With Wondering Awe

Merry Christmas from the Crisis Center!!! 

 And since this bit of cheer is also a few days tardy....Happy New Year, too!!!

I hope all that read this had a wonderful Christmas. I know, unfortunately, at least one of my dear friends did not. I wish I could have swooped you up and brought you here. We were blessed with an unusual helping of Christmas magic this year....and it had nothing to do with Santa.

One of the ways that my Sweet Man and I have been able to make Christmas 'happen' for our children is to let go of everything needing to be purchased new. We also start shopping in June or July. We look for items at yard sales and second hand stores that fill the needs of our children. Then the week before Christmas we assess all the needs again, and go shopping for any gaps.

There were more pressing needs this year than purchasing presents and the two of us counseled together and came to the conclusion that all would be well with what we already had. My faith in God and his goodness has been strengthened. He is so generous!

We divvied up the loot from our summer adventures and were shocked at what we found. (I tend to forget what I hide as time goes by!) There were nearly new clothes for just the children that needed them, shoes in just the right sizes for the feet that were in want, and exciting little treasures that made just the right amount of annoying noise for my little boys. When we finished, all we were lacking was a dolly for Miss Ivy and something fun for Sir Matt. At almost the exact moment we realized this, my sister-in-law brought a bag to the door and asked us if we could use some dollies and trucks. Her sister had passed them on weeks earlier with us in mind. I wouldn't classify dollies and trucks in the needs department....but apparently my Maker does. What a tender mercy and a reminder to me that even the slightest and insignificant details of my life are noticed by a very kind and loving Father in Heaven.

There were so many tender moments for me this year. Maybe because I wasn't caught up in the shopping, maybe because I was trying harder to find those moments. Our thoughts were not wrapped  up in to-do lists but rather with two tiny babies that were each fighting for their life. A change in perspective is often a result of a change in prayers. I am so grateful that my niece's son is out of the NICU and in his mother's arms where he belongs. I am also filled with rejoicing that my dear friend's precious daughter has made it through her second heart surgery. Oh, happy day!

When I wrote about my Irish Twins I mentioned a tad bit about our Christmas traditions. We were delighted this year to have a few extra souls around our dinner table on Christmas Eve. The Little People were very excited to have their own special Little People table. When I brought in the fresh centerpiece I had made with some branches of their Grandpa W's climbing trees, they decided they should have something special in the middle of their little table, too. It touched my heart that they unanimously chose their wooden nativity scene.

After dinner we began the exciting search for costumes to be worn during our reading of Luke.  Maybe exciting isn't the right word. Perhaps creative is more fitting when you imagine grown men with silk scarves tied around their heads and one of the sheep wearing a monkey blanket!

Even our Nativity seemed more special this year. My sweet baby Miss Nichole is not a baby any more. She was 'espoused' for realsies to her 'Joseph' just two nights earlier. There was genuine love, compassion and tenderness as he lead the 'donkey' (Sir Tom) into the living room and he and 'Mary' laid the baby Jesus (Sir Harley for the fourth year in a row!) into the ottoman...I mean manger.

I was slightly nervous about having visitors at our Christmas Eve testimony meeting. These very precious moments with my children are my favorite of the entire year. I had absolutely nothing to fear and everything to gain. Having 'extras' is going to be our new favorite tradition. I learned so much from each of them and the love that was felt in our home was only magnified. What a great blessing to have even more of the best in life.

And then, as if my heart wasn't full enough, I received a phone call Christmas morning from my beautiful son that I haven't talked to since Mother's Day. He is so happy! We were able to Skype with him later in the day and his countenance simply radiated. Hearing his upbeat voice, even if it is with an accent, will get me through these last few weeks of his mission.

 I overheard one of my children saying this morning, "Only 361 days until Christmas!" 

Maybe I'll start decorating right now.

Learning to Listen

 WARNING: My life can be strange and I will not be responsible for any emotional outbursts you may experience while reading about it. Also, I started writing this post weeks ago so some occurrences may seem slightly off....like only having three children in the house versus 20, which seems to be more prevalent than not lately. 

 

As I write today I only have three children in the house. Two of them are teenagers who are in the kitchen making cookies. They aren't just creaming butter and sugar either. They are remaking the lyrics to pop songs and thinking I can't hear. Instead of Get up Off of That Thang I'm hearing Lick it Off of That Chair. Apparently Miss Bella is helping and she might have broken an egg or two.

The rest of the children have been rented out for the afternoon as chaperones. I have no problem with that. If a young man wants to impress me by taking eight of my children on a date in order to sit by the ninth.....I'll donate a van to his cause. I could get used to this.

Actually, the usual noise doesn't bother me......most of the time.  I stay sane because I have the remarkable ability to tune noise out. The Little People love it when I turn on this Super Hero power of mine. They get permission to eat ice cream for breakfast, invite dozens of their closest friends over for a party, and once even received the go ahead to burn a sofa in the back yard. I frequently find myself in a daze wondering what I just said yes to.

I don't always tune them out. Some of the best laughs I get come from the darndest things that come out of my babies' mouths. The trick here is that I have to spend time with them in order to hear these things.

The other trick is for me to focus while they are speaking.

Now and then, especially on car trips, I spend the day with a pad and pencil and write down all the funny things they say. I could pen an entire volume just with kid quotes. They aren't as amusing without the facial expressions and emotion behind them, but still make me smile when I read them again.

And since they make me smile....I thought someone else might enjoy a giggle, too!

But.....if you are looking to read words from a perfect mom who is raising a perfect family....stop perusing right now. We are not always fit for public. There are a few very uncouth words that my parents taught me not to say that get said at my house. "Butt" jokes seem to be inevitable when bringing up boys. My bad. I tried to ban that word but keep using it myself so of course it comes out of them as well. I'll add that to my resolutions list. Maybe. 

