Genetics.

When I was a little girl, if I got up really late at night, I would go out to the living room, and I would find my mother.

She is a night owl.

Almost without fail, she would be there, eating red pudding and watching something--the Star Trek films are what I remember most.

If I got up at just the right time, she would share a bowl of red pudding with me.
That was the best thing ever.

I understand why she was a night owl. The peace while children sleep. Cleaning up a house or a room and having it stay clean--even for just a little while.

If you came to my house and woke up late, you'd find watching movies. Probably Harry Potter. Maybe Sense and Sensibility. And eating red pudding.

I would share a bowl with you.

My daughter has discovered this habit of mine, that I got from my own mother. She loves to join me for "Girl's Nights."

No one can tell me that those moments of parenthood aren't the best, most magical things ever.

Countdown to Midnight...

Or 8:00, Eastern Standard Time. Whichever...

(Cake plate! Eeek!)

(sigh. I think she's so beautiful.)

From our family to yours, Happy New Year.

(Don't we look circa 1909 or something? Cracks me up...)

The Thoughts that Count...

When it comes to gifts, it's the thought that counts.

And the day after Christmas--there are some thoughts that are counting a bit more than others.

Thing 2 received a "Power Wheels" 4 wheeler from Goodwill/his dad. He knew that we had it, and he knew where we were hiding it. But that didn't seem to diminish his delight when he saw it. My favorite moment for him was when he "offroaded" over the other gifts, with a determined and triumphant look on his face. Precious. Almost as precious as the Wee One riding all by herself.

The gift that seemed to mean the most to Thing 1, in all her Age 5 wonderfulness, was not the pink bike that she had asked Santa for, and was happy to receive. Nope. The thing that I've seen her enjoy the most was the random little "Ice Cream Scoop" game that I got, for super cheap, as an after thought. Thank heavens for after thoughts.

The Wee One liked her gifts. But not nearly as much as she likes the 4 Wheeler. Good thing she has a brother that shares. Unless he doesn't feel like it. In which case, he tries to run her over with it. We're working on that. He's usually pretty repentant, which means she gets a turn. I wonder if throwing herself in front of it is her tactic to get a ride, actually.

And the thoughts that counted the most, for me? Well, I have a wall vinyl that says "Come What May and Love It" in my living room now, where there wasn't one last week. It was one of those gifts that I hadn't asked for, but really have been wanting, and a dear friend just... noticed. That means the world to me. I can't see it without smiling. And from my own sweetheart? Well--he gave me several really great gifts, but two were my favorite. The first was a framed picture of the mountain I grew up looking at, most of my life. It's called Mount Timpanogos and it towers over Utah Valley. I have climbed all it's 12,000 feet. Twice. I have signed my name in the book at the top, and dangled my feet over the razor sharp edge, looking down at the mountain goats below. Then I slid down a glacier. I love this mountain. So I began, quite awhile ago, looking for a print, but found that most photographers favor the East Face over the West Face. While the East Face is pretty, it is not the one that is most familiar to me. So my husband sought out pictures taken by amateurs, rather than professionals, and found one in public domain that he printed off and put in a frame for me. It is truly beautiful.

The other one? A class in beekeeping this winter. My Mom asked me "Why?!" and I told her: It's because it's one of my 100 goals, to gather honey. In 2010, I'll be checking that goal off my list. I love it, and the thought behind it, because my goals are important to me. And I can't do them without him. (Especially the "Climb Mt. Kilimanjaro" one. Maybe next year???)

He also gave me (and himself) tickets to Wicked next spring for our anniversary. And that is great... but those didn't hit me as much as the other two did. Even though they cost the most. Isn't life funny that way?

I'm wondering what each of you were given, that made you smile or took your breath away. Care to share?

3 Days Until Christmas...

And it begins to hit me, that Christmas will soon be over.

For the past two years, I have taken down the tree the day after Christmas. I was just ready for the chaos to be done and my house to be clean.

This year, it feels completely different. Very bittersweet.

The world always feels so dark, after Christmas. I always want to leave my lights up for another month, and I wish other people would, too. It plunges us into the very heart of winter in such an abrupt way.

Taking down the tree, which filled the corner of our family room with light. Putting away all the things that sparkle and shine.

I am just really dreading it this year.

