No End to Space

Improving Home: Girls' Room, Corner Four

2012-01-23T12:30:00.025-07:00

I thought this day would never come.

The girls' room is crossed off my list so I can begin the boys' room. Would you like to see what we put on the walls?

The cross-stitch was done by little young me when I was ten or eleven. I nailed it up there with straight pins. My seven-year-old daughter painted the rainbow (but I think she was six when she did it) with a little artistic advice from my sister and me. Originally I was going to paint a rainbow, but I have very little talent for painting. It was my best friend's idea to have my daughter do it.

Best. Idea. Ever.

I can't remember if I told you the story about finding flower posters that match the wallpaper trim on AllPosters.com. Oh yes...I did. Here. Anyway, the frame on the left carries a few more of the flowers painted by Anthony Morrow. The butterfly on the right was painted by my oldest daughter when she was in kindergarten.

My daughter would not let me get rid of the huge kitty poster, so I cut them out individually to make a collage above her bed, which I like much better.

Okay, now for what we put on the beds:

I'm sorry, but this is my favorite stuffed animal/bug. I don't know which makes me happier, his face or all those feet!

These bears look like a big sister and a little sister who love each other, don't they?

I bought two black travel pillows like this at a yard sale for a buck a piece.

Then I took the leftover material from the dress I stole the valance bow from and hand-sewed it onto the front of one.

For the other one, I sewed on a couple of old iron-on flowers I've had in my craft box for ten years and some rick-rack I've had for almost as long.

I have never claimed to be good with a camera.

And lastly, the under-the-bed part was bothering me because it looked like this:

So I did this:

I know it's wrinkled, but it still looks better than the pajama crates (that's what we call them). Hemming all of those strips of material (left over from the bed skirt material I used to make the valance) and then tacking them to the bottom of the bed was a lot more work than you might think, but I'm glad I did it.

And I'm glad it's done.

The tally? I don't remember the exact prices of everything, but I'll give you close estimates:

The blanket and stuffed animals were gifts.
$10 art posters
$2 for 2 foam poster boards from Dollar Tree (just so you know, this curled when we painted it)
$4 paints
$200 bunk beds
$100 mattress (the other one is the mattress my husband slept on when he was a kid!)
$1 frame from a yard sale (spray-painted black)
$2 travel pillows
$36 for two bedspreads on clearance at K-mart
$1 yellow afghan from D.I. (second-hand store)
$40 for ten plastic crates from Family Dollar
$500 to replace the stinky carpet with vinyl...but now I can't remember if that was for both rooms or just one. I'll get back to you.

Add that to the $187 from the rest of the room and you get $1,083. I don't think I added the cost of paint anywhere, so I'll say the room cost about eleven hundred dollars. I'm looking forward to seeing if I can spend much less in the boys' room!

Quoting the Cute: Page Twelve

2012-01-16T10:39:00.000-07:00

My seven-year-old came sobbing to me after visiting with the neighbor kids outside. "Those boys called my cats FAT!" Trying to keep my face serious, I said, "They did?" And with a wail she answered, "Yes, and it hurt my feelings! I care about my cats!" She cried for fifteen minutes on my lap while I silently laughed into my shoulder.

Our baby boy has two baby girl cousins that are only a few weeks younger than him. Grandmother is losing her memory a little, so she asked my three-year-old to tell her which baby was which (they were lined up in carseats in her front room). My three-year-old pointed to her baby brother in the middle and said, "Well, that one's mine," and then shrugging with both arms out to indicate the babies on each side of him, "and then there's these."

My two-year-old son must like the letter G: For example, "Go gelcome" is "You're welcome," "guwink" is "drink," and "goggy" is "doggy."

Seven-year-old: "[My friend] said I shouldn't use my middle finger." Mom: "Yes, that's kind of like saying a bad word." Seven-year-old: "Why do we even have a middle finger if we're not supposed to use it?!"

Three-year-old: "Now look whatchyou done!"

Two-year-old: "Passurd." This means "password," which means he wants me to unlock the computer. He just started learning how to use the mouse & it makes me dizzy when I watch.

The baby has been laughing since last month. It's contagious.

Birth Stories: Fourth Child

2012-01-05T09:11:00.003-07:00

I usually think of these women before I share any of my birth stories.

As the due date approached, my husband begged me to consider induction on the Friday after the due date. He was hoping to not have to miss work unexpectedly. Reluctantly, I agreed. My doctor said it was a good idea because my last baby was so big (nine pounds, three ounces).

It was weird knowing my baby would be here by a certain date. I had never had that nicety in planning before. My sister came to stay for a week and I loved knowing that this time around (unlike the first time around), she would still be here when the baby came. Having my sister with us was a blessing for so many reasons, but one thing that stands out is that I didn't have to take my three children anywhere. They could wait for the baby in the comfort of their own home.

I saw the doctor the Monday before the due date. No change (no surprise). We reaffirmed my Friday induction appointment. I strongly hoped I'd go into labor naturally before then. But Friday came without a single contraction until the oxytocin was flowing. I was scared to tears at check in because I worried I might not be able to cope as I had with my natural births.

The doctor had high hopes that I would have the baby by the afternoon. Afternoon came and I was still progressing very slowly, even though the oxytocin was being given at its full strength. A few hours later, when I began to transition, I was overcome with pain during each contraction. I kept asking to be checked, only to find out that I was still only at an eight. In my mind, eight was so far from being there, especially since I had been eight centimeters dilated when I checked in to the hospital with my second child, and then she had still taken more than three hours after that to come.

The doctor predicted I'd make it through transition in a half an hour, so I survived the pain somehow for that long and asked to be checked again. No change (this time I was surprised...and very, very discouraged). This is the point where I gave up on doing this thing without pain meds. The baby's heart rate dropped every time I got into my most comforting positions. Pushing with the contractions also helps me with the pain, but the doctor said I needed to wait to push. I felt like there was nothing I could do--like I was going to lose my mind. After begging my husband to be okay with the epidural (he was silent because he wanted me to choose for myself), I decided I definitely wanted it RIGHT THEN more than anything I had ever wanted in my whole entire life.

I asked the doctor how long it would take, and I didn't want the answer to be measured in minutes, but in contractions. He said three. I said to get the anesthesiologist. I cried and moaned through the next three contractions and when the anesthesiologist had still not arrived I ordered my husband to go and find him. When the doctor came in shortly after, I chastised him, "You said three contractions. WHERE IS HE?"

Uncomfortably, the doctor muttered that he thought he would have been there by now, and said he'd go see where he was. When we talked about it later, my husband and I both agreed that he probably just went out into the hallway to appease me!

Five contractions had passed by the time the anesthesiologist arrived (I found out later that he was already on his way home from work). He quickly asked me some questions, which I answered until the next contraction came. Then I started screaming and my husband had to take over. He was answering questions in fast motion and signing papers while I lost it in the background. When we were almost ready for the big needle, the doctor asked if he could check me one more time. I agreed.

Then he told me I could push. Stunned, I did. Then came the pep talk. He told me if I could give him some really good pushes, I could have the baby very soon and the contractions would stop. I wanted the contractions to stop more than anything and doing it NOW sounded perfect to me. I agreed and everyone in the room prepared for the birth.

Except the anesthesiologist. I'm not sure when he left, but I still feel so embarrassed about making him run to my rescue only to witness me making a fool of myself before he could finally go home to his family. I'll bet it happens to him a lot though.

So, after some not so good pushes, the doctor informed me I was in the "I-don't-want-to-give-birth" position and helped to reposition me. After six or seven pushes, the baby was finally born and I was crying because it still hurt so much and my husband was crying because he was happy and the baby was crying because he was a baby.

He. Another son to perfectly complete our family. I wanted to look at him, but I still had my eyes closed tight from all of the pain. Before long, the sweet boy was in my arms and I was telling him over and over and over how sorry I was. I felt bad that I had wanted to give up. How could I think of giving up when he was getting ready to come to me, my perfect baby son?

Everyone was anxious to see what he weighed because he appeared to be a big baby. The doctor later came into our hospital room to inform us by saying, "Drumroll...TEN POUNDS, FOUR OUNCES."

"Wow," was all I could say.

We called our daughter first to tell her it was a boy and that he was big. She sounded happy (she had always said she wanted it to be another boy). When my husband called his family members to tell them we had the baby and announce if it was a boy or girl, he started each call with, "TEN POUNDS FOUR OUNCES." At that point, the person on the other end of the phone was pretty sure it was a boy.

After awhile, my husband went home to spend some time with the children before bedtime and my sister came to sit with me until she was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She left the next day and I missed her so much after that.

The next day my children came to the hospital to meet their brother. My oldest daughter said when she saw him, "I thought you said he was big." I smiled and agreed that while he was considered a big baby, he was still pretty small when it comes to people.

A few days after the baby was born I looked into his eyes and thought how anything seems possible now, even world peace. Early postpartum always makes me feel that way.

There are no words to capture the gratitude I feel for this baby. From the very beginning, I felt like having him was too good to be true--more than I deserved--so I worried I would lose him. I can't believe how things have turned out for our family. All of those years I spent longing for children and now our table is surrounded by them.

I feel like I know what it means for my cup to run over.

If you like birth stories:
Birth Stories: First Child
Birth Stories: Second Child
Birth Stories: Third Child

Smooth Sale-ing

2012-01-02T15:05:00.002-07:00

My scrambled-egg morning brain didn't even know what day it was.