The following were quote excerpts sent in my weekly emails to my missionary children this past year:



This week has been another one that found your dear Mother saying all kinds of interesting things like:

"Ivy, you have to wear clothes".
"Harley, you have to wear clothes".
"Of course your throat hurts! You shouldn't have eaten the play dough!"
"Does any one know where Ivy is?"
"You pooped in the toilet!?!?!?!?!?!?!" "Yeah for Harley!"
"I did not get you a super man monster truck for your birthday."
"Ivy, you can't keep changing Harley's diapers!"
"I found the floor in the laundry room!!!!"
"Yes, you may go on a frog hunting expedition!"
"You held hands with whom?!??!?"
"I bought cocoa puffs for Sean's birthday present, just like he asked."
"Think of your brother's head when you serve and the ball is sure to go over the net."



And then the very next week I typed this list of interesting interactions for Miss Nichole and ELder Spencer...I didn't want them to feel left out of the fray:


 

"Sean, stop farting on your sister!"

"You have pretty eyes," says my sweet Harley to me!

"Lobster Bisque," says too many people in our family! (Apparently an inside joke that I am not in on).

"You want to have a Family Home Evening on sex education!?!?!?," says Jake trying to pass off a Family Life merit badge.

"We like it when you cry," says the Primary presidency trying to convince me to play the part of Mary Magdalene.....again!
And then there was me, running around the house screaming and laughing like I'd won the lottery because Harley wore big boy shorties for 5 whole hours without an accident! I see light!


One of my all time favorites is a quote from Sir James. We were all packed into Moby Dick and had been on the road for quite some time. I began to hear the low rumblings of teasing. I chose to ignore the bad and focus on the good. It didn't help. I attempted to employ super powers to no avail. The rumblings turned into full out giggles and crying. The giggles and crying become out right laughing, with the exception of Sir James, who sobs at peak volume, "Sean keeps calling me a butthead!"

Well the Mama is not having that. I have reached the point that no mother should be pushed to. I turned around in my seat to end this once and for all. I'm immediately stopped in mid I've-had-enough sentence. There before me is the accused "butthead" with a pair of underpants over his ears, his sweet little face poking through the leg hole, wondering for everything what the big deal is.


Now how do you parent that with a straight face?


I hope that you haven't been absolutely disgusted with me for sharing too much information and will keep reading....because not everything that children say is humorous. Sometimes what they say is down right sobering. Sometimes their words come straight from Heaven.

A dear friend of mine posted a tender story today. She is an amazing mother and radiates so much patience. One of her many children has had a multitude of physical challenges that leaves him in a wheelchair and also with a very limited ability to speak out. She tenderly kneels by him when they communicate. She wrote today that he had said something sweet to her and she told him, "you sure have had a lot of sweet things to say lately. Is that your gift to Jesus for Christmas?"


"He thought for a minute and then replied, "No, it's Jesus' gift to me."


Now how do you parent that without awe?

Attitude Adjustment

Woolly mammoths! I've been trying to write this post for days! I just keep getting caught up in one thing after another and the next thing I know, the week is gone. But I promised myself this morning that I would not go to bed until my thoughts were thinked and organized and jotted down for posterity. And so here I sit, in the middle of the night, the last stitch put in a leotard, the final baby asleep in bed, all momentary crises have been averted.....and I feel the strange sensation of solitude.

I had no idea the refrigerator made that much noise!

I've been looking at the picture above for the past few days and my heart just swells up with so much gratitude. I'm grateful for the obvious things in this picture. I have a beautiful family. We are all healthy today. We live in a wonderful part of the world. We have warm clothes and a fresh Christmas tree. I'm grateful that we are out of the van now and I don't have to listen to all ten renditions of Jingle Bells again (for a day or two).

But mostly I'm grateful because I am happy. That seems really selfish. I don't know how else to say it. I'm happy and I'm happy that I'm happy.

After our first child was born I was slammed with post postpartum depression. It got worse with our second child. By the time our third was here.....even now I can't bring myself to write about those years. I will, though. I will. Another day.

The holidays, all holidays - but especially from Halloween to Valentine's Day, make me cringe. Not because I'm a fuddy dud or anything. It's just that I get so overwhelmed. And then I usually find myself spiraling to the bottom of a depression pit.

I have learned over the past 20 or so years a few things about my depression. (I claim it because it is my depression and because when I talk about it I don't assume that everyone else that suffers does so the same as me). I've learned that there are certain things/people/events that are triggers and that my reaction to those triggers will determine whether I survive or whether I swirl into the abyss. 

I've learned to be more reasonable about the whole celebration process. Instead of helping every child make something for every one of their siblings, I now buy fun things at yard sales during the summer and hide them away. The Little People get to wash walls or organize cupboards to be able to "shop" from my stash. We still make a lot of things but just not as much. I know some families just draw names, which in our case would make sense. Do the math, if all my children get each other a present (and they do) that makes 156 gifts. But I can't bring myself to cut that part of Christmas back. They are so much more excited to give than they are to receive and I want to keep it that way. So I decided to cut back something else instead.

I decided to say adios to some of my negative thoughts. What a novel idea! And without negative thoughts I'm stuck wallowing in my gratitude. Go figure.