But I'm trying to remember that I have a few more days. Just a few more days to make magic happen for my children. To bring the Christmas story to life for them, as much as I can. To see the utter amazement on their faces. Today they asked me if maybe Santa was loading their gifts in his sleigh by now. I told them that I thought he might be, and they couldn't contain their shrieks of excitement. I only have a few more Christmases with ALL of my children believing in Santa Claus and his reindeer. These days are truly, truly precious to me.

So I'm trying not to think about the end of this season, and stretch every second out. Because I don't want to miss a single thing.

7 Days Until Christmas...

My son is having macaroni and tomato juice, with an abundance of shredded cheese, for breakfast.

It is our Family Food.

I made it earlier this week, and I made a literal VAT of the stuff, so that there would be plenty of leftovers.

It has been requested for breakfast every morning since.  But he's eating the last of it, today.

The Wee One had a german chocolate cake ball for breakfast.
I had fudge.

It is one week until Christmas. My parent's 40th Anniversary is today. I find that amazing. So I am sitting here listening to the song that they danced to at their wedding, Theme From A Summer Place, and contemplating where I will be in 34 years, in the year 2043.

It is incomprehensible to me--time, like that.

So I'm sitting here, gazing out the window at the leaden sky. Thinking about my wonderful parents, who are the reason I believe in true love, and wishing for a White Christmas.

Week of Thanksgiving: Never Forget

At this time of thanksgiving, let us remember and never forget:

The needy are always with us.

(Especially the 3 year old kind.)

Week of Thanksgiving: 2009

I feel like I have been blessed, beyond measure, this year.

As I've been thinking, all day, about the things I'm truly grateful for, my mind has gone back to all of the absolutely phenomenal memories I've been able to make this year with people I absolutely adore. And that is precious to me.

Two years ago, The Spouse and I took a trip to Jamaica to celebrate his birthday. On our second to last day, we traveled up to the west tip of the island. While The Spouse was jumping off cliffs like a crazy person, I was safely bobbing in the azure blue water below. I stretched back and floated, gazing up into the sky as the sun began to sink. I remember closing my eyes and thinking "Contentment. This is what contentment feels like." And I tried to memorize it.

The months that followed brought particularly acute struggles and challenges, and I would find myself, closing my eyes and thinking that word "Contentment" and I was right there in my mind, with the waves softly rising and falling beneath me. It carried me through those months.

And this winter, I can close my eyes and think "Contentment." and I'm there, again, in those waves.

But this year has given me more gifts--the kind that nothing can take. The kind that I will carry with me, even when I grow old and die. I'm roasting marshmallows with my children on a summer night and catching frogs. I'm walking the decks of a beautiful ship with my parents, and chasing Alice in Wonderland with Thing 1. I'm gazing out over the bluest skies on the coast of Maine with a dear friend and wishing for time to slow down. And I'm laying on the slopes of a mountain, resting my head on my spouse's shoulder, gazing at waterfalls and glaciers, with the warm sun on my face.

And no matter where I am, or where I go, I am utterly content.

My Give-a-Care is Busted

Does that ever happen to you? Does your Give-a-care just... break? About halfway through a morning and a pile of dishes? Cuz it just happened to me.

So I scooped the Wee One out of her crib (hey--she wasn't napping anyway) and plopped flat on my back on the couch and let her play with my face.

That's about all I'm capable of today.

Cuz my Give-a-Care is busted.

My Country, Tis of Thee...

Outside my front door, America is celebrating. I can hear the rockets and the fireworks going off in the warm, Southern night, and in my mind I can easily imagine night flowing westward, as a whole nation joins the party.

I absolutely adore the Fourth of July.



Adore.



It's because I'm an American Girl, and the 4th of July makes me feel like I'm living in the movie Pollyanna. Our entire neighborhood came pouring out of their homes this morning, riding bikes and pulling wagons decorated in streamers and pinwheels and flags. We marched proudly around a park with our children, and then rocked out to the Chicken Dance. We grinned at strangers, gave and received compliments. We ate until we thought we were going to pass out, dripping watermelon down our elbows. We listen to (questionably) great music with lyrics like "we'll put a boot in your &%$ it's the American waaaaaaay...". Does any other country do this?! I know that the Swiss sent up fireworks like crazy on August 1st, and England has their Guy Fawks Day. I know Canada Day was only a couple days ago. But I seriously can't think of another place where people go so crazily, dizzily, all-out for their love of country. We are Americans, and I adore it.