Expecting my fourth (and probably last) baby, I was searching Craigslist for deals on baby items that I didn't have because they had either been worn out by my first three kidlets or had never made it into our household. I had a list. After about an hour of looking for an affordable baby swing, the kind that also swings in the direction of a cradle, I gave up on ever finding one at a price that I was willing to pay (which was $20).

And then I realized that it was FRIDAY.

Friday in the summertime means YARD SALES!!!

In my excitement, I showered myself and dressed my children and got us all strapped in the car in record time. (If only I could be that motivated on Sunday mornings--then we'd be to church ten minutes early like my husband wishes we would be...instead of parading in thirty seconds before the meeting starts.)

The very first yard sale I went to had my baby swing. I couldn't believe it. I had little hope, but in just seconds I was asking her what she was asking. When she said $20, I pounced on it. Maybe some would have offered something less, after all the sale was just getting started. But not me.

I don't dicker.

I found almost everything on my list that weekend. It was like magic. I had been thinking of asking all of my friends to help me find used items instead of having a baby shower. It seemed wasteful to buy new items when they were only going to get used by one baby. I was going to make a game out of it. But the universe came through for me, which turned out to be much less awkward.

The paradox in all of this is that I wish I had had these things for all of my babies--but it was after taking care of three babies that I learned just what things I would like to have!

For You

2011-12-19T10:41:00.005-07:00

Usually I don't have much to offer in the way of pictures, but I took one just for you!

Merry Christmas!

P.S. I realize it doesn't make a lot of sense to have him barefoot when he's wearing long underwear, but those piggies were so cute I had to take a picture before I put his socks on.

Quoting the Cute: Page Eleven

2011-12-02T10:00:00.007-07:00

We were eating at Winger's when my seven-year-old, watching the widescreen above my head, asked us, "Why does everyone jump on each other in football?" It was then that I realized she's never seen football before!

Three-year-old: "You don't want your little angel to get hurt/cold/hungry/lost/run over/etc..."

My two-year-old son began with"no" being the answer to everything, even when he meant yes. When he started saying "yeth," interrogations with him became much less confusing. Then he went to a slow deliberate nod, no words...but the phase he's in right now is my favorite so far: "Um...(pausing to think) sure!" Dinnertime makes me laugh. "Do you want more milk?" "Um...sure!" "Do you want more bread?" "Um...sure." You get the idea.

Seven-year-old: "Mom, what is that stomping sound?" (Mom: "Oh, that's someone listening to loud music.")

Apparently my three-year-old didn't realize she was being quizzed on letter sounds by her big sister because when asked, "What sound does B make?" she said, "Bzzzzzzzzz...."

Two-year-old: "MOoooOm; Wheh ah you?" Or when I call him he often says, "I comin'!" (I guess it's good we don't live in a bigger house, yes?)

My six-week-old baby now gurgles and goos and sometimes even says "Wow." He always talks to me with a smile on his little lips. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone did that?

A Quarter Pounder Plus Ten

2011-11-15T08:22:00.002-07:00

It's amazing the kind of compliments you get when you give birth to a big baby. "What a woman" is what I have heard the most. It reminds me of men and fishing. I'm telling you, this baby is a keeper.

There were two other babies in the nursery at the same time with my baby and they both weighed six pounds and something. The pediatrician told the nurses not to put my baby next to those other babies because he might eat one of them! Ha!

One of the nurses told me she had to do my son's footprints twice because his feet were so big they went off the end of the card.

My husband was a ten pound baby. I have to say I'm secretly a little proud that I outdid my mother-in-law on something, which has never happened before and is unlikely to ever happen again.

Which is probably why in the beginning if someone said anything about my ten pound baby, I would correct them by saying, "Ten pounds AND FOUR OUNCES. That's a whole 'nother stick of butter."

Speaking of sticks of butter, my best friend made a cookie costume for my baby for Halloween. He looked so yummy.

This costume was appropriate, don't you think (since cookies [and babies] go with milk)?

My Dear Lil' Sister,

2011-11-08T10:53:00.007-07:00

There are little clues in every room of my house that remind me of how much you must love me.

The front room is the place where Baby spends most of his time, swaddled in the soft yellow afghan you crocheted for him.

Every morning in the kitchen I spread sweet honey from the jar you boiled for me after it sat crystallized in the cupboard for way too long.

When Halloween was over, I hated to take down the happy paper bats that fluttered over the dining room table all those weeks...I probably would have never gotten around to hanging them.

The DVD player still sits unconnected in the back room, but I love that you tried. I still haven't tried.

My favorite movie (the one you watched with me in the family room the night before I gave birth) still sits on top of the entertainment center. I should put it away now.

In the laundry room, the pink bottle of baby detergent you brought pours out fresh-smelling blessings every day.

The guest bedroom where you slept seems so empty now.

Every night Baby slumbers in my room in the cradle you helped me put together, the one our father made for me when I was still in the womb myself.

When I see the material you ironed (I'm so sorry you got burned!) hanging under my daughter's bed, I will always remember how determined you were to help me finish my long overdue unfinished projects.

In the boys' room, there's a pumpkin bucket that is empty because Baby did not gather candy when he went trick-or-treating (but next year he will). How did you know my children needed trick-or-treating buckets? You are perfect for me, Lil' Sister.

Whenever I see the fingernail polish in the bathroom I will remember how you carefully painted each of my fingers and toes and gently rubbed my swollen, tired feet. And the hair conditioner you gifted smells like mint, but also like care if care had a smell.

I am daily reminded of how grateful I am for you when I see the hair on each child's head, lovingly trimmed and softly strengthened by your talented hands.

As you battled your own first trimester fatigue (and sickness that lasts much longer than morning), you helped me prepare for the end of my last trimester, most likely the last one I will ever have.

You made the end special, which made a special beginning for all of us.

Thank you.

Love,
The Biggest Sister

Improving Home: Girls' Room

2011-11-07T14:24:00.007-07:00

I may have a disorder.

Or a problem with disorder.

I may have a disorder which causes me to live in disorder because I have to do things in my own order (which should probably be called my own disorder because often the order in which I do things does not correspond with my priorities).

I may have a disorder disorder. Is this possible?

If none of that made sense, do not worry. I was just trying to explain why I have not posted for more than a month: because I have not yet finished the girls' room.

There are so many posts in between that should have been written (for example, I could tell you about how I birthed a ten and a quarter pound baby), but I could not post them or even write them until the girls' room was finished.

And it wasn't. It isn't.

Yet.

There's always tomorrow...

Quoting the Cute: Page Ten

2011-11-06T10:12:00.000-07:00

Six-year-old (after I told her not to throw dirt in her hair): "But it's pixie dust & if it doesn't get on me then I can't fly!" (Does this mean her imagination hasn't been destroyed by all of the hours she has spent watching "Jake & the Neverland Pirates" online?)

Three-year-old: All of her "-ore" words are "-oy" words instead. So, we go to the stoy & clean up the floy.

Two-year-old: "I want awful." (This is how he asks for a waffle every morning...not that we have waffles every morning.)

Six-year-old (when I asked her how she liked the pool party): "I kept getting stuck in the world pool." (Except replace the "s" sound in "stuck" with a "th," because she's lost a top front tooth.)

Three-year-old (while she shakes and shivers): "I'm not COLD!"

Two-year-old: "Yay!"

Improving Home: The Girls' Room, Corner Three

2011-10-06T19:59:00.016-06:00

I am not completely done, but I do have another corner to show you.

This is the lamp I bought at a yard sale for $3. It had a funny square lampshade with ribbon roses glued to it that I replaced with a cream-colored lampshade from Kmart for $7. It was an improvement, but still so plain.

Although I was going for plain because there is so much going on in the wallpaper, there was still something not right for me about this lamp. I was deLIGHTed when the light bulb turned on in my brain and said, "Glue some of that lace from the valance on it." So I did, and I loved it.

But then the peachness of the main section was bothering me. I planned to paint it pink, but then I got another idea that I am so excited about...mostly because I'm lazy: I taped some scrapbook paper around it.

I like the lamp so much better now, and I'm happy with the price.

So, for the tally. We were at $134. Now we add $10 for the lamp, $25 for the CD player, $10 for the toy kitchen (another yard sale), $5 for the picture frame, and $3 for the trash can = $187. As I said before, the table and chairs were free. They are not fancy by any means, but this is a table in a kid room: it's perfect.

So there you have it. Corner three. Unless I'm doing something crazy like giving birth, I hope to have the final corner ready by tomorrow night.

So Close

2011-10-04T17:33:00.010-06:00

I'm sure you have all given up on me by now. I've almost given up a few times myself, especially on Thursday night when this happened:

The accidental incident involved a couple of stitches and me thanking God repeatedly that my two-year-old did not lose an eye. I still don't feel ready to talk about the details, but let's just say that installing the anchor on the back of the dresser just jumped to the top of the to-do list.

I should have the last of the before and after pictures ready by Thursday!

Improving Home: The Girls' Room, Corner Two

2011-09-21T23:15:00.002-06:00

Did I mention the deadline was midnight?

Did I mention the deadline was just for the next corner?