Miss Nichole got a fun call this week from one of her mission companions. She and another friend they met while serving in Texas came to stay with us. That statement will usually be enough to find me singing looney tunes. I LOVE having people over. It's the words tumbling around in my head that get me. (My dishes aren't done, my laundry has grown into the kitchen, our carpet is dirty, I bought too many books again and now there is nowhere to sit.....). Instead I took a deep breath, and calmly ordered the Little People to check the bathroom for toilet paper, towels, and soap. I sent up a prayer of thankfulness that we had cooked an extra turkey and there were plenty of left overs. And then I enjoyed these delightful people. Really enjoyed them. I sincerely want them to come back again soon.

Last year I had to sit in a cold van with four freezing, tired, hungry babies while My Man marched up the mountain and killed a tree. I felt like I was just doing what I had to do to make Christmas happy for everyone else.

This year I planned ahead. We loaded up the propane tank, stopped at the grocery store where I splurged on some really good cocoa, and headed to the hills singing. I had a delightful time cooking chili for my family and watching them make epic sledding attempts. Instead of being the martyr suffering for the cause I was the "Best Mom ever!" (Sir Thomas said so.)

By the end of the weekend we had cooked Thanksgiving, cleaned the house (sort of), set up for a craft fair, watched all the Little People perform their dances at the Christmas Ball, petted the reindeer, cut the tree, sled the hill, attended my niece's wedding, listened to Brianna play the piano in a concert, blew up fireworks, marched in a parade, and then Sunday visited another niece as she reported on her mission to Oregon.

And I'm still happy.

I'm smiling because we've had food to eat, a home to live in, a washing machine that works, a community that celebrates, friends that share, family that cares, opportunities for our children, taste and touch and sight and hearing.....and we have each other. And we have a miraculous God that puts everything into perspective....

....and I'm married to a man that belongs on the cover of a magazine. Hubba hubba!!!

Keep Your Shirt On

 It would seem that Sir Harley has a few fans that would like to know what he has been up to lately. While I am always a bit sad when my children move from one phase to the next I can say that there have been some advantages to my baby boy growing up. He has mellowed out so much this month. I haven't seen him streaking down the road for weeks now. He has become very hugs and kisses oriented and will even voluntarily get in bed for a nap now and then. (I bribe him with chocolate but that doesn't count.)

Yesterday at the craft fair, Steve and I were comparing notes with another couple that had raised a large family. Their suggestion, laughingly, was to squirt Sir Harley with water every time I discovered him minus clothing. Even though they were joking I could never have even considered it. My Harley isn't a puppy. He is a child of God.

The Daddy and I have taken a lot of parenting classes over the years. I listen to what is taught and try to discern what I believe to be truth and will work for our children and what is just nonsense. One thing that we learned just a few years ago at one of these classes has been very useful. It's the concept that children will continue to do anything they get attention for.

When we first started experimenting with this new idea I felt like I was being manipulative. I would make a concerted effort to notice and make a big deal out of anything I witnessed that was positive and did my level best to brush off, or minimize, bad behavior. What I soon realized was that I was training myself to be a parent more than I was training my children to be well behaved.

After some diligence in this parenting approach we began to see some really positive results. For instance, when everyone is loud and crazy and Daddy has already called for prayer, instead of getting all worked up he simply points out and recognizes any one thing that one of the children are doing right. ("Look at Sean! He knows how to kneel.") Instantly they drop what they are doing and join the circle reverently. They all want to be noticed, too. Never ceases to amaze me.

The same concept works for chores and bedroom clean up. I'm not saying for a second that I'm anywhere close to having it together with the housekeeping. What I am saying is that if I ask the boys to clean their room and then give some positive feedback for even the smallest effort, that effort is magnified. And if I'm having an off day and nitpick at them, their behavior gets worse.

I decided to really work with my Harley the past few weeks. I discovered that a lot of his angry tantrums were a result of not being understood. He was all caught up in the mix and just needed a sympathetic ear. I reminded myself to parent on the offense and find the good before the bad crept in. Every time I see him with a pair of pants on I make a big deal about how good he is at getting dressed. That's all it takes. He then runs to the closet and picks out a shirt and stands by me to see if I will notice.


Not all has been a success in this clothing project, however. Because Sir Harley gets attention for having clothes on, Miss Ivy wants in on it. She has a different outfit on every time I turn around. She has even taken to dressing Miss Izzie. They frequently look like two little bag ladies bracing for a storm. I came home the other day to find Miss Izzie wearing two shirts, a dress, leggings and topped off with a pair of tights on her head. She looked like a psychedelic bunny bracing for a storm. These are the moments when motherhood gets a bit confusing. Do I praise her for keeping her clothes on or ignore it and hope that someday her college roommates will help her with fashion sense.

I still can't get my little man to keep anything on his feet. I guess I'll just have to own that one. I can't say I'm really enthusiastic about shoes, either. He takes it a bit further. I had to cut the feet out of his favorite dino jammies. All the world is right when you can wiggle your piggies.

And now that Sir Harley is giving me a bit of a break, Miss Izzie has decided to seize the day. She created her own indoor sandbox. Repeat ofter me....keep it positive....keep it positive...keep it positive....

Wreaths

A few years ago a really good friend gave me a fresh green wreath for Christmas. I was hooked immediately....absolutely love at first site. The next year I found myself ruthlessly begging for another one.

Last year my teenage son needed a project for his entrepreneur class. He chose to make wreaths. (I might have prodded him a bit in my need to fill an obsession.) They turned out beautifully! (A lot of work but totally worth it!)

At any rate, a tradition has been born and this year my very generous sisters have decided to help us by sharing. THANK YOU!!! Because I am a lot behind on the technology train and have no other way of getting info out there I am sharing pertinent info here.