I adore it like I adore this country. Like I adore the black, slippery rocks on the craggy Oregon coast. Like I adore the beaches south of Santa Monica pier, with their teeming boardwalks and their film crews. Like I adore the churches of Manhattan and the cobblestone streets of Charleston. Like the Cumberland Gap and the red rocks and mountains of my home state, Utah. Like the endless skies of Montana to the twisted Cypresses along the Georgia coast. I have not seen a place in this great, wide country that has not bewitched me, in it's own way.


Land where my fathers died.
Land of the Pilgrim's pride.
From every mountain side
Let Freedom Ring...

Daughter.

I hope you will forgive me a personal entry.

Five years ago, I would become a mother in two days. I was big and round, and I waddled. We were living on the other side of the country, at the time, in a small 500 square foot apartment. I had graduated with my bachelor's degree six weeks before, which had culminated in a whirlwind of 18 credits--polishing my mind against the grindstone of academia, churning out essays and papers so fast that I began to lose count. I wrote 75 pages in my last week alone. Then, my university had handed me a paper, my parents had given me a pearl ring, and my husband had given me the two disk DVD of Pride and Prejudice and I found myself with completely empty time to wait in. I reveled in that time. I got up at 7:00 every morning. I ate a slow breakfast, and got dressed. My obstetrician's office was a mile away, and I would walk to my appointments at 9:00. It was June. I watched the cherries ripen into their distinctive, vivid red. I watched the roses open their faces to the sun. I walked slowly. It seemed, to me, to be magic. I was waiting.

My daughter was born. Motherhood was ice cold water over my head--I just had to stand in it and get used to it. It was a shock. I struggled. But I had this blue-eyed child that looked like an elf, and we were busy getting to know each other. I think, for a long time, I felt like Rip Van Winkle. I felt like I was doing this motherhood thing and that, when my child and future children left home, I would pick my life back up where I left it. Only slowly did it really sink in that there would be no picking up where I left off. That the girl I was who had walked into that hospital, never walked out.

Five years. That phrase keeps clattering about in my head this weekend. Five years. That bald, screaming, blue baby is now a curly haired girl who can skip and play hopscotch. She has memories of her own. She loves disco music and ham. She is so beautiful that it makes my breath catch sometimes.

She is misunderstood, a lot. She has struggles. Not every child is kind. Not every adult is patient. But to me, she is magic waiting to happen. On the occasion that I remember to slow down enough to hold her, I trace my fingers along her translucent skin and ache to keep the child that, for now, is still mine.

I miss her already, and I wonder--who will I be, when that day comes?

Oh What Do You Do in the Summertime?... Service

Every year, around this time, I start thinking about Christmas.

It isn't just because it's blazing hot and humid outside and I'm wishing for cuddly sweater days and hot chocolate.... mmmmm.... sweater days and hot chocolate.....

Oh, uh--no. That's not why I start thinking about Christmas at the beginning of summer. It's because, every year, my (incredible) in-laws ask for their children and grandchildren to do a service project as their Christmas gift to them. In an effort to make it something truly meaningful, both for them and for us, I need to get the wheels turning about 6 months beforehand.

I want it to be something worthwhile, but do-able. Do-able gets trickier when you want to involve your three tiny kids, which I do. I want them to remember the experience and how they felt. I want it to be a true service--something needful--that hopefully will bless people in our community.

I'm on the hunt for this year's project, but in the meantime, definitely finding lots of great ideas. Would you like to get into the spirit of Christmas, with us? Here are a few of my favorite volunteer websites:

http://www.volunteermatch.org/ "Where volunteering begins..."
I love VolunteerMatch because you can put in your zip code, and search for opportunities close by. You can choose to see service opportunities for groups, teens, kids, families, or by type of opportunity--education, special needs, elderly, women and children, etc. This is where you can go to sign up to help with Special Olympics, volunteer for an Avon or Komen cancer walk, or even find volunteer opportunities that you can do from your home.

http://www.colorasmile.org/ "Our goal is to make people smile..."
I love this one, because it's PERFECT for kids. You have your kids color a drawing and write their name and age on the front, then send it in and they distribute these pictures to rest homes, shut-ins, and care facilities. They have coloring pages you can print out, or let your kids use their imaginations. Easy!!

http://www.doonenicething.com/ "Every Monday do at least one nice thing for someone..."
This is a brilliant idea. Every Monday, they post something for you to do that day, or just take on the challenge and do an extra service for someone that day. If everyone in the world were looking to serve someone on Monday instead of thinking about themselves, how different would this world be???