The valance is finally done! I'll show it to you and then give you the long explanation of how it came to be:

First I looked and looked and looked for a plain yellow valance. Finally, I gave up and bought a yellow bedskirt from D.I. (a thrift store) for $1 and sewed a valance out of it. The only problem was, it looked like this:

I hated it. I was thinking it was going to be so easy to just use the bedskirt as it was...but then I realized the lining wasn't gathered like the front. Also I didn't like the white top. That was when I decided to crochet a top from some baby yarn I had that was the exact same color. I was happy that it also added some texture. Then I stole a cute pink bow off a hand-me-down dress that had an ink stain on it. Years ago, I salvaged this lace from some old sheets (I just couldn't throw it away). It was a little too white, so awhile back I used some Rit dye to make it cream-colored.

Then, I sewed that entire crocheted piece on by hand, both top and bottom.

Basically, what I'm saying is I spent WAY too much time making this valance. Hopefully it will seem worth it after my poked fingers heal. And at least I only spent one dollar.

Oh, and guess what I found in the window track when we were hanging the roller shade? The foot to my sewing machine! And did you spy that I painted the hands on the clock? Now I can see what time it is from across the room.

So, the price of corner number two: I don't know what I paid for the laundry hamper: maybe $15? The bedskirt-turned-valance was $1, the roller shade was $6, and so was the flower pot that came from Big Lots. This adds up to $28. Everything else was either gift or hand-me-down (the figurines, table, chairs). Tally: $106 + 28 = $134 so far.

There are only a few things left to do in this room, but my dishes are piling up.

So, I'll see you Sunday maybe?

Improving Home: The Girls' Room, Corner One

2011-09-19T16:04:00.009-06:00

So Monday's here, but I'm not. Not really.

I've been sewing until my fingers bleed (from getting poked), but I'm still not ready to show you the after shots.

The good news is, I'm getting so much more done than I would have if I hadn't told you I'd be done days ago. So thanks for that!

I do have one corner that is ready for you:

This is the reading spot I told you about. It is also the dressing area, as you can see. I cannot take credit for the idea of putting books in baskets, but I loved it from the moment I heard it (because sloppy bookshelves hurt my brain). With this set-up, even my baby can put the books away nicely!

I bought the baskets on sale at K-mart, but I don't remember what I paid for them. I think around five for the small one and ten for the big one. The frames are 12 x 12s from Michael's and I believe I paid around five each (I have three) after using a coupon. The paper-towel-holder-pretending-to-be-a-shelf/blanket-holder was in the kitchen when we moved in. I almost got rid of it until I realized how well it matched the shelf on the other side of the window. I purchased the Precious Moments clock for $6 on clearance at K-mart, but I can't read the stupid thing unless I get close. I think I'm going to try to paint its hands black. The dresser was a steal for $75 new from a furniture store. I'll have to tell you the bartering story another day, but there is a scratch on top of this dresser that I covered with this beautiful runner that a friend from Finland made for us when we got married:

The blanket and chair were gifts, so the total amount of money spent on this corner was $106. This sounds like a lot to me, but considering that I was using boxes for my girls' clothes before we got the dresser, the dresser alone has been worth that much to me.

I am giving myself a new deadline (so cool that I can do that): Wednesday, the day after tomorrow.

Fingers crossed.

Improving Home: The Girls' Room After

2011-09-15T20:10:00.007-06:00

Is today tomorrow or was that yesterday?

I've had a few snags. My sewing machine is suddenly missing all of its good feet, and you and I both know it's hard to do things when you don't have feet.

I plan to go pressure foot shopping online soon, but because I'm tired of waiting to finish the valance for the window, I started sewing the finishing touches BY HAND last night.

LIKE A PIONEER.

At this rate, it will probably be Monday before I have any pictures for you. Sorry! I do have a sort of chart. Does that excite you at all?

What We Did----------Why

Replaced carpet with vinyl
-----I already told you!
Got bunk beds
-----Because we have two daughters and this room is small
Put shelves in the closet
-----All I can say is: life was messy until we got that done!
Painted a pink room pink
-----Because we had to move the baseboards down
Turned outlets around
-----Because upside-down outlets are annoying
Framed posters
-----Because the swamp cooler made all of them ripple
Included daughter's artwork
-----Because her artwork is awesome
Put in roller shades
-----Because I hate mini blinds and 2-inch blinds are expensive
Made a valance
-----Because I couldn't find a plain yellow one at K-or-Walmart
Shopped at K-or-Walmart
-----Because I have no where else to shop *sniff*
Gave up on yellow bedspreads
-----The only ones I could find online were too expensive or cheap
Bought cream bedspreads
-----BECAUSE THEY WERE ONLY $18 EACH!
Removed kids' bookshelf
-----Because kids' bookshelves always look sloppy to me
Designed throw pillows
-----Because it saved me a lot of money
Glued lace on the lampshade
-----How could I not?

*Acknowledgments: 1. My friend's husband Steve helped with the shelving while they were here ON VACATION. Isn't that nice? 2. My best friend helped me paint the pink room pink. 3. My husband helped me turned the outlets around because I'm way too chicken to try to do something like that myself. I'm also afraid of lightening.

Improving Home: The Girls' Room Before

2011-09-13T09:06:00.013-06:00

Now that I have only about a month left before the baby comes, I'm starting to panic about all of my unfinished projects.

REMEMBER THE NURSERY?

Before we get to that, I'd like to show you what we did with the girls' room.

It started out like this:

I wrote about my joy at removing the carpet here (and let's just pretend that it hasn't been a whole YEAR since I started working on the nursery because that's just sad).

The wallpaper was still in good enough condition that with some creative arranging of posters and pictures, we could keep it until we are ready to redecorate the room (which may be never at my speed).

This was how my girls began their new lives in a pink room three years ago. The posters were a miracle. I looked for posters on allposters.com: something to hide all the nail holes. I never would have believed that among the thousands of flower posters I would find an exact match to the wallpaper trim, but I did! The picture of Jesus with the children is an old favorite that I have had since before I married.

So we could have been happy to let this room be, but as the girls have grown (my three-year-old has long since outgrown the crib), this room has become more complicated. Tomorrow I will show you how it went from a room with one bed, one crib, and one changing table, to a room with bunk beds, a table and lamp, a dresser, a reading spot, and a corner kitchen.

The word "tomorrow" may be relative, but I will try!

Short Story Long

2011-08-24T13:08:00.012-06:00

It was a morning different than any other. In a matter of a little more than an hour, I managed to go to three doctor's appointments when I had only planned on one. And when the word "cancer" made it into the mix, it just got stranger.

I had an early appointment for my son to see the dermatologist. Eczema. Bummer. I had tried to get an appointment for myself also, but they were booked until after September (which is when my met insurance deductible starts over). I figured I could put it off. After all, it was nothing but a couple of new skin-colored moles I wanted to have checked. I also wanted to ask if there was something I could put on the scar on my forehead (No, it wasn't in the shape of a lightening bolt, it was more of a red splotch on the side by my hairline).

Before we went in for my son's appointment, I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask if the doctor could fit me in if I traveled to our neighbor city. The receptionist said no, but then told me I could be seen with my son since they had had a cancellation. It turned out that the scar was actually BCC...a type of skin cancer I've never heard of. Double bummer! So he cut a piece out of it to test and we set up an appointment to have the rest surgically removed.

I was okay with the news. They assured me this type of cancer is slow growing and that it doesn't spread throughout the body. I took my toddler to his dad and returned to the pharmacy to get the cream for my son's rash. While I was there, the receptionist from my OB office came in to fill a prescription for herself. She asked me if I was ready for my appointment.

My appointment?

I didn't even realize it was time for another OB visit already. Wow. Two weeks goes by so fast anymore, but what really blew my mind was the fact that I was dressed and ready, inside the building where my OB offices are, and that the receptionist came into the pharmacy to accidentally remind me I had an appointment...like in five minutes. What are the chances of that, really?

So this morning the dermatologist removed a piece from my head about the size of a quarter. I have a rather large bandage on my head that I am supposed to leave alone for two days, which means I get to take my daughter to her first day of school looking like I had an unfortunate run-in with something or someone.

After the surgery, I got my children from the sitter and took them to Arby's for a milkshake. The only problem with that was that I forgot my purse, but didn't realize it until after I'd already ordered. I explained at the window and went home for my purse. When I returned to pay, I apologized to the worker and he excused me by saying, "That's okay. It's obvious you've bumped your head." I laughed because, seriously! It looks like this:

I know the picture is blurry...I can't take a decent picture of myself. Some of the shots didn't even have me in them!

Quoting the Cute: Page Nine

2011-08-01T11:46:00.003-06:00

In our family (and church), whenever we give a gospel-related talk or lesson or say a prayer or bear testimony, we close in the name of Jesus Christ and then say, "Amen." My six-year-old daughter gave our family home evening lesson last week. She told us the story of David and Goliath. When she was done I reminded her to close the lesson, so she said, "In the name of Jesus Christ, The End."

Three-year-old: "I wanna watch Bugs Rabbit!"

Twenty-month-old: He loves peek-a-boo and will say "Peeboo, see you!" always with a dimpled smile that makes me smile no matter how tired, grumpy, or sick I feel. The other morning, I opened my eyes to see his blue eyes only a few inches from my face. He said, "Peeboo," and ran away. I absolutely love it when he says, "Go!" to himself and then takes off running. I need to start doing that.

Time to do dishes. Go!

(P.S. This is an old post I just finally got around to posting.)

Pregnancy on Me

2011-06-27T08:38:00.004-06:00

Because pregnancy hormones squash my ability to think, I may be taking a risk writing at this time.