These wreaths are made of organic matter with the exception of the bow. They will last for several months if kept outdoors. I made the one below for a friend last year and she wanted it inside. She hung it in her kitchen window. It lasted through the holidays and then began to dry. I was in her kitchen this past June and it was still there! It had dried several shades of amazing pastel colors and definitely had some wow factor! Our neighbors left theirs on their front door and it was still green on Valentine's Day with a red bow. I'm not giving out guarantees, just some suggestions. So.......



This wreath is approx. 30" in diameter and is the perfect fit for a regular size front door. It looks stunning with or without a bow. The price is $46 without the bow. As seen is $54.

Ever and Always 30" with burlap and red double bow

The wreath below is one of my favorites when it comes to smell. The combination of sage and pine is hypnotizing. It is approx. 36" in diameter. and would look great in a Victorian setting with a large burgundy bow or perfect for a log cabin with some burlap! This size is great for larger doors or areas. I like this size on the large staircase wall. The price is $54 as seen. Add for ribbon.

Christmas in the Rockies 36"

This wreath is the same as the top one but in the smaller size. It is approx. 26" in diameter and is $27 plain. As shown with a double bow it is $35.

Ever and Always 26" with burgundy and chevron double bow

Memo to a Mentor

Last Sunday I went about my day just like every other Sunday. We ran the Little People through the shower like some kind of high speed car wash. We pulled white shirts over the little boys' heads and rounded up a pile of dress pants. After stepping back for a final inspection, we switched some of the clothes around for a better fit. Then we found the missing shoe. There is always a missing shoe on Sunday morning.

After all these years of little boys I think we can be proud of our efficiency in getting them ready. The little girls are another story. Tights and bows and coordinating shoes put a whole new spin on getting a crowd out the door.

Last Sunday wasn't like every other Sunday, though. I have been wearing a little thin lately and quite frankly, I just wanted to send them all off and climb back in bed for a siesta.

But I didn't.

After sacrament meeting and Sunday school and then my class with the young women, I sat in the foyer of the church and visited with my friends as they walked by. Everyone was fine and I was fine and the whole world was fine and we all looked fine in our Sunday best with happy smiles.

And then Fern walked by.

Fern looked me directly in the eyes. Fern took my hand in hers. Fern didn't ask if I was fine. She didn't have to. She knows. Fern isn't the asking type, anyway. She just says it like it is.

"Life is hard, isn't it," states Fern. "You'll get through it."

 Nothing more. Nothing less.

This probably doesn't sound like anything very profound, but you have to know some details about Fern, and about me. We go back.

On the outside, Fern is a little old lady. But that's just what she looks like. (And I personally think she pulls it off with a bit of a Grace Kelley air.) But Fern is an experienced, accomplished, and very capable woman who has seen the majority of it in her lifetime. And she means the world to me.

When I was seven I used to make up songs on the piano. My mother had taught me the abc's of an octave and how they repeated through the keyboard. I had no idea how that translated into notes but I would write my own music in my own strange code. When I turned eight I was still doing this so my parents decided to make some sacrifices and get me lessons.

They sent me to Fern.

She lived on the other side of town and I had to ride my banana seat bicycle all the way there, a distance I can't even fathom sending my children alone. But times were different then and our town was more or less the Idaho version of Mayberry.

Fern's house was different than the one I came from. Her children were all raised and everything was quiet and orderly. There was never a picture frame even slightly off kilter and there were chairs upholstered in hand tufted needle point. Just like her, her home was something that radiated exactness. I was completely astounded by it, still am. I recognized at even that young of an age, someone that I wanted to learn things from. And I did.

She didn't just teach me piano, either. She taught me posture and etiquette. She helped me learn to deal with my shyness. If I ever tried to fake sick because I hadn't practiced I was forced to call and tell her myself. I absolutely couldn't stand doing that. I don't think I missed very often.

She encouraged me to participate in competitions that I thought I had no business even thinking about. And when I found success it was just a smile and a simply stated, "Of course you did."

My parents went through some tough times and had to cut back on a few things. My lessons had to go. Fern wouldn't have it. She devised some plan so I could continue until I was old enough to pay for myself. So many of my successes in life can be linked back to the confidence I gained while learning to play the piano. And of course that can be linked back to her. I owe her a lot.

I hope that I am still learning from her, maybe in my own way, to say it like it is. I hope that I can learn to gaze more upon others' hearts and less upon appearances. I want to be the kind of person that can sit next to a sweaty little tomboy and look past the unkempt hair and down turned face and recognize eternal potential.

And I hope that when the rest of the world sees me as a little old lady, I will remember how much color I still have to offer.

Dear Me

I get calls now and then from other mothers that need to pick my brain. Sometimes they call because they or one of their loved ones has been diagnosed with celiac disease and they don't know where to start. I also get a lot of requests from women who decide to bring their children home to educate them and want my advice on schedules and textbooks and social skills. I really like these conversations and generally find myself learning from them as well.

One of Miss Nichole's childhood friends has started her family. She recently asked for some talk time. I sure love this Little Woman. I forget when we are speaking that she was just a child a few years ago. She's a grown up now and doing a wonderful job tackling marriage and motherhood. She asked for my ideas on some simple things like clothing organization and cloth diapers. I say simple, but it's little things like these that populate the city of Mommydom.

As I began contemplating what to say to her that would be the most useful I couldn't help but visualize myself in her position. (I really have been there, done that... and I have the worn out T-shirt to prove it.) I remember how difficult learning the ropes can be, probably because I'm still learning them. If I could go back and talk to the young mommy me, knowing what I know now, what would I say?

Dear Julie,
     
 I know you are tired and sore and never bargained on throwing up everyday for eight months straight, but don't wish it away. That Little Person wiggling around in you is so safe and warm and easy to take care of. Let her stay there for as long as possible and enjoy it. If the heartburn gets too bad let it remind you of the miracle you are lucky enough to be a part of. 
   