Semper Fi

My dad is a Marine.

There is no such thing as "was" a Marine. Until you're dead, maybe.

He is a veteran of the Vietnam War. He joined the armed forces when he was only 17 and came home two years later with a Purple Heart and shrapnel that he would keep as a souvenir the rest of his life. My beautiful father, with his incredible heart and unfailing generosity, jumps at small sounds and hunkers at helicopters overhead. He is a veteran.

His father, my grandfather, was a Marine who fought in World War II. Pacific theater. He, too, came home with a Purple Heart. He was a veteran.

His father, my great-grandfather, was a Marine. He fought in World War I. When he enlisted, the recruiting officer wrote down that he was the "finest physical specimen" he had ever seen. He was a veteran.

It goes without saying that there is a flag flying in front of my house today, and a catch in my throat when I look at it.

Thanks, Dad. I am so proud to be your daughter.

Monday morning musing...

I was so touched by this video, and it has me musing, this morning--how do I become the kind of parent that can teach their children to be like the older boy in this story? How do I teach my children respect, compassion, and kindness?

How are you musing about this morning?

Send postcards...

The Spouse is away on business.

I miss him when he's gone.

Why?

Because...

Who is going to watch this sunset with me?

Who is going to mow this lawn?

Who is going to fold all this clean laundry?

And does this baby look tired to you????

I didn't think so.

Guilty as Charged

Making mom breakfast.

I hear a lot of talk, around Mother's Day, from people saying things like "Don't let yourself feel guilty" or "There are no perfect mothers--don't compare yourself"... things like that. People give talks in church, and talk about how their moms always said that they felt so guilty on Mother's Day.

But, here's the thing, my "post secret" if you will: I don't feel guilty on Mother's Day. I have no guilt whatsoever. In fact, it's probably the one day a year when I don't feel guilty about my mothering abilities, or lack thereof. And this lack of guilt is making me feel kind of guilty.

Why don't I feel guilty? Because I need Mother's Day, darn it. I need one day a year when everyone is spouting off how great moms are. I know there are single women aching to be married and have kids. I know there are women wrestling with the demon infertility and Mother's Day is about as pleasant as a cleat in the face. I get that. But I'm over here covered in graham cracker goobers and no makeup because I was too busy searching for my kid's shoes to apply anything but lip gloss. My bachelor's degree is rotting in the cobwebs of my mind, and I'm losing any and all people skills I ever had. By the time we pull into the church parking lot, we are 5 minutes late, and one child has fallen asleep so that means I get to carry a big bag, a baby seat, AND a heavy toddler into the church building without losing either my skirt or my temper. This is not the time for political correctness. I need to hear how fantastic mothers are.

So, yay yay yay for us! Yay for moms! Yay for grandmas and aunts! I heart mother's day!

Mother's Day Smother's Day

A rundown of my week:

Exhibit A: Thing 2 is potty-training.

Exhibit B: Thing 3 is teething.

Thus necessitating:
1. Copious amounts of chocolate chips, ice cream, and even a forbidden grilled cheese toastwich.
2. A re-read of Twilight.

Which has led to:
1. The Biggest Loser workout DVDs glaring up at me accusingly from my desk.
2. A house that would be condemned by the health inspector.

Which means:
1. I'm taking off for the weekend and letting my husband deal with the potty, the teeth, and the mess.
2. Happy Mother's Day to Me.

**

PS: Just so we're clear about this, THIS is Edward Cullen:

NOT this:

That is Cedric Digory with a bad makeup job, bless him.

Don't mess with the pictures in my head, people. ;)

Dear Stranger...

Dear Strangers,

You do not know me. You probably have never even imagined me. But I have something that I want to thank you for, and this is the only way that I know of to do it.

You see, this Sunday is Mother's Day. I think everyone knows that. But what a lot of people maybe don't know is that the day before Mother's Day has it's own significance: it is Birth Mother's Day. Which always makes me think of you.

It has been over 33 and 31 years since each of you placed a baby for adoption. One of you gave birth to a beautiful, dark haired baby girl on the 4th of July in Fort Worth, Texas. The other one of you had a baby boy with big, wide eyes on December 6th in Dallas, Texas. You placed them with a young couple who had hoped and prayed and cried, for years. Until you made a choice.