I have become, once again, a woman of vastly opposing emotions. I often feel that those who love me the most actually hate my guts. I tell myself that it's not true, and I know it isn't, but in my mind and heart I feel that there is not one thing they like about me. I feel like all of my friends think I'm ugly and annoying. I question my abilities as a mother. My heartaches cause more trouble than my heartburn.

The good thing is that I also experience periods of great joy and excitement. I truly feel that I have been blessed beyond what I deserve. This baby, baby number four, seems too good to be true. Every time I feel the sweet little thing swimming inside, my breath catches and I rejoice at the miracle of this perfect tiny human who will one day call me "mommy."

The other good thing is that I know the terrible feelings of darkness and loneliness will pass when the baby comes. It took me three pregnancies to figure out that it was me who changes during pregnancy, not everyone around me. This time I can just cry it out and ride it out with my eye on that light at the end of the tunnel.

And I can pretend that chocolate makes me feel better.

Randomness

2011-05-26T08:54:00.008-06:00

Yesterday I fell in love with this room on this blog. I am completely jealous of Melissa's ability to find such great deals and then put them together so beautifully.

Last Night I was awakened at 1 a.m.-ish by child #2 for a drink of water, 3 a.m.-ish: by same child to go potty (she didn't need to at 1), 5 a.m.-ish by child #1 because of a nightmare, and 6 a.m.-ish by child #3 because he thought it was time to get up. It's a good thing I fell asleep around 1o p.m. during the movie with my husband instead of the common midnight bedtime!

Today I had my 20 week ultrasound and it's a...

cute and healthy baby!

See?

Too Tired to Think of a Title

2011-05-25T08:47:00.006-06:00

My son was playing in his room for a few minutes and when I went to check on him, this is what I found in the hallway:

It was time to pick his sister up from school, so I carried him to the truck, but he fell right back to sleep.

When we got home, I put him on the futon (my girls call it the fruiton), where he finished out his nap without moving a muscle.

The reason for his drowsiness? Lately he thinks morning begins at five or six a.m. (and that it should begin then for Mommy too). Come to think of it, I could use a few naps myself.

The End

If Anyone Is Still There, I'm Still Here

2011-05-18T20:59:00.006-06:00

Okay. Pregnancy has turned my brain to mush. Sticky mush. I can't remember anything except annoying melodies that go through my head over and over and over all day long.

Some days I cry for half the day for no particular reason. Some days I'm so happy I feel I could dance.

And so blogging is a little scary.

And staring at this screen trying to think of a clever way to end this post is giving me heartburn.

Wait, no. The pregnancy is giving me that too. But today was the first time I felt Baby move. So it's all good.

Tum, ta tum tum TUMS!

Amelia Bedelia Gets Lost

2011-04-21T12:06:00.019-06:00

I wrote a long boring post telling all the reasons why I should have a cell phone. Luckily for you, I deleted it and now I offer a brief summary of my April. There are many details left out, so if you have any questions about any of the events or crises, feel free to ask.

Trip number one: Spring Break

Spring break began with me visiting the ER. Baby was fine (and oh so cute) on ultrasound so I went home happy in spite of the cramping. Later that day, I ran out of gas on the way to my daughter's appointment at the clinic. The lady who's driveway I blocked with my truck gave me a ride to the clinic (I should take her some cookies). This is the second time I have run out of gas since I got pregnant. I'm telling you, I can't think.

When the pediatrician came into the office and asked how we were doing, my three-year-old answered before I could: "We runned out of gas. Daddy's gonna be mad." After that, my patient husband rescued me from gaslessness while blushing as friends and neighbors drove by on the busy road. Somehow we got the car loaded with everything and everyone and began our more than six hour journey to be with family. We enjoyed every moment with our loved ones and the time disappeared too quickly.

Trip number two: My Sister's Wedding

The day before this trip, I tripped while helping my husband unload railroad ties from the truck. I fell while the tie fell on my thigh, badly bruising it on both sides. I knelt on the ground trying to decide if it was okay to cry like a little girl (because that was really what I wanted to do). As I limped around that evening, I wondered if I was going to have to ask the airport people for a wheelchair. By Monday, I could walk well enough to get where I needed to go, not that it was graceful or anything. I stood barefoot in the sand on a beach in Florida and watched my beautiful sister marry a wonderful man.

If only the trip home could have been so nice. The best way I can think to describe it is baseball. Picture me running the bases (pregnant and limping, no less), doing okay until third base where I head off in the wrong direction. Then I run around the perimeter of the outfield, slowing to walk through a snowstorm. Next, picture me stopping to call home four times from payphones around the outfield, never getting an answer. In between the payphone stops, I had to lay down for three naps before finally finding my way to home plate...it may sound bizarre, but that's about how it went. There wasn't any cheering when I finally made it home either, but there were some tears of relief.

Trip number three: Easter

This trip was supposed to be with my husband, but he forgot he had a job that weekend. I almost decided not to go, but I hated to change our plans for time with my foster family. Thankfully, my sister-in-law had washed all of the clothes I sent for my kids that she tended while I was in Florida (Who does that? Talk about nice!), which meant half of us were already packed.

Don't laugh, but I got lost again on the way there. Then I got stuck in rush hour construction traffic and finally gave up on finding my (foster) sister's house. She was going to watch my son while I took the girls to see the play "Beauty and the Beast." We headed to the play and made it there fifteen minutes late. You know how the beast turns into a prince at the end? That's how it went for my son only just the opposite: he was a prince through most of it, but turned into a beast at the end. At that point, I had to hold him standing in the back of the theater, and as I wrestled him I worried my pregnant hungry (the traffic jam we ate for dinner gave no sustenance) body might pass out. The play was great, though. My talented nieces and nephew were perfect.

We made it to my brother and sister's after the play, I munched on fresh vegetables and felt like my life had been saved. Sometime after midnight, the kids were finally asleep (those car naps really mess up a 7:30 bed time). The next day we had fun coloring and hunting eggs. My foster dad bought me a tracphone and I went home that night and got lost one more time, but only for a moment.

Easter Sunday was a peaceful ending to a long month of fun and folly. I sang with my husband and daughter in the church choir. The song reminded me of the great love my Savior has for me, even when I spend more time than I should being a lost sheep.

April Fools Rules

2011-04-02T08:21:00.008-06:00

When I was pregnant with my first child after more than five years of longing for motherhood, I thought it would be clever to tell all my friends the news on April Fools' Day. In a very small community, it turned out to be difficult to keep my secret that long, so somewhere in the middle of March I decided it was time to spill it.

When I found out I was pregnant this time, with my fourth child, I realized I had a second chance to do the April 1st announcement when the due date calculator on the computer told me the due date...the exact day of my oldest daughter's seventh birthday this year.

So I announced it on Friday and it was fun.

And just so you know, I wasn't really lying when I said there are three...what I meant is there are three pictures (but they are all of the same baby).

I guess it's time to finish the nursery. This is my second chance for that as well, since my son is already a year and a half old and it still isn't done. Hopefully I'll be posting pictures of the finished room before Baby is here in six months.

That doesn't give me much time!

No Foolin'

2011-04-01T11:38:00.004-06:00

It was not hard at all to pick the winner of my giveaway! Tami, you lucky duck you, I am happy to inform you that the calligraphy of your heart's desire is yours for the choosing. It couldn't have happened to a nicer commenter. We'll talk.

By way of other announcements, I had an ultrasound this morning and...

wait for it...

there were three.

Happy April Fools' Day!

One Hundred Posts

2011-03-19T07:00:00.003-06:00

When I first began this space, I only had a few goals. I wanted to share recipes and my feelings about motherhood without ever using the word "poop," I wanted to write poetry and my favorite stories about my life.

I have written at least a little of all of this, even the P word (I guess it was inevitable), along with a few other things I never planned to write.

I have seen other bloggers (I still don't really think of myself as a blogger) do give-aways to celebrate milestone numbers, so I thought it might be fun to do that here, for my lovely little handful of friends who put up with my ramblings.

So, the give-away gift to you from me, should you be randomly chosen from the comment givers, will be a handwritten custom calligraphy. You get to choose the size, color, and content!

For fun, tell me one of your favorite sayings/quotes in your comment. The winner will be chosen on April Fools' Day. Really!

Daylight Losings

2011-03-18T07:55:00.005-06:00

This is where I found my daughters yesterday at 5:00 in the evening.
If it weren't so hot in Arizona, I'd try to move there because I like how they just let time do its own thing.

Just Joking

2011-03-16T18:00:00.000-06:00

I'm not one of those people who tells jokes, mostly because I can never remember any.

I could remedy that if I put some on my blog, so here are a couple of our favorites:

Why did the elephant paint his toenails red?
(So he could hide in the strawberry patch. )
Have you ever seen an elephant in a strawberry patch?
(It works, doesn't it?)

What did the judge say when the skunk walked into the courtroom?
("Odor in the court!")

A Short Story Cut Short

2011-03-15T07:44:00.015-06:00

Continued from here

"Have you lost someone?" was all he could think to ask. The man began to sob quietly. A long, painful moment passed before he answered.

"I told her I loved her every day, but I wish I could have told her one more time. I wish I could have said good bye."

"I'm so sorry," Andrew said softly. It felt like no time had passed since his mother's death. She had told him every day as he left for school that she loved him, and he had always answered that he loved her too. Then one day she was just gone and he never had the chance to say good bye. Even though years had passed, his loss still hurt deeply.

He sat with the man for a few more minutes. Then he told him, "My wife had a baby girl last night."

For the first time, the man looked at him. With sincerity in his eyes he said, "Congratulations."

A small group of people hurried up the hallway. Andrew could tell this was the man's family, so he wished him well and got up to leave. The man stood, shook Andrew's hand and said, his voice cracking, "Cherish every day."

"I will," Andrew answered. The children and grandchildren began to hug the man and in spite of the sadness Andrew felt, he also felt an overwhelming love that made him smile for a moment as he walked back to his wife's room.

"Good morning, Sunshine," Andrew sang to his wife. "How are you feeling?" Her tired eyes twinkled as she let a crooked smile overcome her face. That was all the answer Andrew needed. "We get to take the baby home in a few hours. I got your clean clothes from the car."

"Thanks," was all she managed, but Andrew knew she was sincere. Andrew and Marie had been married for five years before they discovered they would be adding to their family. Excitement filled the months as they prepared the spare bedroom of their new home for their long-awaited child. Andrew was fascinated with the miracle growing inside the woman who was the center of his whole life. Sometimes he would wake at night with a smile after he felt the gentle kick of his child from Marie's warm abdomen. She took care of him as well as she ever had, though it took more effort than it had before. When Andrew came home from work to find his wife, eight months pregnant, scrubbing the floor on hands and knees, he was filled with a deep appreciation and admiration for her love and determination.

"Here's the little sweetie!" The nurse's loud, cheerful voice startled Andrew. The robust woman wheeled in the tiny glass-protected parcel and gently lifted the infant to her mother's arms. Marie's eyes again filled with tears as she traced the delicate lines of her daughter's tiny face. Andrew watched Marie and the baby. In his mind, he could picture the child growing over the years, sitting across from him at the dinner table.

After the nurse left, Marie looked up at him and said, "Here, hold her." He carefully took the baby from his wife's arms. In wonder, he looked at her peaceful face. They had decided on a name for her, and as he thought of this name, Marie said to him, "I think we should name her Sarah."

Confused, he looked at Marie. "Are you sure?"

She nodded and said with a grin, "It fits her."

He looked at his daughter and said, "After Mother." The baby sighed, which made Andrew smile. "Thank you, Marie." He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. "I love you," he said.

As they left the hospital, Andrew walked proudly as he carried his lightweight daughter in her infant carrier. A nurse wheeled Marie in a wheelchair. Andrew felt liberated as he left the hospital. He had always felt that that place had taken his mother away. Today he left the building with a new person to treasure always.

The afternoon sun reflected from Marie's face as they made their way outside. Andrew couldn't help looking at her. As they walked down the sidewalk, he didn't notice the crocus buds reaching up through the thin layer of snow.

A Short Story Cut Short

2011-03-14T08:38:00.007-06:00

I have a booklet of collected stories and poetry from my old town. In it, is a story I wrote when I was in high school. Thinking I surely had a copy of this story in my file, I decided I didn't need the booklet anymore. Instead of throwing it away, I have been using the blank back sides of the pages to jot down recipes I want to try. After I try the recipes, I've been ripping the pages out to either discard or copy into my recipe book.

About a month ago, while looking for a recipe, I began to read my story from the booklet. It ended mid sentence along a ripped half page. Curious to read the rest of it again, I went to my file, but it wasn't there. It was then that I remembered I probably had it saved on an old floppy disk, which I had most surely thrown away long ago because my new computer does not read floppy disks.

I know how the story ends, but I'm trying to decide if it is worth rewriting. So, here is the first half (with some editing because I have every right, don't I?):

Caught in the transition from winter to spring, the tired man shielded his bare arms from the crisp breeze. If his wife had been with him, she would have reminded him to wear his jacket, but she was lightly sleeping in a hospital bed inside. He walked away from the front of the towering building and tried to remember where he had parked the car. It seemed to him that weeks had passed since they had hurried there the night before.

The day had been cold and gray. The glistening, wet pavement rushed beneath them as they sped to the hospital. After their arrival, everything was a blur. It all happened so quickly. This was only the second time Andrew had ever been to a hospital. Until now, he had avoided hospitals with great effort. If it weren't for Marie, there were many things that Andrew would never have dared to face again.

He didn't like to walk the long hallways of the hospital, even though it felt good to stretch his cramping legs. This place brought back too many unwanted memories. He told himself that he was over all of that, but when he reached the lobby and saw a man sitting on a long couch with his head bowed to his lap, for a fractured moment he thought it was his father who grieved there. He quickly scolded himself, knowing his father was miles away.

Andrew hesitantly put the overnight bag he was carrying on the floor and sat down next to the trembling man. Firmly, he put his hand on the man's strong shoulder. "Have you lost someone?" was all...

And there it is. So, should I finish it?

The Clumsy Curse

2011-03-08T07:44:00.005-07:00

Yesterday I read a post that reminded me so much of myself in younger days. It seems I have learned from experience enough to function now, but for a lot of years I was so clumsy it was almost dangerous.

For example, it wasn't uncommon for someone meeting me for the first time to hear first from me something like, "Ow, I just fell into that bush and now I'm bleeding. And look at my nylons!" Remember that coat rack thing I hit my head on repeatedly for eight years? And then there was that date that ended (before it began) with me in the ditch, muddy water dripping from my hair, dress ripped and shriveled wherever it was wet. Lucky for my date, I went home instead of to the dance.

No one was surprised when I burned my eyelids after opening the radiator cap on my overheated car. When I graduated from high school, my family sat on the edges of their seats as I walked, willing me to make it without tripping in front of the stadium-filled audience. Two years later, they did it again when I received my associate of science from the local college.

There is a reason I avoided jobs like waitressing (I probably should have also avoided that job that involved a meat slicer).

My early years as a wife were treacherous. It seemed like I cut myself while preparing food at least once a week. I locked myself out of our apartment or car so many times, it began to feel like a habit. My husband got to the point where he would just shake his head because he knew there was nothing he could do about me.

Like a gangly teenager struggles as he gets used to his changing body, I eventually matured into the semi-normal person I am today. I rarely have run-ins with knives or the iron anymore, and though I locked myself (and the four children that were with me) out of our vehicle just last week at the library, I can't even recall the last time that happened because it was so long ago.

I hope this lasts because I've heard that growing old is really hard. I'd like to do it gracefully if I can.

Tasty Clean

2011-03-04T09:48:00.006-07:00

I am one of those people who reads in the shower. I read shampoo bottles and tubes of shower gel just because they are there. I probably should start laminating better reading material to take in there, but for now, this works for me. I always like to travel to my mother in law's house for a change of genre. So far, I like what Irish Spring has to say more than the others.

Not long ago, I discovered that the shave cream for women I bought at the dollar store has butane, propane, and isobutane for the sixth, seventh, and eighth ingredients. The next time I used it, I couldn't believe I didn't notice the distinct smell of those liquefied gases the first time. The peach fragrance just can't hide it. I find it hard to believe that propane and butane are good for my skin, even when they are mixed with Aloe juice and Vitamin E. But then again, I use coal tar shampoo to help with my itchy scalp, so you never know. Regardless, I plan to throw that extremely flammable container (that may explode if heated) out and use the body butter I got for Christmas instead.

Today I realized it appears I'm in danger of being barbecued...I mean, I've got the propane, butane, and coal. Then I baste myself in butter, garnish with apples & raspberries: next it could be all over.

Good thing there's all that water.

Found a Peanut

2011-03-02T07:26:00.004-07:00

He told me he wasn't feeling well when he got home from work. I gave him a hug. After dinner he went to orchestra practice. We watched a movie when he got home. As we climbed into bed that night, he said his stomach was hurting again. I told him I was sorry and rolled over to go to sleep.

Not long later, he was complaining again. He said it was hurting more on his right side now, but it felt better when he laid on that side. "Appendix?" we groggily asked each other. I said, "Well tell me if you think it is and I'll take you to the emergency room."

He moaned through the night and I tried to stay awake so he wouldn't think I didn't believe him (I did) or that I didn't care (I did). Sometime around 4:30 am, he decided we should go. He took a shower while I bundled up our sleeping children and began carrying them to our vehicle. I had thrown on a denim gingham jumper dress because I couldn't find any clean pants in my rush, but because it was cold, I wore my white thermal pants under it and my red college sweatshirt over it. It was too cold for dressy shoes, so I wore white athletic socks with my blue-gray fake converse shoes. I figured I wouldn't be seen by very many and I could change in a few hours. The cold air woke the children as I took them outside, but I knew it was nothing a good nap couldn't cure later on. I could have called a friend, but I hated to wake anyone up so early.

I bought a vending machine breakfast for the children to eat while we waited in the ER waiting room. I wished I could sit with my husband, but the sign said only one visitor, and we were four. Thankfully, one of my husband's coworkers saw us there and offered to sit with my little sleepy heads while I went in to reassure my husband.

When I returned to the waiting room, our smart friend had turned the television to cartoons. Mickey Mouse kept the children happy while we waited for the diagnosis. When the doctor came into the room, I could read the answer on his face. I was relieved when he told me that it had not burst. Surgery would be soon. I asked him if I could bring the children in to see their dad before I found somewhere for them to go. He agreed.

We walked into the small exam room. My husband smiled weakly, his face pale. One by one, the children kissed him. I loaded the babies (yes, I still call them that) into the double stroller and told my husband I'd be back soon.

Though fairly calm, I was in a rush. First, I needed to get my oldest daughter to school. I pulled her hair into a ponytail as we stood outside in the cold. I talked to the neighbor who usually takes her to the bus stop, but her daughter was ill, so I took my daughter to the bus stop myself. This was easy to do because the babies were already in their carseats, and our truck was running with the heater blowing nice warm air.

Daughter on bus. Check.

My husband had given me some instructions to get his classroom ready for the substitute. I drove to his school and did that, checking with the office for a sub list, but it was still before 7:30 and no one was there yet.

I drove home so I could make some phone calls (it is times like these I wish I had a cell phone). I needed to call my husband's parents and let them know what was going on. I needed to find a substitute for my husband and someone to watch my kids. I only had to make two calls to fill each position and then I was off. My goal at this point was to make it back to the hospital before they took my husband in for surgery.

Even after having to run back to the school to replace a book in his classroom, I still made it to the hospital in time to spend an hour with my husband before they wheeled his bed down the hallway. I held his hand and talked to him. His hands were so cold. His hands are only cold when he is very nervous.

"Don't worry," I said. "They've been doing appendectomies for a very long time, I'm sure they have the procedure perfected." But it was the anesthesia he was afraid of. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist was convincingly positive (plus he promised to give my husband something for nerves the moment they arrived in the OR).

I made some phone calls to find an afternoon babysitter for the children. I ate lunch in the cafeteria. I read a very interesting article in a magazine about a woman who had face blindness. The doctor came to the waiting room to tell me my husband was doing fine.

After we were resettled in our room, I told my husband I had to leave to pick up kids from school and transfer all of the children to a different house. I told him to get some sleep and I'd be back soon. Of course, at this point, I remembered how silly I looked. The fact that I had not showered the day before and had no make-up on didn't make me feel any more confident in my appearance, but I didn't have time to do anything about it before pick up time. Of course, that day just had to be the last day of "eat lunch with your family" week, so there were dozens of people in the hallway to see me in all my gorgeousness.

When I saw him again, he was in a lot of pain. More morphine, more lortab, still more pain. Even though they told us we could go home, we decided to stay the night. I didn't want to take him home and not be able to help him. So I found yet another place for the children to go, this time to stay the night. And although Friday is a good night for a sleepover, I was extremely grateful for willing friends who not only took good care of my children, but asked nothing in return. So it was with everyone who babysat for me that day. And another friend made us dinner. I love people!

The rest of our stay was pretty repetitive. When he slept, I slept. When he couldn't sleep, I read to him from an Orson Scott Card book we've been reading together. When he needed to go to the bathroom, I unhooked him from his three tethers and followed him with the IV tree.

He felt much better by morning. He thanked me several times for taking care of him, but I was just relieved that he's still here to take care of me!

Quoting the Cute: Page Eight

2011-02-28T08:46:00.001-07:00

Six-year-old: "My favorite game is 'Caracal Leap.'" Me: "What's a caracal?" Six (incredulously): "You know! An African wildcat that can jump three meters high?" (Someone please tell me, did you know that?)

Two-year-old: "Don't talk to me!"

When I take my baby's picture, he now says, "Cheee!"

My father-in-law was explaining to my six-year-old over the phone how he has to tie his apron in the front and then turn it around and she said, "That's what my mom does with her bra."

Oh my.

My husband had an appendectomy. After the surgery, the nurse was checking his blood pressure when my two-year-old daughter told her, "Be careful with my daddy. He has owies."

Sixteen month old: "Ala" (this means "don't" in Finnish), "More," and my personal favorite: "Ma ma ma ma."

Redo of the Do

2011-02-25T08:32:00.009-07:00

You know how sometimes you see something or someone in a photograph and you notice things you didn't see before? Like the pictures that showed me, to my horror, that when my hair was pulled straight back into a ponytail, I looked like I had bald spots on the sides...For a long time after that, I wore my hair down only, but eventually I learned how to part my hair just right to cover my sparse spots, even with a ponytail.

So after I posted this picture here, I noticed that it was all looking a little tacky.

After thinking about it for awhile, I remembered I had another pot that would look better. It wasn't even in use because I could never find a plant small enough to go in it. I also had to re-cover the phone book because I got a new one and it was smaller.

Now I can't decide if it's better or too matchy...

A Few of My Favorite Things

2011-02-15T08:16:00.000-07:00

My husband's grandmother made this quilt for us when we got married. It was begging for a matching pillow. Thanks to some math help from my foster dad, I was able to figure out a crochet pattern. And before you go thinking that I am one of those people who can sew or crochet without a pattern, I'm not. I just got really lucky this time!

This item may seem silly, but every time I see this basket, it makes me smile inside. I got the idea from a catalog, which had this saying displayed right on the material in the basket. I thought it would be even better if it looked like it was circled and ripped out of a want ad.

I love to hide unsightly useful objects whenever I can. This pot of flowers (which is a bouquet of pens) and paper-covered phone book makes me feel like my counter top is uncluttered. (When it actually IS uncluttered, which is hardly ever, but I'm working on that!)

Lily Dee

2011-02-14T13:31:00.000-07:00

I was almost six months pregnant when my sister called to tell me she was also expecting. We talked about how fun future family gatherings would be with the little cousins playing together. I could also picture sisterly phone conversations as we passed through the motherhood phases together.

My sister's doctor recommended bed rest when her baby was nearly full term. Because her husband was serving in Iraq, I packed up my baby girl and went to stay with her as much as possible.

It was nice to just be together. I became addicted to HGTV. And when TLC had a "Clean Sweep" marathon, I was suddenly a couch potato.

I took a picture of my sister standing in the pink nursery with a rocking chair and a crib all made up behind her.

On one of her appointment days, I went home. I wish I could go back in time and change that day. I wish I would have been there with her when the doctor told her that her baby was going to die.

The next week was like a foggy dream. I longed for the right words, and the intuition to hug her at the right moment. Instead, in trying to help, I felt completely helpless.

I took her phone and talked to people so she wouldn't have to. I tried to give her space so she could cherish the time she had left with her daughter.

I was not there when Lily was born. I did not want to intrude on that private moment between my sister and her husband, who was able to come home for a couple months. I was on the way there when my dad called me. He said, "Lily didn't make it." It was Valentine's Day. I thought of the first time my baby looked at me. I cried bitterly, knowing my sister would not have that experience now.

My sister gave birth without the aid of pain medication. At birth, the baby never took a breath, but she was warm, small, and beautiful. I arrived not long after. When I walked into the hospital room, I put my baby, asleep in her carseat, in the corner. Then I went to admire the delicate features of my lost little niece. My sister asked where my daughter was. She asked to see her. My sister's love for my daughter never diminished, not even in her deepest anguish.

The funeral was a few days later. After the tiny pink coffin had been lowered into the ground, I watched as my sister bent low to the ground, almost reaching. My dad knelt on one side of her and held her hand while my mom held her arm on her other side. It was the first time in years our parents had been anywhere near each other. They came together for my sister. That moment was so painful, but somehow it was also beautiful.

I don't know many things, but I know that we are eternal, and I know God loves us.

I think it is fitting that Lily's Day will always be the day the world celebrates love.

Snapshots of the Sacred Garden

2011-02-10T08:25:00.007-07:00

Sadly, this garden has been uprooted. I'm glad I got a few pictures of it first.

I pray for my sister as she searches for a new place to plant.

Living in the Sticks

2011-02-08T11:44:00.007-07:00

Yesterday I wanted to dye. Okay: not funny. But really, I wanted to dye some lace and in previous weeks I was unable to find dye in the color I wanted at any of the four stores that might possibly sell it in my area. I had even checked Walmart last time I was in the "city," but no taupe or cream or tan. This was no surprise to me since it seems Walmart never has what I need anymore. We've been on the outs for quite awhile now, but I'm thinking about divorcing Wally for good.

Anyway, so yesterday I made it my mission to search every grocery or department store in the "city," which is almost thirty miles from my house. I even stopped at a sparsely stocked shopping center on the way, with no luck. Then came the exercise workout of harnessing and unharnessing a one-year-old and two-year-old what felt like fifty times to all of us, not to mention carrying thirty pounds of wiggly until my arms ached. Lowe's? No. Kmart? No. Family Dollar? No. Smith's? No! (But I almost laughed out loud in the laundry aisle when I heard U2 empathetically singing from above, "And I still haven't found...what I'm looking for...")

So, after searching four stores in my town, and another four in the "city," I finally found tan dye in the fifth store, which I guess was really the ninth store.

I almost giggled.

Five More

2011-02-04T10:17:00.004-07:00

I don't know if you remember my goal to be back to my pre-pregnancy weight by Valentine's Day, but I've procrastinated and now I only have ten days left and five pounds more to lose. I'm hoping to at least be close...

If you'd like to cheer for my friends at House of Hills, click here.

Quoting the Cute: Page Seven

2011-01-21T13:19:00.006-07:00

My oldest daughter said to me after I took away her toy for misbehaving: "When I grow up, I'm never gonna come visit you. You'll be sorry!" I turned from her and stifled a laugh, picturing my daughter as a grown woman refusing to visit me because I took away her sticky foot when she was six.

My two-year-old has the funniest vocabulary: lollipop (but she means soda pop), honeybird (but she means hummingbird), woman noodles (but she means Ramen noodles, which makes me laugh, especially because of this). I absolutely love the way she says her sister's name. A couple of weeks ago, she had a nasty cold and every time she'd cough and I'd sympathize, she'd say, "I not sick. I just sneezing a little."

My baby has gone verbal. He loves to say "hi!" (especially to strangers), sometimes "bye," but he loves "hi" the best. He says "uh-uh" instead of "uh-oh," and it's very endearing with his gravelly little boy voice (which is still so intriguing to me after two girls). His answer to literally everything is a whiny two-toned "no!" (even when he really means "yes"). As you can imagine, I can have a lot of fun with this.

I Remember

2011-01-17T07:54:00.005-07:00

Yesterday as I sat in church, three children climbing over me, taking turns in my lap (sometimes two at a time), I kissed each one as they came close to me. With each kiss also came a silent prayer of gratitude to my Father in Heaven.

Ten years ago, every Sunday I sat quietly on a bench by my husband, often wiping tears as I turned my internal conversations to God. I prayed for a miracle. I prayed for a baby as I listened to all of the sweet babies surrounding me.

With time (years), I began to pray for joy instead of babies. I clung to the hope that the loving atonement of my Savior could heal my aching mother heart, even if I never became a mother in this life. I prayed for strength to say, "Thy will be done" and really mean it.

God is love. The gift He gave to me, the answer to that prayer, is one of my greatest treasures (and I love that it is also a blessing to my children). I thank Him every day for my happiness: the happiness that comes because of Him, not because of them. My children do make me happy, yes! But I understand that the joy He gave to me (before I knew my children existed) is eternal.

It is a good thing, because I can see that they are going to grow up and go away long before I am ready!

Life's Messy Lessons

2011-01-08T07:41:00.002-07:00

As a mother, I've witnessed how a lot of accomplishments come after a messy process. For example, when a toddler first begins self-feeding with a spoon, it never fails that more of the food ends up everywhere else than in the mouth. And don't even get me started about potty training...

And then there's learning to roller skate or ride a bike without training wheels...

Sometimes I forget that one of the main reasons I am here is to learn as I wallow down the muddy pathways or trails that seem to have more stumbling blocks than stepping stones.

In the end all of those messy misses and painful crashes and overwhelming regrets add up to wisdom and the gratitude that only comes with hindsight.

It helps to know there is One who has taken this path before. He made it safely Home, and because of Him, I can too.

Proverbs 3: 5-6

"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways, acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths."

Week Eight: Let's Calculate!

2011-01-07T08:47:00.006-07:00

Happy day! This week I lost the 3 pounds I gained during the last 2 weeks of 2010.

I wish I could say this happened because I was amazing at drinking my 6 tall glasses of water and eating my 5 servings of fruits and vegetables every day, but it is more likely the result of strep throat taking all the fun out of eating for 5 days out of my week.

And now, for the results of the 8-week contest challenge at House of Hills:

After calculating my weight loss percentage, I find I have lost almost 4% of my original weight (3.98% to be exact). I am excited that I only have 4 pounds more to lose before I reach my pre-pregnancy weight, which is my new goal. I hope to reach it by Valentine's Day.

There. I said it out loud in front of the whole wide world web.

I have received outstanding support from many of you living on this wide world. Thank you, thank you!

Week Seven (and Six): the Worst in the Mix

2010-12-31T09:58:00.006-07:00

Hello there! Today is the first Friday after Christmas, and let me just say that this weigh-in was scary stuff!

Without a lot of explanations, I'll get to the point: I gained three pounds. Frown. So, from the beginning of the contest, I am down a total of four pounds. I don't know why the number three seems like so much more when I'm gaining it instead of losing it, but it does.

But such is my life: I do the dishes, only to have them dirtied. I wash clothes, only to have to wash them again. And so, I will have to re-lose this three pounds before I can continue on the journey to my goal.

No biggie. I've done it before! :)

Santa Has Magic

2010-12-30T08:31:00.008-07:00

It was Christmas Eve and my one-year-old was the grumpiest I had ever seen him. He didn't want to eat or drink anything (except candy or cookies, but then he went right back to grumpy). He didn't want any toys. He didn't want to be held. He didn't want to be put down.

I anticipated the formal family Christmas Eve dinner and visit from Santa Claus with trepidation. How could any of us enjoy it with this loud-squawking child in the room? Shortly before dinner, he began rubbing his eyes. Even though it was way too late for a nap, I put him down for one anyway.

I enjoyed a lovely meal while he slept: prime rib, ham, Dixie Salad (our name for a fruit salad made mostly of pomegranates and apples), rolls, salmon salad, carrots, yams, creamed peas, fried rutabaga (the only thing on the table I don't like), mashed potatoes, gravy, and stuffing. My favorite things were the rolls, prime rib, mashed potatoes, and peas.

I had hoped the nap would cheer my baby, but he was still out of sorts when I gathered him from the portable crib. At this point I had given up on getting a picture of him sitting on Santa's lap. He was already at the age when my other children were afraid of Santa. Add that to the monster mood he was in, and you get a big NO WAY.

I was prepared to take him downstairs if it got out of hand. I didn't want him to ruin it for everyone else, especially the part where Santa testifies of the true reason for Christmas: the love of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Santa bounced into the room with bells on, and a bag almost as big as he was. My son watched from across the room as the big man plopped into the soft chair. The first gift Santa pulled from the bag had my son's name on it.

If my jaw could have hit the floor, it would have, because my baby ran across the room and climbed onto Santa's lap in pure excitement. In absolute trust of this stranger, he looked at the gift, then at the giver, and gave a nod that seemed to say "thank you."

How he even knew he was supposed to sit on Santa's lap and receive a gift is beyond me. He was still a newborn the last time he saw Santa, and he didn't see anyone else do it before him.

He ran to me from Santa's lap and was his normal, happy self the rest of the evening.

I could not have believed it if I had not seen it myself.

I believe in Santa. On Christmas Eve, 2010, I saw his magic with my own eyes!

Week Five: No Dive

2010-12-17T08:51:00.006-07:00

Friday already? Yikes! This just might be the craziest weekend of my life.

So, no weight loss this week. I think I may have gained a half a pound, but it's hard to tell because my scale is not digital.

I'd like to think that the one time I exercised this week packed on some muscle, but I'm sure it was really the ham sandwiches that added to me instead.

I am glad I had a gain this week. I think it will help me stay motivated as I begin my Christmas vacation: a week staying with our parents. My mother-in-law makes the best gingerbread cookies on the planet! At least half a dozen candy dishes sit all over the house, kept full of the yummiest candies and chocolates. There are sweet breads, jam cookies, and did I mention chocolates?

I feel like I'm getting ready to run one of those obstacle courses on "American Gladiators." (Yes, I admit I watched that show a few times when I was young.) I know that if I can just say no to the sugar, I will feel better (in so many ways) when I welcome 2011 into my life.

But you'll have to wait two weeks to see if I made it.

And so I wish all of my "Losing It" ladies (and anyone else who might be reading this) the very Merriest of Christmases!

Christ is the reason for Christmas. I refuse to let self-indulgence take away from that remembrance this year.

O Christmas Trees

2010-12-13T12:36:00.016-07:00

I hope I'm not loony, but last week when I looked at the Christmas tree after my girls got done decorating it, I could hear little voices in my head saying, "Hey guys! Climb down lower. Let's bail!"

I smiled when I realized there is even a train for them to make their get-away.

And while we are on the subject of Christmas trees, here is our tree from a few years ago:

This was the first tree I ever put lights on by myself, and because I didn't know what I was doing, I ended up putting every light we had on the thing (840, to be exact). Even though I am now better at spreading them out, I have to admit that I loved the way that tree GLOWED!

And to my dear friend who requested pictures of the candles on the tree, because we do not have candles on the tree this year (some trees just aren't good candle trees), I went into pre-digital photo days and found a couple to scan. The left picture is from before we got the lovely snowflakes and bells my mother-in-law crocheted for us. The right picture was the only one I could find where the candles were lit. I really wish I could just invite you over to see them, Tami!

Week Four: SCORE!

2010-12-10T09:03:00.005-07:00

I'm hoping the nice ladies who are linking up with me today at House of Hills will still be nice to me after they read this post.

I stepped onto the scale this morning with dread. I was sure I had gained back some of the weight that I lost last week, if not all of it. My third stretch of a low-sugar phase has been off to a bumpy start. I assumed that the way I tossed my sugar inhibitions aside for the sake of my love of cinnamon toast and grape soda (not together) would lead to a heavy payment on the scale.

So, you might imagine my surprise when the scale said I HAD LOST ANOTHER THREE POUNDS!!! It seems too good to be true. I feel like I've won a game of strategy and chance because chance was on my side.

I am motivated to work harder at keeping my goals this week because I know it is unlikely that I will roll another Yahtzee in the same game.

As I try to figure out how this happened (I must have burned a lot of calories chasing my one-year-old this week), I can't help thinking that some elves must have overheard my Christmas wish of losing ten pounds...because I'm 7/10ths of the way there!

The Sacred Garden

2010-12-08T17:02:00.004-07:00

The first time I walked into the Sacred Garden, I felt like I had climbed into a little fairy hollow filled with exotic flowers and tasty natural delicacies. Miniature green forests grew on tables stacked on top of tables. Small white lights curtained the lower sitting area. I climbed the stone steps to the upper level while water flowed on either side of me, and under my walkway (paved with flagstone). Soft music played as I admired the tiny seedlings and large happy tomatoes. A small pond surrounded by growth was swimming with young fish. It was so much more than I could have imagined a greenhouse to be.