  When your sweet babies are born, please let someone take care of you. Those first few days are so magical and will be gone in a moment. Don't waste a single minute doing dishes or laundry or entertaining guests. You keep those first moments all to yourself. Your body needs to heal and you need to have all that energy saved for the next few months of sleepless nights.
   
 Speaking of sleepless nights, those will begin to gang up on you. Remember that everything of worth will require sacrifice. If you have to give something up, let it be the housekeeping. I promise that what others think of your vacuumed carpets will never compare to taking care of your health. Your children need you...and some reasonably nutritious food. Matching socks and coordinated outfits will mean nothing five years from now. A grouchy mother will be remembered for decades.(I know your teenagers, so I can assure you of this.)

   I know you are worried about what brands to buy and how much of this and when to do that. What you really need to do is trust yourself. You know what to do. You know when things ring true and when things just aren't right. Stand up for yourself. Stop trying to please everyone else. Just be you. You are the one that was blessed with this child. You are the one entitled to inspiration specific to her needs. Be strong!

    Take some time while your Little Person is still itty bitty and contemplate what you want your home to be like fifteen years from now. The habits you start now will be the mold that shapes tomorrow. You want your teenager to say his prayers, eat dinner at the table, tell you all about his day and then hug you goodnight, so start doing those things right now.

    I know you will spend most of your life struggling with organization. It just isn't a strength yet. But don't give up. The adversary will whisper in your ear that you are not good enough, that you don't measure up. He'll tell you that other women do everything you do and they do it better. Well just you send that evil whisper right back where it came from. You are the only you. God wouldn't have sent these particular children to your home if they required a pack-rat free environment. Just keep focusing on the things you do right and magnify the gifts you have been given. I'll write you again when I'm sixty and let you know all that is possible without eighteen diapers to change every day and toddlers that undo more than you can ever do.

   Pay close attention to everything your children say between the ages of 9 and 13. It will be a lot. They will talk until your ears will swell up. But listen to them, because if you do they will still be talking to you when they turn 14 and 15 and 16. And you want that.
  
  There is opposition to all things. There will be ups and there will be downs. Just ride them and learn from them and be gracious enough to help others that have been bucked off their horses. The really rough spots will not last forever and they will help you to recognize and appreciate the good times.

  One more thing before I go. That good man that is sitting next to you....tell him thank you..... a lot. He is sleepless and worried and tired, too. You mean everything to him. Hug him a little tighter and make sure he knows that he means everything to you! 

Love,

Yourself

 P.S. You won't always feel like dancing in the rain. That's okay. Just learn from your babies. Storms leave behind beautiful puddles!

Better for Best

The Man and I returned home at one o'clock this morning from an unplanned trip to see Mom and Dad C.  Not exactly a family picnic.  It's much more fun to make family memories when everyone is healthy and happy and out of pain.

We were so relieved to hear they were headed home from the hospital this morning and we will be sending our prayers that Dad will heal and they can have many more happier moments with us.

Just so you know...Steve and I have been blessed with some pretty amazing people for parents.

Even though a hospital isn't my first venue choice for family game night, there are some positives.

Like watching two people that have found a way to make a marriage work for fifty plus years.

You get to see some people at their best when life is handing them the worst.

When something like this happens I tend to jump off the spinning carousel of living and put first things first. I wish I could say I lived my life like that every day. Unfortunately, I don't. And I regret it. And I have to learn this lesson over and over and over. Why?

It seems to me that every couple of years I get that carousel spinning so fast that it's inevitable that those pretty little ponies are going to fly right off.....and pile it up on the concrete. That's kind of where I've been for the past three weeks....sweeping up bits of ponies.

For me, the disaster usually begins with the absence of the word 'NO'. My sweetheart has been known to practice The Conversation with me now and again.

 "That's a wonderful idea! I'm so sorry I won't be able to participate/help/take charge of/spend three days making decorations for/attend."

 Maybe if he puts it to music it will stick in my head.

Miss Nichole came home from school last week to speak in church. She gave a beautiful talk on the subject of sacrifice. She spoke of a true sacrifice as giving up something good for something better. Boy have I had some things turned around. I'm guilty of giving up some best for some good.

I can't be too hard on myself. I know why I got sucked into the same old again. On some really inexplicable level.....I liked it.

I am a creator.
I like having people recognize my creative abilities.
I like having an avenue to explore my talents.
I like having some tangible product to show for a hard days work.
I like being pushed to the limit and coming out the victor.

I like remembering that I am more than a dishwasher.

But there is a price to pay.

There is always an exchange that has to be made.

The world will tell me that the modern woman can have it all and can kick some proverbial tushke while doing it. But my personal experience tells me otherwise. The honest me knows that there is a time and a season for everything and that putting Spring between Fall and Winter will require sacrificing a month of changing leaves for a minute of apricot blossoms.

I've been wearing a bikini in a snowstorm.

The good news is that I can be taught....sometimes repeatedly. Someone loves me enough to keep giving me second chances. There won't be too many more. Even I know this isn't going to last.

If the largest stadium in the world was filled to the brim with fans chanting my name in a screaming, standing ovation for an entire hour.....

......it wouldn't even touch the privilege of washing their dishes.

.......and since I've been catching some flack for making everyone cry all the time.....I'll share with you my James quote of the week.
 He asked me, with a very serious five year old face,

 "Is Grandma your age?"

 Yes. She. Is.

We are both 32 and a half.

It's all about balance, isn't it?

Stalker Mom

                                                                                                             Sunday, October 5, 2014

Dear Elder Crosgrove,

My dear son, how has your week been? Was it the best one yet, just like last week? Did you go to the ward building to listen to the Conference talks? Wasn't it awesome to listen to the speakers in their native languages?! 

I have something to confess. I listened to the first speaker from a hotel room in Los Angeles.....just a few miles from you. I didn't want to tell you until I was back in Idaho because I wanted you to stay focused. I hope you are okay with that.

I went to LA with some friends to help them with their business.  What an interesting city! I was lost immediately, no surprises there. I found some aspects of the city that I fell in love with. There's the surprise, you know me and cities.

One of the things that I liked was the diversity of the people. Every face looked to have a story behind it that I wanted to sit down and listen to. (Well, most of them.) I know Disneyland tends to be the draw in that neck of the woods, but I'd take some one-of-a-kind conversation over that any day. We did walk around the park and snap a pic...just so you could believe I was there.

The picture is in front of the Lego store. I saw massive sculptures completely constructed of the stuff. I showed the little boys the pics and they were inspired to cover the living room floor in a renewed sense of Lego ownership.

My original plan was to be very sneaky and drop your birthday package at the mission home. I was secretly hoping I could spy on you from a distance, see my little boy one more time before his teenage years dissipate. In hindsight.....that would have been awful.

 The next time I see you I want to be able to hug your guts out, not hide in the bushes.

I didn't have the luxury of a car and large amounts of free time to make that happen anyway. Good thing.

What I did have was the tender mercies of the Lord.

On Saturday morning I was awakened at 4:30. (Probably my body thinking it needed to take care of one of your siblings.) I was drawn to the windows. We were staying on the 11th floor. I looked out over all the lights of that great city and started to get emotional. 

Somewhere hiding in that vastness was you.

I had absolutely no idea which direction to even look.

It's a powerful

sensation to be that close to you and still be just as far away.

Because no one else was stirring, I was able to spend some quality time with myself. (An interesting thought if you think about it.) I had the rare opportunity to really do some scripture study, cross references and everything. It never ceases to amaze me the comfort those words bring.

As the sun began to rise, a gentle feeling washed over me. I felt reassured that you were exactly where you should be....and that God knows where that is.

My wish for your birthday this week would be a strong back that your load will seem light. I wish for you to have clear eyes that will recognize the needs of others. And most of all I pray that the message you have put your life on hold to deliver will be accepted by someone who has been searching for it.

Lastly, I hope that you know your mama loves you.....you might want to watch out for suspicious looking bushes.

To the moon and back and infinity and beyond, love,

Mom

Another Day

The Man had a minute yesterday to work on a project and decided to finish some sheet rock in the basement. His plans were changed for him. The sheet rock was wet again. He spent the day on the roof in a rain storm fixing gutters instead.

As the front door closed behind My Man, and I knew he was headed for the roof, I felt sick. Something bad was going to happen. He was going to fall off and our lives were going to be changed forever.

I didn't say anything. I've been doubting myself a bit lately. I made the mistake of watching The Saratov Approach the other night. Not recommended viewing for mothers of missionaries. I've been on edge more than usual. Steve would have done what needed to be done anyway. He's just like that.

When I get emotional I get busy. I have to. So I went in my closet and started cleaning....and praying. I started to imagine my life without my best friend by my side. Tried to fathom raising children without a daddy. Tried not to wonder how I could ever get through a week without a Friday night date.

I realized that I wasn't just being paranoid. Something bad really was going to happen.

There was a knock at the door.

It was My Man. He couldn't even get the door opened. He had fallen. As his weight transferred onto the ladder, it had buckled. The whole ladder crumpled up. He fell into a pile of boulders from roof height and miraculously missed them. He was cut and bruised and covered in mud.

But he was still alive.
.
My Father listened to my pleas. He must have just wanted me to have a wake up call to all the blessings a good man brings into my life. 

I don't think I take my sweetheart for granted, but I feel different today. When he told me I was beautiful I decided to trust him. I watched him at church with his primary class (he had a large group of 6 year olds today). I really watched him. He is so patient with them.

I noticed how he guided our 14 year old son to take the lead in their Home Teaching assignments (they look over two families together). He treated Sir Jake like a man and wasn't surprised when he behaved like one.

I let register the simple pleasure My Man gets just from holding his baby girls in his arms, their faces lighting up as his whiskers and their tiny fingers meet.

We went for a walk tonight and I let the warmth of his arm around me infuse my being.

I don't know how much of this life will get to be spent with my best friend. I don't know what kind of trials lay before us. I don't know why God spared him yesterday.

What I do know is that I got another day.  What I do know is that the influence of a righteous man is great. I know that a man that honors covenants and puts his wife and children before himself is extraordinarily powerful.

And I know I'm lucky to be married to such a man. 

Doe Slay Me Far Sew

History is repeating itself. There are some things being passed on from one generation to another that have absolutely nothing to do with genetics.

Since I've been sewing so much lately, I find my mind wandering a lot. I let it wander to wonder how in the world I ended up surrounded by 8 (or maybe 14) sewing machines. I think it meandered all the way back to elementary school.

My mother was a very busy woman when I was a child. By the time I hit Kindergarten I already had three younger siblings. She had supernatural abilities to feed enormous groups of people. Her friends were unusual, too. Most of them were widows in their twilight years or people who were just down on their luck for one reason or another. She hung out with them a lot (usually pulling their weeds or taking them shopping). She was wise enough to drag me along with her when she did.

That's how I learned.

By watching her.

I watched her sew a lot, too. If I ever had new clothes on it was because she made them for me. We have a favorite family legend that involves an impromptu swimming trip. We were a few swimsuits short at our house that day. My mother just pulled some fabric out of her stash and whipped some up. They were a bit off in a few places because she didn't have a pattern, but hey oh. We went swimming.

One day I found a broken sewing machine in the basement and decided I wanted to use it. Right then. My mother didn't have time to fix it. At the moment I was probably whiny and wished she had more time and energy for me. I might have even had a Verruca Salt moment or two. I don't remember all the details.

What I do know is that I am forever grateful that she didn't have time to do everything for me. At 8 or 9 years old I became a mechanic. It took me weeks to figure that sucker out. But when I did I felt empowered. I felt capable.

I felt free.

At about that same time, Barbie Dolls became a part of my life. My friends were all playing with them and I thought I wanted one. I got the discount store variety with the hollow plastic legs and the arms that would never stay attached.  It didn't matter. While every other Barbie was going on dates with Ken, my doll was more or less a dress form for my wild imagination.

Our family was regularly blessed with care packages a.k.a. hand-me-downs. My favorite care packages came from an aunt that owned a drapery business. She would give my mother sacks with little left over bits of designer fabric. I can still remember sorting through those and holding up a scrap and visualizing what it could become. (Your black and gold sofa from the 70's made a lovely splash as an overcoat paired with dust-ruffle remnant leggings).

I drove my mom nuts asking for help. She really just didn't have the time. One day she took a break from her chores, grabbed a pencil and paper, and gave me the talk. (Probably not the one she should have given me....still waiting for that one).

She drew a shape and explained that this is what a sleeve looks like. If you want poofy sleeves make it bigger here. If you want short sleeves, cut it here. If you want gathers add here. She drew me a shirt pattern and a pants pattern with similar instructions and then sent me on my way.

I figured it out. Barbie never had it so good. And because I knew how to fix my own problems, I felt incredibly liberated. Creativity began spewing out of my hair follicles.

This week Sir Thomas entered the Dress Pit. He asked to walk over to Grandma's house. I let him. He came back with a trophy. She had given him some camouflage scraps. (I'm telling you, this woman has a fabric stash like nothing you've ever seen). I didn't see him again for a really long time. He was concocting something in the basement. Next thing I know, in comes Sir Matt in brand new camo pants. Apparently Sir Tom had spread the material out on the floor, had Sir Matt lay on it to trace a pattern of his body, borrowed a needle, thread, and scissors without my knowledge, and then went to work.

When Sir Thomas was seen in the Dress Pit later that day I recognized the look as his eyes lingered on my favorite sewing machine (that was just barely repaired from Sir Spencer's shoe making phase two years ago). His little wheels were turning. He had just earned a new appreciation for technological advancement...and he wanted some.

Deja vu.

Just like the great woman that came before me, I didn't have the time to teach my own son how to sew. So, just like her, I gave him a sheet of paper with some primitive shapes resembling pattern pieces, a ten dollar yard sale sewing machine that I hadn't been able to get to yet, a crash course in threading it, and a sincere expression of faith in his capabilities. Getting it to work was his problem.

It took him a couple of hours.

Should have seen how proud he was!

He's now taking orders for Nerf ammo straps.

It's beginning to look like the deer hunting version of a Julie Andrews movie around here.

Photo credit: Keiko Foote, Nichole Crosgrove, Brianna Crosgrove

Eyes of the Beholder

I heard a quote at a fireside one night that has stayed with me for years.

 "Even an old barn looks better with a fresh coat of paint."

I resemble that remark.

    Actually, I feel really pretty in this picture. Photo editing software might just be a greater invention than the flushing toilet.

Teenagers get a terrible rap. But I think they are the best. I'd fill my house with them if I could. Oh, wait.....I did. Miss Brianna decided that if people are going to read a blog written by some woman with a gazillion little people they might want to know what that woman looks like. And since she knows someone that takes pictures.....

It was really strange doing a photo shoot with myself as the object. Surprisingly strange. Over the years my 'get ready' routine has gradually lessened to the point it is nearly non-existent. Seriously. In high school I used to need an hour and a half just to do my hair. Granted those were the days of 'wings' and perms and a four year obsession with wanting to look like Marie Osmond.

I showered, dressed, did make up, hair and packed a diaper bag in 15 minutes flat last Sunday.

How has it come to this?

I think it's a priorities thing.

In my teen years my biggest priority was to attract the man of my dreams. Mission accomplished.  What took me years to realize was that he is attracted to me, not my hair. Good thing because my hair falls out after I have a baby and I've had 13 babies. Do the math.

My growing up days were also filled with a lot of pain in the self-image department. I was relentlessly teased about being flat chested. I had boy legs, hairy arms and big feet. It didn't help that I was afraid of my own shadow. I actually had a panic attack and walked out of Geometry my Sophomore year because a boy turned around in his seat and talked to me.

I've changed a skosh.

Life will do that to ya.

When you haven't slept more than a wink for days on end and you get a chance to take a quick shower...you learn to skip the shower and take a nap.

When you splurge on some really good lipstick and after one use your toddler decides to eat it (or paint the cabinets with it) you learn to laugh at their creativity......and keep the Chap stick.

When you're a size 14 in January, a size 8 in June, and back to a 12 by December you learn that spending more on jeans than sweats is a bad bargain. Besides, the brown sweats make my bum look perky and that's saying a lot from my perspective.

When someone you love has never been able to walk, let alone run, you get over your varicose veins really fast.

And when I finally realized that the beautiful, put together woman sitting on the back row was also painfully shy and we'd totally miss out on a great friendship if I didn't step out of my comfort zone, 

I decided to get rid of my comfort zone.

So I let Miss B, with the help of Miss Emily, put me all back together again. She even let me borrow some of her fabulous clothes which, come to think of it, probably belong to Miss Nichole. Talk about traveling pants.