And I've wondered, over the years, how you had the strength to do it. I've wondered about you, and wished that I could thank you. Because one of you gave me my big sister, and one of you gave me my big brother... and I can't imagine my life without them.

My older sister is the most beautiful, kind person you could ever know. She has beautiful brown hair that she can wear curly or straight, and piercing green eyes. She is graceful, laughs easily, and has so many talents that it makes my head spin. She has three girls now, who are each beautiful in their own way. I thought you would want to know that she has a lovely, lilting singing voice, and that she is the best listener I've ever met.

My older brother is brilliant. He has gone to some of the best colleges in the nation with that mind of his. He ran a marathon two years ago, and rides his bike to work. More than that--I think he is an amazing husband to a fabulous wife, and they are extraordinarily good parents to their two children. He has a clever sense of humor, and a serious competitive streak when you play board games. I am proud of him. You would be, too.

So, to two women that I have never met, I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for having the courage, all those years ago, to do what you did. When I asked my parents, recently, what their favorite memories were from their marriage, they both agreed on the days that they found out that they were going to be parents, thanks to you. You gave them, and me, a most remarkable gift: a family. You will never know how many people you blessed.

Thank you.

Home Again.

The missing comes in waves.

It is always like this.

Just when I think I'm over it, another wave rises--and there it is again.

When I open my suitcase.

When I clean out the car.

Little things you find that remind you, they are far away. Again.

I miss them.

Thanks, Mom and Dad--for coming. Anytime you want to move to North Carolina, we're ready and waiting.

Let us pray.

Four years ago (almost five) I walked into a small library in a small town. I was wearing a baby bjorn, and in that baby bjorn was my two week old daughter. My first. We already had our little patterns, and one of them was to walk the two blocks to that library and try to find books with which to fill my days. (I was new to the stay-at-home-mom thing, and going out of my mind with all the time on my hands. It's not for the faint of heart.)

As I stood, running my fingers over the spines of the books, I came across a small (very small) section about... wait for it... homeschooling. Before I had time to even *think* I had a thought. (How does that happen?) My thought was "I should homeschool."

Quick upon the heels of that thought was this one "You have lost your mind."

Let's talk about homeschoolers.

Homeschoolers are nutso. They come from homes where their parents are too religiously fanatic to trust other people, so they grow up so sheltered and controlled that when they finally leave home they run totally amok and are a menace to society. The first homeschooler I met, in third grade, couldn't handle confrontation with his peers--at.all--so his answer to any disagreement was to punch you in the face. NUTSO. (And I'm really not just making this up--most of the homeschoolers I knew, growing up, really didn't know how to deal with their peers or social pressure of any kind. It was sad.)

But then, why did I have that thought? What was that thought???? An errant whimsy? An idle, fleeting thing that I could ignore? Or was it fate? Destiny? Kismet? WHAT?!?!

Fast forward a year or so, and find me now living across the country, on the east coast. Imagine my suprise when I moved here and it seemed like half the population was homeschooled. Not only were the kids homeschooled, but the kids were generally...cool. Friendly. Capable. Social. Not nutso.

Enter various friends and mentors, who I've chatted with about that moment in the library. They have encouraged. They have been great sounding boards. They haven't judged.

And this baby girl has grown, and has evidenced different delays along the way. She is academically bright, but has other struggles, and so attends the "special ed" preschool at our local elementary. It is a *brilliant* program. We love it. She loves it.

But next year is kindergarten. We're starting to play for real. And I have no idea what to do. I can't get this homeschool thing out of my head (despite the parts of me that still think it's sheer insanity), but I am positively terrified.

So, we're debating.

Kindergarten?
Public school?
No child left behind?
Recess?
School lunch?
Peers?
Teasing?
Mean girls?

Homeschool?
Kitchen table?
Flexibility?
Structure?
Curriculum?
Cost?
Socialization?

I just don't know.

But, in an attempt...


Heaven help us.

Oh baby.

There comes a time in every baby's life when they have to step out. Take charge. Make it on their own.

And today? Today was her day.

Gimme that spoon.

Oooooh, slimy.


If she can make it there, she'll make it anywhere.

Do you see those eyes???? Just another one of the many reasons that I love this baby...

Well. That, and this face: