Part One: Let's Get Together

First family photo with all the Little People together!

Some things never change!

I never thought these two looked alike. Mind. Changed.

Just looking at this picture makes my insides all happy.

Isn't it ironic? The times when there is so much to say and record are often the times I have absolutely no minutes or even seconds left in me to do so!

The past few months have been a whirlwind for me. And that is the understatement of the century. I am positively exhausted. I feel like I should get a few weeks of recovery time just as the famous athletes take after an Iron Man or the Olympics. I honestly have no idea how we pulled everything off!

But I know I'd do it all again in a heartbeat!


I'm not an organized person. I take issue with that. I am also very determined to be able to retract that statement someday.

When it became apparent that I would be welcoming Elder Spencer home on the 10th of February, marrying off Miss Nichole on the 20th and then two days later hosting Sir Spencer's welcome home dinner I decided to pretend I was an organized person. I made lists and schedules and became down right pesky about decision making with all parties involved. I was very proud of myself.

And then I was reminded of all the reasons that I am not an organized person.

Miss Nichole had only three wishes (to begin with....the list grew as time wore on). She insisted on being married in the temple, to the right man, and in a dress made by her Mama. She was in charge of the first two items and the third was a no brainer. I had it covered, no problem.

My life always likes to slap me when I get arrogant.

We designed her dress with a million and one yards of chiffon and just the right lace. After ransacking every available resource we were left with nothing. It took days but I finally found the lace I wanted and felt pretty good about my dress schedule.

A week later the fabric and lace arrived.  They didn't match. You'd think white and white would go together......not so.

Then Steve left for Florida for an entire week and the Little People started to come down with the flu. The really bad flu. Fevers, pukies, trotskies, runny noses, body aches, the works. I couldn't even think about sewing. I don't think I even slept more than an hour at a time while he was gone.

When My Man came through the door that Saturday night I felt like the cavalry had arrived. I honestly thought we would be spending the night at the E.R. with at least three of the babies. A Daddy, a bag of Popcicles, and the goodness of God work miracles.

By this time I was two weeks behind in my very organized schedule. I wanted so badly to be finished with dresses and decorations at this point so that I could spend a day cleaning, pick my son up from the airport, and then spend a few days getting to know him again.

Instead I was employing my hard earned abilities to ward off depression and a physical break down.

I really struggle with asking for help. I love the beautiful mess that my life is. I would never want fewer children or lesser adventures. I would also never want someone else to feel burdened by the life choices that I've made. It just seems easier for me to try to figure things out and make them do than to have others help me, especially when I know that I can rarely repay the favors.

Once again, angels landed on my doorstep. My mother arrived early Monday morning and read to the sick children for the entire day. My sister Trina rang the doorbell with a cleaning bucket in hand and spent the day cleaning walls and toilets and all the while telling me how much she enjoyed it. Miss Brianna, Miss Emily, and Miss Sarah stepped up to the plate and made sense of the kitchen. I was able to focus on all the laundry and bedding that had to be cleaned.

We were able to get the house in reasonable shape. I just kept a prayer in my heart that Elder Crosgrove wouldn't be too overwhelmed with it all. I also wondered how we would be able to travel the four hours to and from the airport with sick children.

Elder Crosgrove answered that question. His last e-mail home was just three short sentences. One of which was a plea to be picked up by just his Mom and Dad. I was a little unnerved by this request (I had been envisioning a great family reunion for two years!) but I remembered how difficult it had been for Miss Nichole to transition so we sorrowfully left the other children home.

The airport was a repeat scene from when we picked up Hermana Crosgrove. There were several other missionaries returning at the same time and their families were waving posters, wearing T-shirts, and carrying balloons filled with anticipation.

I didn't know how to handle the moment. I started pacing away from all those excited families.

I heard a shout from my sweetheart.

"Julie, he's here!"

I turn around to see my not-so-little-anymore son coming down the escalator all by himself. There were no acclamations, no hysterical outbursts, no hero's welcome. Our eyes locked on each other and I was shocked at how calmly we just walked towards each other from across the room.

With about fifteen feet to go there was an interception. The Daddy just couldn't take any more and grabbed the first hug. I'm so glad he did. It gave me a second to absorb what was happening, to shake off some of the surreal aura of the moment.

When I did get that hug it was definitely real. I sent him off two years earlier as an eighteen year old boy and now I was hugging a confident, strong, capable man.....that really loved his Mama. Instead of the fanfare filled moment that I thought this would be, we took our time without much ado at all and just basked in the moment.

I thought I wanted a big pick me off the ground prove-to-me-you-missed-me hug. Instead I just kept feeling his face and looking into those huge blue eyes of his and soaked in the fact that his arm was around my shoulders and he was perfectly content to just leave it there.

He's been home two weeks now and he still puts that arm around me when ever we're near each other. Tender mercies of motherhood. I didn't think that anything could feel as amazing as a newborn's silky head rubbing under my chin. I've found a match for that.

I think the pictures above are pretty accurate for our arrival home. The doors flew open, siblings spilled out in droves, and happiness ensued. Except for Harley. He hadn't been off the couch for four days and he really wasn't in the mood for shouts of joy. Poor little guy.


The first moments with Elder Crosgrove and his littlest sisters were not candy coated. It's difficult for two people that should have a tight bond but have never met to have a storybook moment. Miss Izzie just stared at him with no expression at all, which was better than the panicked emotions that came from Miss Ives. Sir Spencer just kept saying, "What's up honey?" He still keeps saying that to her. They were best buddies before he left and now he's a complete stranger.

Things will change. Just this morning I saw her go to him willingly. He gave her the, "What's up Honey?" and she hugged him. More tender mercy mama moments!

I really need some sleep and this post has already been three days in the making so I'll just have to hope I can pick it up again soon and say, "To be continued........."