But I still felt weird.

 I felt out of sorts because it was just me.

 All by myself. 

No sweetheart with his arm around me.

 No baby slobber smattered on my shoulder.

 No toddler wiping the remnants of lunch on my kneecap.

 No little boys pulling funny faces when everyone else in the picture is smiling. 

No beautiful daughters to draw away the attention. 

No teen aged son standing tall so I could feel short.

 Just me.

And that just didn't feel like me at all.

Oh...and thanks to my ever generous Uncle John. It was very good of you to run out of gas in your super cool car right at my feet and insist that I jump in and take a few snaps. (Even if it did just come out of a storage unit.) If you ever need someone to babysit it on a Friday night......

Home School Habitat

It's September. For the past few weeks my computer screen has been flooded with pictures of adorable children all spiffed and standing in front of their homes, waiting for the first day of school to begin. Such an exciting time. A very visual step forward on the growing up staircase.

It's an exciting time for my children, too. I don't send them off with the carpool or a big yellow bus each morning, but things do change around here on the first day of school. Mostly I just try harder to have a routine.

I purposefully don't start a school schedule until after Labor Day. There are too many summer learning adventures to finish up and I'm not ready for textbooks yet. Labor Day came and went way too early this year. Time to adjust!

Our first day of school pics, if I had them, would not be of the Little People on the front porch. They wouldn't be spiffed either. We start school at 6:30 a.m. All of the students are piled onto one of the three couches, usually still in PJ's, and usually bundled together in blankets. We have a family devotional for two hours. This is my time to work with them as a group. We read scriptures, sing songs, eat breakfast, memorize poetry, pledge allegiance, and then write. Anything that can be learned as a group is thrown into this time slot.

By 8:30 my preschoolers and kindergartner are finished and the rest get ready for the day and then work on their own. We come together again for two hours in the afternoon for more difficult subjects while toddlers and babies sleep and then one more time after dinner for my double digits crew. (Ten and ups.)

Monday and Tuesday were our first days back. I didn't even cry at the end of those days. Wish I could say the same for the rest of the week.

Exactly

The fabric that I had ordered for ballroom costumes (that are due already) finally started arriving Tuesday night. I also had a call from a dear neighbor who scopes out free fruit for our family every year. (All families should be blessed with such friends!) The pears are ripe. Come pick them this week. Oh, and the dentist called. The appointments that can't be rescheduled....are tomorrow. Oh, and the corn is getting old and should be frozen yesterday and the 45 tomato plants are all going to ripen at the same moment.... and they pick this week to do it. And did I mention plums. Pottawatomies, reds, sugar, and even the wild plums all decide that the first week of September they should all need to be picked and turned into syrup..... or else.

So Wednesday was a bit off for school. (Slight sarcasm. Not much, but a little.)

So those of you that were impressed with how I imagine our school days should be (see above) lets be honest about how it really is.

We had a substitute teacher on Wednesday. And Thursday. That's what I say when I can't teach and I have to remember that sometimes that happens at the public schools, too.

In this case it wasn't so bad. I still had Miss Nickie with me this week. She is a vocal performance music major and she just came home from a Spanish speaking mission. After scripture study she took over for me. Oh Suzanna is a little bit different for the Little People when she teaches. That was fun to listen to as my sewing machine hummed away. And my pathetic attempt to teach the Greek alphabet has nothing on her ability to teach them Spanish. !La leche chocolate por favor!

I didn't get a teaching day completely off, though. Wednesday afternoon my boys came into the dress pit, also known as my sewing room, and declared that the window wells were filling up with frogs again. I took the opportunity for a science lesson and explained to them the meaning of the word habitat. I suggested that they look for a similar habitat (the creek bottoms came to my mind) and remove the frogs to a new home.

I now have jars of frogs in mud and water on my entryway table. Oh goodie.

It gets better.

On Thursday afternoon they all came back to the dress pit. The appointed spokesperson stood proudly before me.

"Mom, what kind of habitat does a mole need?"

Soul Sisters

It's the beginning of a new school year and that means pictures! (The kind of pictures where the children are actually clean and wearing matching, cute outfits......or at least clothes.)

We have to divide and conquer on this one. It's just too difficult to get thirteen children spiffed up and smiling simultaneously. Miss Brianna (who of course does the clicking) suggested that we make the split along gender lines. All Little People of the female persuasion were ordered to be cutie-pied and packed into the van.

 I was invited along for the photo shoot as more of a prop-getter than anything else.

As we finished for the day and headed out of the hills, something that should have been obvious finally made it's way to my head. I had all six of my girls together. Wow. We should take some all girls pictures!

Just in case I might want to do something with it someday, I asked the girls to let me take a series of pics starting with Miss Nichole, then adding Miss Brianna, then Miss Emily and so forth until at the end I would have a pic with all six. When it was Miss Izzie's turn to join the line she knew it! She started running toward HER spot. All girls turned and waited for her anxiously!

Looking at this happy moment captured on film makes me remember another happy moment more than two decades ago.

When Miss Nichole was a newborn (and my home was very neat, tidy, and quiet) I decided to write her a letter as she slept one afternoon. I held her in my arms and wrote to her of the feelings in my heart as she came into my earthly life, and I became a mother for the first time. I remember with ease those quiet moments because they didn't stay quiet. The Heavens opened and I could hear noises that only a multitude of children are capable of making. I knew in my heart that these were my other children and that they were so excited for the journey their sister had made. But they also missed her dearly and were anxious for their turn.

 I tease my sweetheart that Heaven gets a wee bit more quiet each time we have a baby. It probably sounds like a library now that Miss Izzie has taken her place in line.