling was low, and natural light poured in through the windows from a quiet alleyway. The artist was humble and kind and cheerful. But what I loved most were her storage shelves. They were tightly packed, roughly organized, and dimly lit. I felt like I was in an Indiana Jones movie, surrounded by dusty relics and rusty treasures.

It was purely inspiring. But probably only to me.

I have been in a perpetual fight with the clutter in my studio, thinking that it "should" be different; tidier, more organized, prettier somehow. Buy guess what? I found out that I am not inspired in a space like that.

It turns out that the space I have may just be the perfect one for me.

So, two points for me.

I learned that:

I shouldn't try to teach anything to Ethan

and

that a crowded and cluttered studio is where I find my muse.

Well, that just cleared my calendar.

I wonder what I will do with my Tuesday?

Today

2011-10-19T20:40:00.000-07:00

Today I....

Did level three. With heavier weights. Take that, Jillian Michaels.

Acted as a human earth-mover for 2 hours at Kathy's. Next week it's my yard's turn.

Delivered 4 jars of home-canned apple pie filling made yesterday, along with Spanish notes from yesterday's Spanish Lunch. 10 kids, Spanish and 20 lbs of apples, all at my house. I deserve the Manzana Award (that's apple, for you uni-linguals in the crowd).

Read two chapters of Watership Down to Addy. Heavenly snuggles. The girls have lost interest. Just when it was getting good.

Did school with the kids. It's a work in progress, when there is any.

Washed 2 loads.

Changed 3 poopie diapers in as many hours. Well, one was more of a rescue than a change, as the diaper was already off and a little voice announcing "Uck!" called my attention to the diaper-digger.

Baths for baby: 2. Diaper total as of 8PM: 7.

Kept my cool on the outside while I secretly burst a vein in my head dealing with Ethan's constant crap.

Did a load of dishes. Only got through half of the apple-canning dishes. The night is still young.

Swept.

Bagged up fridge magnets. I am done using them as ice skates on the kitchen floor.

Found the chess pieces stuffed into a sculpture. Packed them up, too.

Rescued one tomato and one apple moments too late from Mr. Uck.

Dealt with plumbing on the rental I manage. Stupid plumbing.

Cooked apples that didn't survive the canning process.

Sorted, swept, and reorganized the studio. 10% done.

Sat on the floor in said studio and cried for about 4 minutes. Received pep-talk from Guy for 15 more. Got back to work.

Shared: 1 grilled cheese, 1 rice stick, 1 banana, 1 helping of cinnamon apples and most of my rice and beans with the bottomless-boy (not all at once!).

Sat on the floor and played a rousing game of peek-a-boo...

8:07 PM - Self-extrapolated poopie diaper #4, bath #3. Gotta go.

Post Edit: 9:15 PM - Make that 5 poopie diapers.

Reminders

2011-10-13T21:42:00.000-07:00

I was on call for almost two weeks, which is pretty average. The difference this time was that the expectant couple who hired me as their doula did so when they were already three days past their due date.

At the 42 week mark, tests were run, concerns were raised, and the decision was made to set the ball in motion, and by ball, I mean baby. I don't usually head off to provide labor support until there is actually some sort of labor happening -a watched mamapot never contracts- but when a mama is 4 centimeters dilated before she even goes into labor, there is always the off chance that baby will fly out in an hour or two. Besides, a pitocin induction,-strapped to monitors and IVs and stuck in a miserable bed -could be used to extract information from foreign spies. Successfully. So I went.

I helped with this birth even though I still have a nursling. Guy brought Jonah to the hospital so that I could feed him at about the 9 hour mark, but baby wouldn't be born for another 11 hours.

Sometime in between, I looked up at the dry erase board at the date.

October 7th.

Ten years to the day since my first miscarriage. I looked back over to the laboring mama and felt myself smiling. Funny how life just keeps going. I thought about the pain that date used to hold for me, but now as I watched this first-time mother-about-to-be as she welcomed the pains that would bring her baby to her arms, I felt only gratitude - that I could be there to help her, that I have had three healthy kidlets

since my October 7th, and that,

all in all,

life is good.

The baby came the next day. I was tired, but couldn't, absolutely could not, complain. I got to witness a life begin. I was blessed to see a family come into being. I had the opportunity to lend my hands to help. How often in a day do you get to say that? I went home later that day, took a little nap, and then dove right back into my life.

Well, maybe I stumbled groggily, but happily, nonetheless.

I love being a mom. I love my adorable husband. Sadly, I need reminders, like seeing a sweet, shiny little family with that new baby smell, to help me look past boogers wiped on walls and uneaten sack lunches shoved into the backs of closets (I know, nice, huh?). But it is also good to remember those days that we thought we would never be able to live through - the ones so full of anguish and heartache that next week and next month seemed insurmountable - just to realize that life goes on.

Joy returns,

kids fight,

babies are born,

and boogers

get wiped on walls.

See Above

2011-10-04T00:12:00.000-07:00

Mom at age 28, from a photo I found this week in a box.

I've been lookin'
at my neck lately.

Blame late night infomercials with 50 year old former super-models that look all hot and perky. I seem to have lost my perk somewhere (maybe with my cell phone?). My neck is getting all... gross. Loose, and... crinkly. Oh, and when I suck in my belly (besides that it pretty much just laughs at me and says "Whatever, lady.") it gets all puckery. My eye lids no longer retract when I gently brush them with makeup. They just stay there, all crookedy-weird until I push them back into place with my finger. When I look down, besides the fact that I am seeing that my once lovely cleavage (and trust me folks, it was Streisand in Funny-Girl lovely) has begun forking at the top and resembles an aerial view of the Sacramento River delta, now I can also actually feel my double chin as it rides up. Sometimes when I blink, one of my eye lids just skips the whole folding-up thing and just droops onto my eyelashes. It's night of the living dead over here, ladies, and that's at 8AM. Add a hump to my back and I'm ready for Halloween.

When did this all happen? I mean, duh, I know I'm not 20. Or 30. Or 40... (ouch. That one hurt.). I'm just saying, when the heck did I grow up? I look at Ethan and I remember 14 like it was September (which I am lucky to remember at all. Let's just stick with the body though, the memory thing is a whole other post). It happened one insidious little wrinkle at a time, each wrinkle with a corresponding moment. And the moments are popping up more often than the weird hairs that are showing up in the general lady-beard area:

While cleaning out the fridge at 6PM on Saturday night, I was anxious to finish so that I could get in one more load of laundry.

My favorite songs, the ones that really rocked my Kazbah, are now being used in mop commercials.

Talk Radio. I mean, seriously, when did I start caring about my retirement?

I found myself in a conversation about aches and pains, and dude, I was winning.

I made a file for coupons. Oh, honey, it gets worse. I am getting excited about shopping sales with coupons.

I seriously considered buying some Spanx. And I thought nothing could be worse than my skirted one-piece bathing suit.

I complained that the skirt on my one-piece isn't quite long enough.

I no longer shave above the knees (see above).

I got a zit in a wrinkle. Seriously?

My nursing bra is currently the sexiest bra I own. Oh, well, wait, there is my jogging bra; nothing says sexy like a uni-boob. I better get back to ya' with this one.

I could have been my doctor's babysitter. That one just sucks.

I got excited about the fact that my gray hair is clearly the "silver" kind, not that dull yellowish stuff. I wonder what pastel shade I will choose?

I have a garage full of total crap. That doesn't happen over night, people.

I could have ice cream right now, but I won't, even though I want some. That part of being a grown-up is just lame.

Even though I work out every day, I still look 3 months pregnant. Ok, four. Five... oh, shut up.

I don't know any singer's names on the radio.

I kinda don't care (see above).

My son accused me of listening to froofey music on the radio and I couldn't argue with him because (you know the drill, see above).

The newlywed couple at church seriously looks like they are both twelve.

I am planning my Saturdays around things like garage sales, soccer games and yard work.

I don't like roller-coasters anymore. And frankly, the whole wait-in-line-two-hours for a ride just ain't worth it, what with my aches and pains (see abov... never mind).

I used to want to lose weight so that I would look like I used to. Now I am afraid that if I do, I will just look like the saggy-baggy elephant. Oh, and it is no longer about looking hot, it's about not embarrassing my kids.

***

Not long ago I wiped the makeup smudges from under my eyes and Ethan leaned in real close and stared at me from about an inch away.

"You. Are. OOOOOOLD." He said flatly.

A week or so later he let me know that
the pores on my face are "becoming giant holes."

"Look," I said, "It's all down hill from here, kid. You better get used to it, cause this is as good as I'm ever gonna look again. *So DEAL*."

Sound, and rather depressing advice.

I know... I hear you.

*see above*.

With Age Comes Wisdom

2011-10-01T15:59:00.000-07:00

"Grils use hairspray

and boys use jello

to get their hair nice and pretty."

"You know what? Once I was four I went into the baffroom to go potty

and I shut and locked the door and then I was playing wiff hairspray."

"So you lied?"

"Yes, I was four."

Someone to Watch Over Him

2011-09-28T19:51:00.000-07:00

Jonah has a shadow. A four foot, 10 inch shadow. Pretty much since Jonah-boy started stomping around on those ham-hocks of his, Addy has been close at his heals. He is actually a lot like a mama with that whole crazy radar that makes their ears prickle as soon as baby gets near a flight of stairs. Jonah finds something delightfully chokable, and Adam is there making him spit it out. Jonah wanders more than ten feet in any direction in a public setting, there is Adam, shepherding him back to safety. He can hear Jonah cry even before I do after nap time. It's a gift. And a curse.

Poor Adam has gotten so concerned about Jonah's safety that he is a little paralyzed by it.

"Are you watching Jonah, Mom?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah, it's kinda my job." I say

"I'm just worried..." he says. Worried that Jonah will fall and get really hurt.

Worried that he will choke, bonk, scrape...

It's sweet and a little worrisome in and of itself. I don't like seeing Adam so fretful. But I am grateful that Jonah has someone to watch over him the way Adam does. I am sure it will take on many forms as the years go by. I picture Adam teaching Jonah how to kick a soccer ball, rescuing him from a tree, and telling him knock-knock jokes. Oh, I can't wait! There is nothing better than the knock-knock jokes of a three year old.

Yup, Adam is my wing man.

It sure makes my job easier, because let me tell you, it is such a chore looking after this yummy, chubby, squishy-soft, hugs-you-back-baby. I am completely put out by it. Really. It is just entirely too exhausting gobbling on him day in and day out. My pucker is all sore from kissing him under his double chin, my cheeks are fatigued from smiling all the time, and then there is all the peek-a-boo and tickling. It's just too much.

Honestly, I'm suffering.

Holding My Breath

2011-09-24T22:40:00.000-07:00

Jonah has had a few seizures since we got back from our trip, most being what I call "Blip Seizures" because they really only last a moment, just long enough for his eyes to roll up into his head and his body to go stiff for one second, and then it is over.

Tonight was a little different. Tonight Ethan accidentally bonked Jonah-boy's head on the door jam and it set him off pretty badly. He bellowed and then was silent, but steadily turning blue. It went on and on, mouth open wide, face becoming a deeper and deeper blue. I always wait for the breath that will make it all stop and bring back the wailing, which is somehow blissful once it starts back up. When his eyes roll back, I know that the ride has begun. "Here it goes" I find myself saying. This time his eyes rolled back for several seconds, and though he began to make crying sounds, he also began seizing. His arm shot out from his side and his little body tensed and jerked in my arms. The whole thing probably only lasted 10 seconds before he went completely limp, but he was pale and still wasn't breathing. I blew in his face and he took a small breath, but remained motionless, limp and blanched. Three times I blew on him to get him to breathe, and finally he roused and began to cry.

I am finding that each time it happens, I am holding my breath,

waiting for him to come back.

I hate it.

(A quick nap on the stairs)

Sweet Little Prayers

2011-09-22T22:15:00.000-07:00

12 AM: Tessa wanders out of her

room for the 4th time, sick to her tummy, feeling like she may give us

a dramatic re-enactment of dinner-in-reverse.

Also, she had the sniffles.

"Baby, what are you doing?"

"I need to find a quiet place to say a sweet little prayer so to make me

not be anymore sick, but you keep making all that noise."

(I wish I can hear her words, but from the hall I can only hear her tiny voice

murmuring as she kneels beside her bed negotiating

with the Great Almighty for her health).

12:15 AM: Tessa is on the toilet crying.

"I am just not ready!"

"For what, baby?"

"I think I am just not ready to be very sick."

12:17 AM: She does the dry-heave fake-out,

her expression, one of shock that her body has betrayed her.

"My heart is like a drum, like someone is beating it hard."

12:30 AM, after a battle over taking some medicine

("But what if it taste-is nasty?"), she compromises and allows me to give her some homeopathic remedies. Her legs have fallen asleep

from being on the pot so long.

"Do you feel better?"

"Well, I don't feel great-great, because it feels like

it's getting my foot squished because it's asleep."

At least something is getting some sleep around here.

No Way to Treat a Friend

2011-09-21T10:27:00.000-07:00

My kids get a cute church

magazine called The Friend.

This is what happens when you leave your Friend

in the bathroom with Jonah.

At this very moment, he has my electric toothbrush in his mouth.

Yum. Can't wait to use it again.

Yesterday, he pulled a poopy diaper off the counter

and spilled it's grass-green, marble-like contents on the floor.

Last night while I was silk painting, he grabbed my brush-rinsing cup

by the handle and dispersed it's colorful contents on the floor.

And earlier this week I walked into the kitchen to find him standing

on the kitchen table like he was up on stage, joyously devouring a pear.

Babies rock.

A Thousand Words

2011-09-20T00:32:00.000-07:00

It hardly seems possible

that September is more than half gone. There is a funny nip in the air at night, and more and more leaves each day on the patio from the mulberry trees. The kids keep asking me to take them swimming, and even though the 10-day forecast calls for high nineties, I know I had better do it soon. It feels like Halloween will soon be ringing my doorbell and saying "trick-or-treat!"

And it seems it can't be a whole year since the last time Francine was here, but it was. She came to see Jonah-boy be born, to rub my back and smile at me and tell me how strong I was. Now he is tumbling along on fat, dirty feet and jabbering like a blue jay. It has indeed been too, too long.

Francine arrived last weekend with baskets full of goodies - organic farmer's market finds; white peaches and nectarines, raw pasta sauce from her own garden (can I say "wow!"???), fresh brick-oven bread and garlic butter, and astonishingly, gluten-free ravioli, though she had no idea about Tessa's new diet. She even brought dessert - a gorgeous hand-made blackberry pie, "The lady at the farmers market said she picked the berries just yesterday. Her recipe won the gold ribbon at the fair." Francine told us.

It was a gold ribbon meal all the way around.

The whole evening had an air about it, a sort of "just right" feeling, like comfy old shoes. But there were times, many of them, when things sort of fell apart, as old shoes do. The kids fought, Ethan dodged work - and my camera, the dog was under-foot and the kid's manners were often under-par. I have learned not to feel embarrassed around Francine - she truly accepts us with all of our familial flaws. And let me tell you, we were exceptionally flawed on this particular night.

As I looked at the pictures from that evening, in my mind I could see all of those moments in between them. The fuss Tessa made when I tried to take "just one more" picture, Ethan filling his mouth with water and spitting it in a grand spray all over his brother, the setting sun right in our eyes, the flies and mosquitoes, my fretting over messes being made and time marching too swiftly.

I think sometimes as I sit down late at night, like now, to write about our life and our experiences, I find myself doing a lot of editing. Maybe I am trying not to complain. Maybe I want to remember to have gratitude for my blessings. Maybe I don't want to "air my dirty laundry" too much, as my dad would say. I cut out the moments in between, the squabbles and the burned food, the barking at the kids (mine, not the dog's), the times I sit down on the floor and cry because it all seems so overwhelming. And I think, that's not really very fair. I would like my life to be like it is in the pictures, and it is... and it's all of the other things, too.

I freely confess at this very moment, that I have bellowed the phrase "I AM NOT THE MAID!!!" not once, but twice this week. I have changed 3-6 diarrhea diapers a day for four days. I have eaten half of a container of chocolate frosting all by myself. I don't know where my cell phone is, again. And there are - count 'em- SIX laundry baskets sitting in front of me on the floor right now. I worry about my kids. I hate being broke. I dread that my skin is changing, that parts of me are drooping, and that if I stop dyeing my hair I will look like the bride of Frankenstein. My garage looks like a box store threw up in it, and was then hit by a cyclone of bikes, recycling and baby clothes in trash bags.

Oh, yeah, and I have three overdue library books.

I don't suppose I have a moral here. If I were Maya Angelou I would find a poem in it all. But I am just a regular mom, trying to live the gospel, trying to keep a clean house and to raise good honest people to send out into the world. I am trying to overcome my short temper, my big mouth and my sweet tooth.

I am flawed, but I try to hide it.

I guess that's why I am the one who takes all the pictures.

It is easier (to hide) on this side of the camera.

Gardenias from Francine; the first of many gifts.

After many tries, I finally get a genuine smile from Ellie.

A feast, garnished with edible flowers by Tessa-loo.

Is it my imagination...

...or is everyone looking at me funny?

See the flower in her hair? That means Tessa was here.

That's quite a scrumptious dish. The pie looks good too.

I can see Francine's love for my children

reflecting back at her in their faces.

You can keep your durn'ol genetic relatives...

We have adopted a grandma that jumps

on the trampoline with our kids!

Early Autumn

2011-09-17T02:05:00.000-07:00

A crispness has come to the morning air, and though fall hasn't officially arrived, Autumn has, in all her splendor. Only 11 months ago my dear friend Ruth said goodbye to her stillborn babe, little Rhys, who passed away at full term while she was in labor with him. In the time since, we have all been strengthened and awed by her grace as she tenderly grieved. Shortly after Rhys left this world, another little being came to occupy that same womb, and just two weeks ago Autumn Faith was born. She came earlier than planned, surprising us all, but none more than her mama. She was a perfect 6 pounds 7 ounces. I got to hold her, and I felt like she might just slip right through the crack between my arm and my chest. When my children were that size, they were 7 month fetuses! Oh, she is so itty bitty and sweet.

Ruth has been so amazing and brave through out all of this. It was not an easy pregnancy as she learned to live with the loss of her baby boy, then learned she would soon have a baby girl. She has been an example of patience and true faith. And now her waiting is over, her little girl is here safe and sound, and perhaps now, there is some portion of her heart that can rest.

A new mother's heart is tender. It is an open wound, a bubbling spring, a nest. How much more so is true for Ruth, who holds such a precious harvest in her hungry arms.

Early Autumn. Early Thanksgiving.

Just minutes old. Welcome to the world, little one.

It just became a much better place!

Oh, my gosh, don't you just want to gobble her up? As my mother used to say:

"Please pass the baby!"

Can you say Glu-ten?

2011-09-14T19:44:00.000-07:00

God Job!

Now, can you say

Glu-ten free?

So about a month before our big trip, Tessa began complaining of a hurting tummy.

The complaints went from weekly,

to daily,

to many times a day,

to all darn day.

The doctor ran tests. She was a trouper, and never even flinched when they took five vials, or as she tells anyone who will listen, "five bottles!" of blood. Double stickers for the brave one. They said they have grown men who can't do what she did. But when all the tests came back on blood work and other *a-hem* bodily excretions, all were:

negative.

Good, I guess. And not. Then what is hurting my little girl?, I needed to ask.

"Maybe it's Irritable Bowel Syndrome" says our pediatrician, who, up till then I had liked. "Go look it up on the Internet and you will find all kinds of information and helpful hints."

You are kidding me, right? How many times have I been scolded by thems wiff high-falutin' medical degrees for my looking online for answers.

Besides that, my Mom-dar (that's Mommy Radar, of course) went off right away.

It ain't IBS. I hate to say it, but...

I knew it in my gut.

Then, via answer-to-prayer mail,

an inspiration came;

What if it's gluten?

Easy enough to check for. We took her off gluten.

Three days and not-one-complaint later, I asked her how her tummy was doing.

"Fine, ah'cept for when you gave me that cookie."

Oh, yeah. I forgot and gave her a cookie. Good job, Mom.

It's been almost 3 weeks now, and (almost) no complaints.

Plus, she loves it that she gets special food just for her.

We put it in her "Tessa Cupboard".

It makes her feel pampered.

For now.

She knows, now, how to look for "wheat" in the ingredient label,

where to find the allergy information, and how to read the words,

"gluten free".

Yesterday was my birthday. In the car the day before she spoke up.

"So, tomorrow is yer birffday, huh?" Very matter-of-fact like.

"Yup." Sez I.

"How old ya' gonna be?" she asks, all casual, like she's asking what's my sign.

"Twenty-eight" comes my standard annual reply.

"Oh," she says, hardly listening, then moving right along,

"so I was thinking, maybe we should have a gluten-free cake,

'cuz it would be sad if some people in our family couldn't have

birffday cake on some people's birffday."

Yeah, I think she is going to be just fine!

Tribute

2011-09-12T01:02:00.000-07:00

When I got up that morning the boys had already turned on the TV. They were on this funny kick of watching the Spanish station, so as I came into the room, I wasn't quite sure exatly what I was seeing. A wall of smoke swallowed people who were running, and buildings disappeared into it. An excited voice chattered away, and though I am fluent in Spanish, I could only make out a few words; explosion, fire, smoke, planes...

I called Melissa and asked what on earth was happening.

"Oh, my gosh, you don't know? They flew planes into the World Trade Center."

I sat on the floor in front of our 13 inch TV and watched in horror as what she told me began to make the images more terrible than what they had already been.

I just sat there and wept.

I didn't know what to do. I called my mother.

Dad answered.

I asked him, Did he know? Had he heard?

"Cut the tears," he said, "it's not happening to you."

That's just Dad's way of detaching from it all.

And he was wrong, because it was happening to us, all of us.

Of course, not like it was for them. But still...

I wanted my little boys, just 4 and 2 years old, to remember that day somehow.

We sat and made little red, white blue lapel pins out of ribbon and we

filled a basket with them, then walked around handing them to strangers.

Some people refused to take them, not really understanding what we were doing and why. Most met our gazes, smiled and thanked us, and somehow we felt each other's hurt and soothed each other a little bit. One man offered us money for the pins. I told him that we didn't want money, we just wanted to connect with people in our community that were feeling as shaken and confused as we were. I told him I needed my boys to know what a blessing it is to live in this country. He thanked me, and then shook they boy's hands, and accepted a lapel pin from one of them.

They were too little to be told about all of the horror. I only told them that bad people had hurt some Americans, and that we should pray for them, and we did, that night and every night for months.

I still weep when I think about that day, those people who lost everything, and the way our country has been changed because of it. But I am proud of the way it unified us as a nation, and made us stand up for our flag and our freedom like we hadn't done in a long time.

"Love your country. Your country is the land where your parents sleep, where is spoken that language in which the chosen of your heart, blushing, whispered the first word of love; it is the home that God has given you that by striving to perfect yourselves therein you may prepare to ascend to him." ~Giuseppe Mazzini

How Super Heros Spend the Weekend

2011-09-11T01:41:00.000-07:00

Everybody sing with me!:

"Spiderman! Spiderman!

Sleeps where ever a spider can!

Naps on socks,

all the time

with princess gems

it's a crime

Look out! Don't step on Spiderman!"

Have you ever sent your child to clean up their

(if you don't clean up this) room (I'm going to throw it all away!) ???

Do your angel children try your (I'm loosing my) patience

by, instead of cleaning (I swear, I am setting the timer) their room

(is such a mess I'm gonna come in there with a bag, I'm NOT KIDDING!)

they begin playing?

That NEVER happens

around here... (...I come! Time's up!

What ever is left on the floor is going to GOODWILL!)

His Way

2011-09-06T17:54:00.000-07:00

I didn't expect much.

I have learned not to. When Ethan left this morning, his kiss barely

hit my cheek before he was out the door.

"Have a great first day of High School!" I called.

"Uhhh." he faintly replied before the front door slammed.

I couldn't help letting my mind trip back over the years.

When I picked Ethan up from his first day of kindergarten and enthusiastically asked,

"How was your day, son?!?"

he had frowned and barked, "I ain't tellin' you."

Emphasis on you.

So when Ethan trudged up the walk late this afternoon, black pants, black shirt with the Jolly Rodger on it, black back pack dangling, I didn't expect much.

Nonetheless, I still asked, with all the enthusiasm of 9 years ago,

and none of the expectations.

"How was your first day?"

"Alright I guess. I'm tired. I don't feel good."

It all tumbled out of his mouth in one continuous stream, and before I could say anything he was through the screen door and into the house. Guy came up the walk then as I called behind Ethan with a tease,

"Nice to see you too, son! Thanks for the kiss hello!"

"I'll kiss ya!" Guy smiled.

He told me fragments of what he had been able to wrestle from Ethan

on the way home from school in the car.

I finished up my yard work and headed inside.

I found Ethan curled up on the love seat in the den trying to fall asleep before we could make him do anything, like chores or homework, or - heaven forbid- talk. I plopped Jonah onto his back (he never gets mad at Jonah for waking him). He rolled over and told me he thought it would be cool to "sleep forever". I asked about first period, then second, and so on. Each time he started with, "I don't remember", but eventually a little of his day leaked out between quips of sarcasm and exaggeration. No, he hadn't made any friends. Yes, a lot of other kids brought lunch from home. And surprisingly, when asked if he had any lame teachers, the answer was a simple, "no". He had overheard a senior talk about him to a friend, "That kid looks mad", and thought it was funny. He did his best scowly face at me and grrr-ed like a pirate, then laughed.

I will hear more about his day over the coming hours.

The big picture will take shape slowly over days.

It's not the easiest way to communicate, but it's Ethan's way.

Boys and Girls

2011-09-04T00:43:00.000-07:00

So, I may be a really bad mom,

but I'm afraid I don't listen to Barney or hymns in my car. I listen to rock.

Hence, so do my kids.

Ethan's first sing-along was to a song by Shawn Mullins called Lullaby. I can still hear his gravelly little voice singing "Rrrrrrrock-a-bye!"

Adam sang along to Coldplay's Yellow.

For Ellie it was Weezer and Beverly Hills. Some how she was hearing a little voice saying "Honey! Honey!" We have never figured out what they are actually saying, so I love Ellie's version.

The other day Tessa was busy doing "stuff" (I really have no idea what she was doing,

I am also not super observant. Bad, bad mom!) and singing her latest fave,

Hey Baby by No Doubt. You know the one;

"Hey ba-by, hey ba-by, hey! Girls say! Boys say!"

At one point in the song, Tessa, in her best imitation of a reggae voice,

spoke her version of a tag, "And the boys and the girls in the back!"

Then she suddenly stopped singing and said, "Hey mom?"

"Yes?"

"If the boys and the girls are in the back,

who's driving?"

Almost as good as the time Ethan heard

"Gloria, Hosanna!"

and was heard to be singing

"Hurry up, old fella".

That's ok. Today in the car when "Pour Some Sugar on Me"

by Def Leppard came on the radio, Guy confessed he used to sing,

"Awesome, shoot the hombre!"

It must run in the family.

One: Amazing Year!

2011-09-01T21:31:00.000-07:00

What can I say?

Life is full of contradictions.

Like when you swear you will never:

get a facebook account,

dye your hair,

use a glue gun...

As promised, here in living color, is 15 minutes in pictures

of Jonah discovering the joys of sugar, chocolate and Blue #5.

"Aha, what is this technicolor delight?"

"Alright, I'll try it, but just a taste..."

"Sacre bleu! Zis is incre'able!"

"Ok, if you insist, but just one more bite..."

"Did you say, "Dig right in"? Well, okay..."

"It's sweet, it's squishy... it's a sensory extravaganza!"

"People just don't understand my art."

"My hair? Oh, you know, dah'ling, nothing special. Baby shampoo,

a little tear free conditioner, and about a pound o' yuuuuummm."

"Can you believe they plan to destroy this masterpiece by giving me a bath?"

If you have ever read more than a few of my posts, you know, of course, of my utter thrill at having Jonah boy in our lives. I am so blessed to have been given the privilege of sharing my life with this peaceful being. When Jonah had that horrid seizure a few days before his birthday, I spent several hours in the familiar fear that we might lose him, and in the time since it has served as a reminder to be ever grateful.

If you have met him, you know what a magical soul he is.

Every single day since his birth, I have whispered in his ear, "I'm so glad you're here." And his being here has made me more grateful for each of my ten-toed blessings. He has brought calmness to Ethan, playfulness to Adam, responsibility to Ellie, maturity to Tessa, tenderness to Guy, and to me?

Pure, chocolaty joy.

A final thought...

2011-08-31T00:48:00.000-07:00

While we were in Salt Lake City

we visited the temple visitor's center there. In a beautiful central room

surrounded by a mural of the universe stands an amazing

sculpture of Jesus Christ.

When we came up the ramp to see it, the girls got very excited.

Tessa asked, "Mama, can we touch it?"

I knew that she wouldn't be allowed to, but I just didn't have the heart

to be the one to tell her. "Why don't you ask that man over there" I said,

pointing to the older gentleman with a name tag on that stood nearby.

I guess I sort of expected her not to do it, because I was surprised

when she marched right up to him and asked,

"Can we touch it?"

"You sure can!" he said sweetly.

The girls hurried over to the sculpture and each in turn stretched a small hand up

to the only part of the sculpture they could reach; the foot,

more specifically, the big toe on the right foot.

Then, to my surprise, both of the boys also reached out to touch

the foot of the Savior.

It was tender to watch, and it reminded me of another time

when children were let to come to the feet of the Lord.

" But when Jesus saw it, he ...said unto them,

Suffer the little children to come unto me,

and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.

Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive

the kingdom of God as a little a child, he shall not enter therein.

And he took them up in his arms,

put his hands upon them, and blessed them."

~Mark 10, 14-16

Road Trip: The Final (Epic) Post

2011-08-28T18:12:00.000-07:00

If it were only that simple.

(Jonah toddles through Idaho State Penitentiary)

Guy saw that sign and said "The person who made that doesn't have children."

It's so true.

You really can't control your kids. They will do what they will do.

But one thing we found on our trip was how much they could be influenced for good or not, by things around them. With hours in the car and no a la'carte media at their disposal, the kids began to play games with each other and listen to stories read aloud or on CD. We found that our dreaded fears of death and mayhem in the back seat had been unnecessary.

Or we thought they had.

From time to time we would stay at a place that had T.V. or Internet or an Xbox, and amazingly, as soon as we would get in the van after they had been indulging in several hours of "the junk", the kids were at each other's throats. They fought and teased and were impatient and rude.

I'm not kidding you, that stuff is of the devil.

I guess our trip taught me a few things besides the fact that Sponge Bob is evil. I learned that I could be away from people I love for a very long time and upon seeing them, feel like we had never parted. I had reconfirmed to me the importance of family, both immediate and extended.

Aunt Mada and Aunt June... Guy's mother's sister and my mother's sister... what do they have in common besides living in The Great Potato State, the ability to throw down a fabulous spread and to grandma the heck out of kids? They are magically connected to each other by the very fact that the DNA that made each of them is also in my children.

And so begins our final leg of the Family Road Trip. This will be a booty-long ol' post, but that is more for my sake than for yours. I frankly don't expect anyone out there to actually read this to it's belated ending, except maybe Rebekah, who says she always does. So, without further adieu...

From Idaho to Utah!

First stop, Thanksgiving Point and the Dinosaur Museum!

Roooooaaaaarrrr!!!

Then off to my Alma Mater, BYU to show the kids around. We visited the art museum with Guy's very funny nephew Jack and his friend Brian, and what to my wondering eyes...?

My favorite painting of Jesus Christ, no, not a copy, but the 100 year old original!

(By Carl Heinrich Bloch)

Oh, my goodness, I stood there and wept.

I did.

The kids all made fun of me.

The security guard kindly waited until after we took this picture before telling us...

no photos allowed!

Oh, well! I got mine!

From favorite painting to favorite song, we happened into the Wilkinson Center for ice cream and there was a guy playing Claire de Lune on the piano. Oh, to be 5 years old again and not care what anyone would think if I danced around in my ladybug shoes!

It is a simple door on a non-descript building, but it was where I spent most of my time my last year at BYU as I did my final show for the Bachelor of Fine Arts program. I thought my heart would hurt from going through that door, because the last time I had walked through it I had believed I was heading off into a successful career as a fine artist.

But quite the opposite happened. While I do make art, it is not really my "career", but my heart didn't hurt at all as we walked around my old stomping ground. I was so excited to show the studios to my kids, and they began to see me in a whole new way as they saw the foundry, kilns, and large power tools I used to use here. By the end of our day at BYU, all four of the bigger kids, even Ethan, had in some way indicated that they wanted to go there someday for college.

Who knows, maybe one day one of them will load that same kiln.

Sometimes we just had to get out of the van and play!

We got to visit my sister Julie in Herriman which was so wonderful. I am still waiting for the recipe to her fresh fruit salsa. Then "a moment" in our family history occured ... Cousin Jess, now a mother twice over and my parents' oldest grandchild, holds little Jonah, the youngest cousin of the clan.

We met up with my former missionary companion and her kidlets at the Church History Museum. At one point when we were sitting amidst our combined 10 children I whispered in her ear

"Look at all the people we made."

Is he G.Q. or what?

The doors of the Salt Lake Temple

I think one of my favorite moments on our trip was when we visited with Uncle Max. His eyes, fogged with age and dementia, tried to follow the conversations in the room, but it was too hard for him. Then he turned to me and said, "You painted that picture of me with my big fish!". How had he remembered? For the next hour I listened as he told me stories and showed me his hand tied flies. He showed me his favorites; the ones that caught the biggest fish, the ones that were so hard to make that men used to come from 3 counties to buy them from him. It got late and we had to leave, and said so several times, but each time he simply held up another fly and said, "And THIS one..."

I don't imagine I'll ever get to see Uncle Max again, and if I do, he probably won't remember me.

We visited Guy's "little" brother Greg (above) and family, and Jonah thought his cousin Sylvia, 2 months older than him, was his own personal dolly. We also got to spend some wonderful time with Guy's sweet Aunt Penny and super fun cousin Katie. I guess I was having so much fun I forgot to even take a picture of them!

Oops! I guess we have to go back!

Our good friends, Marty and Sarah, opened their home to us for the entire week, and we thrilled at being there with them. I was so moved by their loving example of gentle but firm parenting. They are so consistent with family prayer and scripture study, and I must say that it rubbed off in some small degree. Since we have been home we are trying much harder to gather our family each night to pray and read the scriptures together. Sarah also taught me the fine art of Extreme Couponing! I have already saved $101. So cool.

Now, when I started this "blogety thingy" I swore that I would never,

no,

not ever,

post a picture of one of my kids with food gobbed all over their face.

I guess I lied.

'Cuz oh, my gosh, I think he is so cute. And it was, after all, his birthday. I can't NOT post about his birthday, right? (oh, don't worry, there is more to come. This picture was only taken halfway through his cake carnage!)

One last trip to the skate park before we say goodbye...

then back on the road.

The boy who could walk on water.

The Great Salt Lake.

We told the kids not to get wet. In ten minutes they were all in up to their thighs.

They ended up riding all the way to Winnemucca, Nevada in their skivies.

Is it legal to cross state lines in your underwear?

Well, thanks, all three of you, for hanging in there till the bitter end.

It was a long, long trip, or, as Guy put it, "Five days too long".

He said that 6 days before we went home.

It is good to be home.

Oh, wait. School has started.

Can I go back?

Soap Commercial

2011-08-23T21:49:00.000-07:00

We interrupt

your regularly scheduled Road Trip

to bring you this

partially consumed bar

of delicious soap,

courtesy of Jonah Ryder.

Good thing it was Trader Joe's

all natural Honey Oatmeal bar!

More Road Trip: Visiting Mom's Grave

2011-08-23T01:00:00.000-07:00

My eyes were still swollen due to my woeful departure from Jackie when, despite bumper to bumper L.A.-style traffic in Blackfoot (I know! What's up with that? Blackfoot?? Was there like, a cheese curds sale at the Krogger or something?) we finally pulled into Rexburg on the heals of a summer storm. We gathered up my Aunt June who led the way to the tiny town of Tetonia, 45 minutes to the North. I had not been here in ten years, not since my mother's burial.

When Mom got her diagnosis of terminal lung cancer, she decided that she wanted to be buried in the itty bitty rural cemetery in the shadow of The Grand Tetons where her grandfather was buried.

It was only 3 weeks until she got her wish.

As we drove toward Tetonia, a rainbow appeared on the horizon just above the road, and stayed there the entire way to the cemetery. I pulled onto a little gravel road and drove up the hill until I felt that I might be near her grave. As we got out of the car, the wind whipped and the cold, grey day betrayed mid-summer, and was surprisingly like the cold November day when we had left her there. The first headstone that I laid eyes on was that of a Nielsen, my mother's family. And there, beside it, was my mother's. I surprised myself as I burst into tears at the sight of her name there on the ground, and stranger still, my father's name beside hers, his birth date with no death date.

"Well, I guess I won't see her grave again till you plant me up there beside her."

Dad had said before I left. "Take a posy up there for me."

I sent the kids off to gather wildflowers on the hillside while I chatted with Mom. I told her I missed her and that she had left way too soon. I need my mom, I told her. Her grand kids need her, too. But it is what it is, I sighed, knowing of course, that her spirit was not there.

Then I realized that though her spirit was gone, there was more there than just a stone with her name on it. That though her spirit was far away, her body was right there. The body that had birthed me, and loved me, and tended to me, the one that I remember hugging in all it's plushness, the one that made bread for me and wrote me letters every week on my mission, and held the phone that called me nearly every day.
Right there...sort of.

And then I heaved in a great breath and sobbed. I was sad to leave her there again on another blustery, grey day. I was sad she had left before we had a chance to say some things. I was just... sad. Guy came up and wrapped his arms around me. The kids gathered with their flowers and we made a posy with them. The mood shifted as my men-folk cleared out the weeds and trimmed up the grass around Mom's headstone with Ethan's pocket knives (yes, knives. It's a boy thing). The kids got squirrel-y and a little naughty (have you ever seen a pink satin ghost in a graveyard?). I thought I would feel Mom there, but I didn't.

Guy put his arm across my shoulders and began to dance a jig on mom's grave.

I joined him. Mom would have loved that, and in my heart I could hear her laughing.

The Pink Ghost of Tetonia

More Idaho? How'd ya know?!

Road Trip Part 3: Idaho

2011-08-22T00:21:00.000-07:00

Written from the road, Monday, August 8.

We are flying along an interstate
in Idaho, the earth spreading the gap between Jackie and I, and my heart hurts.

When God looked down 18 years ago and said, “Hmmm, those two girls should probably be roommates", I know He knew that we would be lifelong bosom friends, but he let me figure it out all on my own. I think that, out of kindness, He sedates my heart and mind when we are apart, the way he does to a woman after childbirth that makes her forget some of the intensity and pain she has endured. Only for me, my brain lies to my heart, “Oh, it wasn’t probably as wonderful as you think it was”. Because if I could always feel how wonderful it is to be with her, then I would always hurt as much as I do this minute because we are apart.

Within hours of arriving at Jackie's, our little girls crawled into their metaphoric pea pod together and played and fought like sisters. They flocked back and forth in the yard barefooted, skirts and hair blowing, and I wished I could be them. I can imagine that Jackie and I would have played endlessly in a make-believe world to rival Tolken’s. Instead, we stayed up talking till nearly dawn. But it was more like what I think monks must do high in the Himalayas, some mystic communion that slips from lips in gentle song and chant, an otherworldly sound that makes hearts fall into sync. It is, frankly, impossible and rather pointless to try to catch up on the gulf of years since we last saw each other. It was enough to just let the conversation float along like a leaf on a slow current, caught here and there, then moving on, skuddering along on bubbles of laughter.

We: talked-laughed-ate-cried-talked-cooked-ate-read-played-talked.

We did not sleep.

As I leave Jackie, her image in my mind waving until the rolling hills swallow her up from sight, I really am simply forced to contemplate eternity. How can we doubt that there is a God in His heaven, ever, even on our worst day, when we have been touched by grace in our lives? How can we entertain the weak notion of temporarily-temporal connections, friendships that show up as a blip on the screen of eternity? No. Jackie is my friend for the ages. When this old tired earth heaves great sighs from its ageless spinning, she and I will be laughing in some celestial realm with a hundred generations of our children’s children’s children at our skirt hems listening to our stories.

When we began our goodbyes I burst into tears, just as we both had the moment we laid eyes on each other two days ago. Only Jackie was stoic and brave. I stockpiled hugs from her and then stole one more, like you would if you filled your hands with cookies, and then snatched one more to carry in your teeth. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I had to say, because by saying it, my heart hurt just a tiny bit less.

We told the kids that we will probably just have to stop eating ice cream for a year or so

to save up for another trip. I would do it in a heartbeat,

and if you knew how much I loved ice cream,

you would truly understand.

Jackie and cutie pie Clara

Clara in the tent I made for her... most con-tent!

In this picture I imagine Jackie is explaining to Clara that we simply must

brush out her hair or the birds will likely swoop down and nest in it.

Ethan prepares for what would become his single favorite part

of the entire vacation... riding John's quads. For two hours after we left,

he would randomly exclaim,

"That was awesome!"

"I love quads!"

"Coolest. Day. Ever!"

Adam was like the tortoise, slow and steady.

The Giant Sky of Idaho

Jackie says, "Oh please don't go. We'll eat you up, we love you so!"

Did someone accidentally bump into the wall and dent it?

"Not I!" says Jonah (no, silly... he did not ride the quad! Just a photo-op!).

Could it have been the man behind the mask? I'll never tell!

Tessa and Ellie inform me that they will be room-mates at BYU

with Gracie and Emma, just like Jackie and I. I do believe they will!

Jackie, dear, you quite ruined my trip to Rexburg.

I blubbered for a solid 10 miles, wept bitterly for 4 more and sniffled for another 30 besides.

My eyes were swollen for 3 counties. Honestly, is that any way to treat a guest?

More Idaho to come...

Road Trip Part 2: Washington

2011-08-18T00:10:00.000-07:00

It has been about 13 years

since we last saw Guy's relatives in Washington. That meant that Ethan had to endure a lot of cheek pinching and "my-how-you've-growns" that led to plenty of teenage-groans from him. It was really amazing, though, to be around a close extended family. Guy's Aunt Marilyn and Uncle Jim are raising the fourth generation to live in their beautiful Washington town. It was really inspiring to be in their home surrounded by their grandchildren, food, laughter and music. I know that, like everyone else, their family probably has it's moments and its problems, but they have each other. I loved seeing the grand kids glow in the light of their grandparents eyes. I loved hearing the stories that brought them all together and keep them together.

The house that Guy's grandfather built is still in the family and it was magical to take the kids to see it. "Don't turn on the light!" Adam said as we made our way down the dark basement stairs, "I want it to be all creepy!" The basement is full of simple and carefully made furniture, and grandpa's woodworking tools are still sitting on his work bench. It was a step back in time to see the old coal pit and coal burning furnace, and grandma's old beauty salon hair dryer straight out of Fried Green Tomatoes. We had other special moments, too, like seeing Aunt Beth, and my sister and her husband. There were never enough hours in any given day to see and say all that we wanted to.

My favorite moment came when Jenni's family, gifted with their father's talent for music, sang for us. It was so inspiring to see all of their children playing instruments and singing. I committed in my heart to invest more effort towards my own children's music education.

Our time in Washington was too short, and I wept a little as we left

the special people that we grew to adore in the few days we were there.

This is the kind of moment that cameras were invented for

(yes, they actually walk around hand-in-hand like that.
They also pull hair and poke, but every once in a while
if you catch them being nice, you gotta get proof).

Second cousins, now best of friends

Cool, baby!

A magical evening listening to Jenni's super-talented family sing

and play ukuleles for us in our own private concert.

Eddie amazes with a song written for his mother.

Aunt Beth, one of the most spiritual women I have ever had the privilege to meet,

and her son Mike. It is sort of weird how many of Guy's cousins have gone grey,

because I'm certainly not getting any older.

One of the many furniture pieces

made by Guy's Grandpa for his sweetheart, Ella.

A hand hewn timber in the basement of the house also built by Guy's grandfather.

Cousins; they may look grown up, but it is purely an illusion.

This is pretty much how Jonah spent the whole vacation;

wandering the kitchen begging for food like a puppy.

We call it "The Helen Keller School of Food Acquisition".

"MmmMmmmm!"

Translation:"More, please!"

Note the experienced grandma in action: Excellent eye contact,
super snuggling form,

not to mention the unconditionally loving look.
Yes, ladies and gents,

these are the hallmarks of a true professional.

Jonah meets his Auntie for the first time.

If I had to name this one, I would call it "Childhood".

A visit with my sis and her hubby,

and not enough time.

And the sun goes down on Washington State.

Next up:

Idaho

Road Trip Part 1: Oregon

2011-08-17T02:38:00.000-07:00

Jonah Update: He is doing just fine (and adorable, in case you were wondering). He did turn blue today during a bad cry (darn runaway-musical-push-toy!), but bounced back and never lost consciousness. Thank you for your kind words and prayers.

And now for some witty vay-cay-shun banter:

In the analogues of history, whenever a family returned from a long vacation, nearby friends and relatives would give them days, even weeks, to settle back in to their normal routine before dropping by to visit. It wasn't so the family could rest or unpack. Oh, no. It was for one simple reason.

To avoid the slide show.

That's right. The dreaded slide show, chock full'o boring landscape pictures, snaps of strangers, and the occasional gappy-toothed, smiling brat. Well, friends, because this (ah-hem) bloggety-thingy serves as more than just a doorstop in the ciber-world, but is also my best attempt at recording my personal history for my own family, alas,

I must subject you to...

Our Family Vacation.

First off, I insist on showing off a tiny bit. I am not much of an organized person, but I knew that the only way that spending 16 days in a mini-van with 5 children would not lead to a new definition for roadkill was if everyone had something to do with their hands besides playing slug-bug. I made activity centers and neck pillows for each child. The packs included a week's supply of gum, ear plugs, road maps of each state, silly putty, a US map (for licence plates, of course), and anything a person could possibly write with or on. But the real genius was a complete accident: dry erase markers.

The boys rejected the dry erase boards for the thrill of drawing on the windows. They made race cars and skateboarders that competed with nearby autos, pedestrians that were usually the losers when taking on the oncoming traffic, and my favorite; Pac Man.

But I have gotten ahead of myself. So, let's start with Oregon. We gave it a whole day on our way to Washington, which was spent at the very cool A.C. Gilbert Discovery Village in Salem with an amazing bubble room where you could make bubbles as big as you are. Three-story-high play structures and dress up rooms kept us busy all day.

Dr. Cutie Pie will see you now

Then off to Portland.

Say, who is that adorable couple?

We stopped in Portland to see the beautiful Portland Temple. The temple itself was closed for refurbishing, and the men that dangled from repelling equipment on the outside of the building never knew it, but Ethan had drawn trampolines to catch them in case their cables broke.

Stay tuned for more of the FAMILY VACATION SLIDE SHOW

as we visit the lovely state of Washington!

Breathless

2011-08-15T01:40:00.000-07:00

Today is Jonah's birthday.

Let me tell you how grateful I am to have him here.

Late Wednesday night we were visiting with our friends Marty and Sarah here in Draper, Utah. Jonah laid on his belly playing on the table between Marty and I as we chatted. Jonah's hand slipped out from under him, and his mouth bonked the tabletop. He began to cry, one of those forever-long cries that has no sound. In the past week he had done this several times, and on five occasions had actually turned blue and passed out. I had assured Ethan that when babies do that they are okay, because as soon as they pass out they start breathing again. I scooped Jonah into my arms and waited for him to catch his breath. He cried out, but never took a breath in. Suddenly his right arm spasmed and punched the air. I looked at Marty and said, "That looks like a seizure..." and within that moment, Jonah's back arched and his whole body began to vibrate and jerk. "Call 911!" I called to Marty, who already had begun dialing. His little eyes rolled up to the left and he threw up.

"Breathe, baby! Breathe!" I repeated to him over and over. "Please breathe!"

Guy walked in to see his baby in a full blown seizure in my arms. Later he would tell me that though, as a special education teacher, he has seen literally hundreds of seizures, there was nothing but terror in his heart seeing it happening to his own tiny child. "Put your hands on him!" I said, trying to remember how to talk, how to ask him to give Jonah a blessing. "Give him a blessing!"

Guy placed his hands on Jonah's head and uttered a prayer. It soon dissolved into a few words,"breathe... breathe... breathe..." Jonah took a tiny hick of a breath, then another, and the convulsions slowed. I realized I had been calling out to Marty as he talked to the 911 operator, answering questions, listening to Guy, and silently praying with him. It had been about a minute and a half since the first jerk of his little arm. He began, finally, to breathe, but was limp and whimpery. I pressed my face into his little chest and gasped.

The paramedics came. There were questions and evaluations. Jonah began to cry, and I was reminded of how wonderful his first cry had been after he was born and had not breathed for a full minute. An ambulance came and took us to the local hospital. In the ambulance as I watched his oxygen levels rise and fall on a monitor, I heard a whispery thought in my head that said, "Be grateful we got to have him with us for a year". I shuddered.

We arrived at the hospital, where a nervous staff fluttered around Jonah. CAT scans, x-rays and blood work were ordered, and nurses poked him endlessly and fruitlessly. For a half hour they held him down, trying over and over again to place an IV, but after five attempts, we were told that Jonah would be transferred to Primary Children's Hospital in Salt Lake. It wasn't just that they couldn't get a line in him, they said, "he just doesn't look right. They will know what to do with him there."
It was both scary and reassuring.

At Primary Children's we were met by thorough doctors who had seen this situation before. It was explained to us that though rare, some babies cry so hard and hold their breath for so long that they go into a seizure. Because the event did not originate in the brain, but was in response to the lack of oxygen, the doctors sent us home with reassurances and instructions. We were told to expect to see more seizures in the year to come but assured he would be okay, and as dawn began to creep over the Wasatch mountains, we headed back to the house.

As I lay in bed that night, I held Jonah to my heart and wept on his hair.

In the days since, I have jumped every time Jonah cries. I have been able to calm him so far, but it feels like we are balancing on a fragile thread. For two nights I have lain awake in bed, and every time I closed my eyes I saw his tiny being seizing in my arms. We know he is going to be alright, but the scare has shaved off more than a few of my nine lives.

Tonight we celebrated Jonah's birthday. A year ago today that beautiful boy spilled out into the world, filling each and every day since with peace and joy, and for me, deep gratitude. I watched him open presents and joyfully squish cake pulp through his chubby fists, and more than once, tears filled my eyes.

I wish he wouldn't grow up, but the thought of the real alternative takes my breath away. I have never been more afraid in my entire life as I was in that minute and a half, but I think that in the time since,
I have never -ever- been so grateful.

4AM - waiting to be discharged.

And throw away the key

2011-08-05T23:12:00.000-07:00

Idaho State Penitentiary

I had this cool plan. It was a plan to sneak up to Boise, Idaho and surprise my darling Jackie. I cleared said secret with her hubby (because how mean would it be to show up on her with 7 people if she was having a housework strike or something?). No, John assured me she would LOVE the surprise. But alas, Jackie's keen Spider-sense and apparently super-stealth quiet footsteps made it possible for her to accidentally read my message to her hubby about our arrival plans from over his shoulder. DARN! I had even been waiting to post about our wonderful travels thus far until we got there, just in case she was also clairvoyant.

That's OK. I'll bet she was surprised, anyway!

And we will be there tomorrow. But so much has happened in the last week, I might have to tell you a few things first.

Like today. We went to the Old Idaho State Penitentiary. It was so strange to walk the grounds where murderers and horse thieves once shuffled in shackles. We put each other into solitary confinement cells, and in just two minutes I felt a little frantic. I stared up at the 4 inch beam of light that was the only link to their outside world and felt so sad.

Later we swam at a big 'ol public pool and I even braved the "Hydrotube". Twice. The brave part was me with nothing to hide behind as I climbed the 4 story stair case in my swim suit. Please, everyone below, count the cottage cheese marks on my thighs and play connect the spider veins. There will be a quiz later.

I will thrill as I share all of the yummy fun we had in Olympia Washington with Guy's sweet family. But without pictures it would only be half of a story, so that will have to wait a few days. I met a kindred there, Jenni (hi Jenni!) who was clearly woven on the same loom as I was. In the mean time we are at Guy's sister's house in Boise. A lovely, gynormous house with eight TVs. Yes. Eight. The boys have been motionless for two days. Ah, peace and quiet, Thy names are Shark Week and X-Box.

Yesterday, Ellie and Tessa could be overheard talking about how much fun they are having. Where ever they are is their new home. "I don't remember what our house looks like." Said one. "Me neither." came the reply. I know what they mean. I sat tonight with my sister-in-law's mother-in-law (did you get that?) and watched the Canadian geese lift off slowly against the blue and rose colored evening sky. Though age has swept her 90 year old mind, and with it, taken many of her precious memories, together we learned that she and I once lived in the same town, attended the same church building, and had even shared the same old family friend. The warm evening air felt familiar, like home, and the creases in her face were loving and kind, like a face I have known my whole life. As I said goodbye she asked for my address so she could write to me.

I am told she won't remember me tomorrow. But today was truly lovely.

Alo-ha!

2011-07-29T01:39:00.000-07:00

A trip to Hawaii?

Don't I wish!

Eating ice cream at dad's annual ice cream party was almost as relaxing.

Ok, not at all. But ice cream is ice cream, baby.

And hey, it's the last few weeks of Summer Vacation,

so we will go some gallivanting before school starts back up

(did I just say that? School? Didn't we just do this, like, five minutes ago?).

Oh, Summer! Please don't go!

We'll eat you up, we love you so!

อาหารค่ำกับเพื่อน

2011-07-24T17:04:00.000-07:00

Or as we say in our backyard:

Dinner with Friends

It was time again for our sort-of monthly sometimes-foreign dinner with Dave, Steph, Kathy and the Bishop. He has a name, but we just call him Bishop.

Guy, fab-husband turned master Thai chef was in the kitchen chopping for about 4 hours. He then diced, minced, marinated and braised. In no time he was stirring and finally...

Wallah!

(which is Arabic for คนฝรั่ง)

(which is Thai for "Ta-da!")

He created a Thai feast.

I set the table.

Hey, too many cooks

spoil the Thai Coconut Chicken soup.

We sat out in the warm July evening breeze, ooh-ing and ah-ing over each course. We laughed and took seconds. We were serious a little, here and there, but usually not for long. As the sun set, the twinkle lights lit the gazebo with a warm glow. It was, as Steph told me later, a meal she would have paid $100 for. But the company, of course, was priceless.

At the end of the evening we each opened a fortune cookie. Fortune cookies aren't a Thai tradition, but technically they aren't really Chinese, either. We giggled as we took liberties modifying our fortunes. Then Kathy read hers. I believe it said;

"Appreciate the caring people who surround you."

ฉันจะทำ.

I do.

Orange Salad with toasted coconut and fresh mint

(Thanks Kathy!)

Roasted Eggplant Salad with Cilantro and Lime

Chicken Satay with Peanut Sauce

Butternut Squash and Chicken Curry

Paht Thai Noodles with Pork

Pork and Zucchini in Red Curry Sauce

Chunky Baby with Rice

Homemade Coconut Ice Cream with Peanut Battered Banana Fritters

in Strawberry Sauce

My Ark

2011-07-21T02:29:00.000-07:00

Adam, age 5

Story I

In the book of Samuel in the Old Testament, there is a story of a man named Uzzah who was helping to transport the Ark of the Covenant to the City of David. In the moment when the ark was to be placed on the threshing floor of Nachon, the oxen shook the ark. And in that moment, Uzzah, believing, I suppose, that his help was needed,

reached out to steady the ark.

If you know your Old T, you know that our friend Uzzah

realized a moment too late that when God says don't touch the ark, he means it.

I believe the word was "smote".

The point is, God didn't need Uzzah's help.

It was not Uzzah's job to steady the ark.

I tell this story, only so that I can tell you another story. Well, two, actually.

Story II

As anyone who has been pregnant can attest, once the world knows you are pregnant, somehow everyone from the obstetrician to the lady at the cell phone kiosk in the mall seems to own some part of your experience. Never was this more true than when I became pregnant with Adam. My decision to have a natural, non-surgical birth after my first-born's cesarean was quite the fodder for raised eyebrows. But when it became public knowledge that we were going to have a homebirth, somehow it was like there was a welcome mat draped atop my bulging bump that said,

"Please, express any opinion you have about homebirth,

and make sure it is peppered with judgement about my mental well being

and my capacity to make safe choices regarding my child."

After each of my successive homebirths, the dissenting voices receded into their opinion caves. Oh, I still would hear about them from time to time, (the ol' telephone game) just not directly.

I have gotten used to being a bit counter-culture.

We don't circumcise, and we co-sleep, but those are things the world at large doesn't see.

I also nurse my children, modestly but openly,

and for at least two years a'piece.

You want to get a dirty look from a 50 year old woman

at your local mid-priced eatery,

nurse a toddler.

It's cool.

So far, none of my kids has had bottle rot,

an intense attachment to an object or, surprisingly,

an obsession with breasts. Not yet anyway.

Story III

It has been a while since I have had anyone step right up and challenge my parenting choices outside of a pediatrician here and there. This week, though, I was reminded about how it feels to have your mother-heart called into question. Someone we know learned that we would be homeschooling, and passionately opposing my choice, sought me out to let me know.

In the few days since,

I have milled,

pondered,

fretted,

stressed,

and meditated

about it all.

A lot.

Here is what I have come to:

I love it that sometimes in life we get the opportunity to reconfirm to ourselves what we know to be true.

I am grateful that I have been given the blessing of these five sweet lives to shepherd,

and that God has trusted me to do all that I can to lead them

in a way that teaches them that they are His.

I am blessed that I live in a land that allows me to decide, based on the uniqueness

of each sweet, individual spirit, how to best lead my small ones

on the path to a lifetime of joyful learning.

I am confident in my choices thus far, and I know that if, at some point in the future,

they need to change, I can do that confidently, too.

My husband loves, trusts and supports me

(was there any doubt? Never, but still, after 16 years, it's nice to have reminders).

I am surrounded by others who trust and support me, too.

Sometimes there are arks that don't need to be steadied.

I left my heart...

2011-07-17T23:48:00.000-07:00

In Santa Rosa.

Again.

I always do, each time we go. It is almost a requirement.

Just when I think that I must have been imagining how magical that place is,

just when I tell myself I could be as happy anywhere I am...

We go back for a visit.

*sigh*

Nope. There's nowhere like it on earth.

We planned it all so well, packed up the van and hopped in, turned the key and... nothing. I was unwilling to accept mechanical failure as an excuse for a ruined weekend, so we jumped that puppy and found a repair shop that was miraculously without patrons. It was fate, I was sure, even though I don't exactly believe in fate.

In no time we were on the road with a shiny new alternator

alternat-ing away under the hood.

As the horizon began to rise and fall with the tumble of vineyard covered hills,

I heard a little tune in my heart.

It sang welcome home, oh, welcome home!

And I sang back at the top of my lungs

to Annie Lennox playing on the radio.

We stayed a night with sweet Joyce, who always insists on meals eaten out. T'was then that we learned that it hadn't been the alternator after all! It is so cool when you get to pay $400 to find out what is not wrong with your car. That's ok, nothin' a pair of jumper cables can't fix, four or five times.

We wondered if it was wise to continue on to Francine's house, but oh, how could we not? Francine, a person so kind and without guile, so loving and receiving, so creative and generous, is someone you would walk miles to see. Car trouble was no trouble at all if it meant a few hours with her.

The minute we arrived, sleepy Jonah reached out for Francine

and snuggled into her neck to stay.

We ate so many strawberries that we almost burst,

but they were so sweet and juicy,

stopping would have been a crime against mother nature.

We snuggled and loved on the kids, read and visited.

We ate roasted chicken with our fingers.

And more strawberries.

I had to, as I always do, rest my weary soul in Francine's studio.

The feeling there is like a temple or a forest, and I don't believe that many people

could enter without tapping into the flow of creative energy there.

When it was time to go, our van started, no trouble at all.

It was time, I guess, though I didn't want it to be.

So I left my heart (or some of it, at least) there at Francine's.

I know she'll take great care of it.

One plum...

Make that two!

Out here, by some strange magic, my four children can

play in a hammock together without one squabble.

Francine's amazing studio...

When my studio grows up, I hope it is just like Francine's.

My walkin' boy(s).

Everyone should have a Francine.

Gary, Francine's gentle hubby, is as loving to our little ones as she is.

Inspired by crop circles, The kids made "Rock Circles".

Tessa, though reminded, forgot to bring shoes on this little trip.

Slippers worked in town, but I had to construct homemade

flip-flops for treading out in the tree bark and gravel.

Duct tape; it's the new Jimmy Choo.

Time to say good-bye

Mmmmm. One more love.

As always, we come away laden with goodies and treasures. Lavender bread, organic berries, crystals, Mastic gum from the Middle East that tastes of flowers and exotic tree resin. Even a little pair of frog boots for Jonah boy. But mostly, we came away with a warmth and cheer that got us all the way home.

Jump on three... Ready? One, two...

2011-07-15T01:00:00.000-07:00

Three!!!

We have officially jumped off of a conveyor belt. It's complicated. Where do I begin?

With a story, of course.

A few months ago I began having a niggley feeling.

Niggle.

Niggle, niggle.

The Niggle had a name, though it hadn't made itself clear to me yet,

but it felt like a sort of homeschooly niggle.

Did it spark when I began to witness friends, the Bushs, as their children thrived and bloomed in their home-centered education? Was it kindled by the way our kid's charter Montessori school seemed to focus more on donations and fundraisers than on the principles of Montessori? It did. It was.

Then when I was in the temple with my friend Robin, as I watched her with her children, I was so moved by her tenderness with them. I was inspired by the connection she had with them.

I thought to myself, "I want to be a mom just like Robin."

And then the niggle went from a glowing ember to a flame;

"Homeschool!"

The idea planted itself like a seed blown from a far off field. I had not even been considering homeschooling. In fact, having tried it for a year when Ethan was in 2nd grade, I had sworn it off entirely. That time around I had isolated myself. I had tried to recreate public school at my kitchen table. I had no supplies, no curriculum, no support. I was winging it, but I was a bird without feathers.

But now the message was boldly displayed in my mind like skywriting on a clear day.

Homeschool.

I have spent the past several months learning, researching, preparing and - surprising even to myself - getting excited. Then, last week we learned we had been accepted by the charter that we had applied to. By being a part of the charter, we will receive funding that allows us to join classes (Adam wants to take fencing, the girls? Ballet of course), buy supplies and borrow curriculum and other learning materials from the charter school.

As part of the whole process, we had to sign some contracts, indicating that we were willing to take responsibility - me for "teaching", and the kids for their own learning. I talked to the kids about the Founding Fathers and their need to go a different direction from a system that wasn't working for them. Then we signed our own Declaration of Independence. I even made us a pen with feathers on it. As I have been learning, they are the teachers, and they can only learn when they are excited about the subject they are exposed to. It turns out my job is a simple one.

Inspire.

I provide space, opportunity and resources. Then I immerse myself in the thrill of learning (which is second nature for me) and make sure that I let the kids see my enthusiasm.

The philosophy we are following comes from Thomas Jefferson Leadership Education (read about it here). I would be dubious had I not already been watching it in action with the Bush's and their awesome kids. And the more I have learned, the more my heart sings out that what I am hearing is so true. It is everything I already believed about education. It was the same feeling I had when I discovered attachment parenting. It had made so much sense not to make my babies lose trust in me by making them cry it out, to co-sleep, breastfeed, gently wean, homebirth our next babies, and so much more.

So here we are, stepping off the conveyor belt of public education, where children are dealt with in batches based on their date of manufacture and not their learning styles or talents, into the glorious ocean of all there is to learn, with no boundaries. And not a moment too soon. Just days after I had decided that this was the path we would indeed take, we learned our Montessori charter school had decided to get a new lease on a campus shared with... a school for juvenile sex offenders.

No, I am not kidding.

I appreciate how well God knows me. He knew that I needed to have the opportunity to make this decision before my hand was forced. I had to not resent my choice. I had to have a chance to get excited. And I did - all of the above.

Ready? One, two, three...

JUMP!