I recently went back again and took some pictures, but they did not do it justice. Photography is not a talent of mine (probably never will be). I even had my husband take a picture of one of the tomatoes that was as big as a cantaloupe (I'm not exaggerating!), but the picture just didn't look the same as it did in real life, even with my puny hand in the frame, reaching for the biggest tomato I have ever seen in my life.

I wanted to write about this so whenever I feel lonely for my little sister, I can picture her in her lovely garden. And I wanted to share one of my favorite poems, "Fueled" by Marcie Hans:

Fueled
by a million
man-made
wings of fire-
the rocket tore a tunnel
through the sky-
and everybody cheered.
Fueled
only by a thought from God-
the seedling
urged its way
through thicknesses of black-
and as it pierced
the heavy ceiling of the soil-
and lauched itself
up into outer space -
no
one
even
clapped.

Suomi (the Finnish Word for Finland)

2010-12-06T13:43:00.008-07:00

Today as I drove to town to do some of my procrastinated Christmas shopping (I don't know what happened this year because I'm usually done by now), I heard on the radio that today is Finland's Independence Day. I hardly ever listen to the radio, so it was a meaningful coincidence that I would hear about this today: the day when the Christmas season usually begins at our house: one month before the last day of Christmas in Finland, January 6th.

There is much of Finland in my family's holiday traditions, decorations, and music. We go to the sauna on Christmas Eve, we put candles on our tree, and we listen to some of the most beautiful carols I have ever heard, in a language I will probably never learn (though I truly wish I could).

Tonight I will help my children decorate the Christmas tree while we listen to Finnish Christmas songs for children. We will practice the words to the song "Tonttujen Jouluyö" in preparation for the song/dance we will do with Mummi (Grandma) at Christmas, each one of us wearing the perfectly fitted elf hat she sewed for us. If you would like to hear the song and see the actions CLICK HERE to see the You Tube video I found.

So today, I send my love to that beautiful land far away...Happy 93rd birthday, Suomi! Thank you for all you have given to my family, at Christmastime and always.

Week Three (And Two): Through

2010-12-03T10:41:00.008-07:00

It is hard to believe it has already been three weeks since the beginning of the contest. I lost another three pounds! This surprises me, since I didn't keep any of my goals except for the sugar ban.

Well, I kind of met my low sugar goal. I think I may have ended it a day or two early. I find it funny that I was able to turn away from pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving (I LOVE pumpkin pie) but then two days ago I couldn't say no to Fruit Loops? Sometimes I just don't understand myself!

Speaking of pumpkin pie, I have to explain the reason why I was able to not have pumpkin pie because it makes me happy when I think about it. My dad came to dinner at my in-laws' house. He knew I was trying to not eat sweets, so he brought the perfect replacement for dessert: gourmet bread (not sweet) with little flecks of dark chocolate baked into the crust with a heavenly topping made of blueberries soaked in a little agave nectar and then mixed with cream cheese. There were also mandarin oranges and raw almonds to eat on the side. The wholesome deliciousness of it and the love with which it was brought to the table made it the best dessert I have ever tasted.

And for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like a stuffed turkey on Thanksgiving evening. I felt happy, content, and THANKFUL.

I love you, Dad!

Today is the first day of my third ride without sugar. The first time, I made it two weeks, the second time, three. I am hoping that in FOUR weeks, I will be celebrating the New Year with a small prize of a favorite dessert after reaching my goal.

Who knows? Maybe then I'll be ready to try it for five weeks!

When in Finland

2010-11-30T08:45:00.010-07:00

A decade ago, I found myself on an airplane for the first time in my life. Funny, that the first time would take me somewhere so far away from home. We flew from Las Vegas to Detroit, then to Amsterdam, then to Helsinki, then to Rovaniemi. It took a day and a night to get there and about three weeks to get over the jet lag.

Luckily, we still had two weeks left.

Rovaniemi was beautiful. I had never seen a place with so much water and so many trees. There were five times as many mosquitoes that summer as the summer before it. Lucky us! My husband must have been the most tasty because he returned home with more polka dots than anyone.

We spent most of our time with family. When it was time to go, with flowing tears, we embraced loved ones we knew we may never see again. I grew to love them in such a short time.

I went with an aunt to an activity for Relief Society (my church's organization for women). It was a sauna social at a summer cottage next to a lake in the Arctic Circle. When she first invited me, I declined. Running around naked with a bunch of women I hardly know is something I just could not picture myself doing. Even in junior high and high school I took my showers after gym class with my towel on. Somehow she convinced me I should give it a try.

To this day, I'm glad I did. It took a lot of self control to not hide myself with my upper limbs, but as I saw how easy it was for everyone else, it became easier for me. Not easy, but easier. Most of all, I loved the feeling of the wood burning sauna, the fresh forest air on my heated body as I tiptoed down the dock, and the invigoration I felt after I jumped into the chilly dark water. I don't know how the Finns bear to get into that water in the winter, because in midsummer, it numbed my skin in seconds. The cycle continued as the penetrating heat warmed my cold skin again, in preparation for another dip in the Arctic waters. Like a kid at a waterslide, I kept going back for more.

I have never slept so well as I did that night. I can't help wondering if I will ever experience sauna like that again.

I'm glad I did it when I had the chance.

My First Chick Flick List

2010-11-29T09:26:00.000-07:00

My husband does not do chick flicks. I never really cared for them either, at least of the few I had seen. Last year, I decided to start watching some of them, just to make sure I wasn't missing anything (and I am a chick, after all). I like to watch movies while I iron, and as long as I was able to borrow them from family, friends, or the library--or watch them on Netflix instant, (because I didn't really want to pay to watch them), I figured I might as well.

First of all, I have discovered the necessity for me to watch these movies alone because even if I think the movie is absolutely ridiculously absurdly stupid, they almost always make me cry. I don't know why I'm even telling you this, because it is actually quite embarrassing to me!

I have also found an interesting phenomenon in many of these movies. The climax consists of the lover/lovee literally running to profess his/her love, often getting stuck in traffic along the way, or, my favorite, running through an airport.

I thought it might be fun to write a list of "running to declare love" movies. So far I have come up with: Sabrina; Ever After; Sleepless in Seattle; Six Days, Seven Nights; Serendipity; Someone Like You; The Proposal; Notting Hill. If you know any, let me know and I'll watch them and add them to the list (but I don't watch rated R movies). And feel free to tell me what your favorite chick flick is so I can watch it too!

I loved the first three on the list and hated the last one. The others in between I disliked for one reason or another, usually because of the swearing and/or nudity and/or steamy scenes. (Call me a prude if you like, but I always think the movies would be better without these things.)

So, I have to know: Is this really how love happens to people? I don't remember the first time I said "I love you" to my husband, but I know it wasn't associated with any kind of emergency. Am I the only one who missed that?

I do remember telling him I was afraid to fall in love with him. He asked me why, which I considered to be the green light on the matter. Do you remember the first time you said "I love you" to the one that you love?

Prayer of Thanksgiving

2010-11-21T20:56:00.002-07:00

"Sing praises to His name, He forgets not His own."

Week 1: Done

2010-11-18T23:11:00.008-07:00

About a week before Halloween, I felt a strong need to give up sugar. Not just for a day, either.

I've heard of people going on sugar "fasts," and I won't pretend that I didn't think they were just a little fanatical. I mean seriously: no sugar? How is that even possible?

So when I felt this feeling that I needed to give my body a break from my semi-regular encounters with sugars and syrups of numerous kinds, it did seem a bit crazy.

My first try, I made it two weeks. Then I made cookies and caved the next day. Over the course of that day, I consumed four cookies and four pieces of the shunned Halloween candy, which is actually better than I would have normally done on a cookie day just after Halloween. The next day, I decided to start over. This time I am hoping to last three weeks before I take a day to celebrate the completion and to send myself off on my final goal of going another four weeks without sugary sweets. If I can reach these two goals, I will have made it through the time of year that always seems to put negative signs on my clean slate that is waiting for a list of resolutions to be written on it.

So, for my first week of the challenge at House of Hills, I lost almost a pound. I hope to do better this week!

My goals for this week are to exercise at least three times, drink more water, eat healthy meals, and stay away from sugar. This year I hope to celebrate Thanksgiving with my heart instead of my stomach!

Quoting the Cute: Page Six

2010-11-17T13:10:00.001-07:00

Six-year-old: "Why do I have to do all the work?" (I know from experience that it's hard to be the oldest, but I don't have her do nearly as much work as I probably should!)

Two-year-old: "I swallowed my pooptaste." (translation: toothpaste)

One-year-old: "No, no, no, no," said while shaking his head. These were his first words. He also attempts to say, "Don't touch," "yuck," and "kitty," but he can't quite say them yet. I can just tell that he's trying to!

Six-year-old: It's actually been a year ago that she used to say this, but I wanted to bring it up because it was so funny. When she would say the phrase "diaper rash cream," she'd use an "s" sound in the place of "sh." It always made me smile. If you don't know why, say it fast three times.

Two-year-old: I love it when she says any word with the letter "l" in it. She pronounces them perfectly, but with an emphasis that is so adorable, it gets me every time. Add the batting of her eyelashes, and she's got me wrapped around her finger.

One-year-old: "Wow!" (I wish you could see how cute his lips look with each "w.")

For the Beauty of the Earth

2010-11-14T17:50:00.005-07:00

I didn't get to sing the closing hymn with the congregation today because I had to take my one-year-old son out. I was a little disappointed, because it was one of my favorite hymns, but I made up for it by singing and humming it on my own the rest of the day. I still remember singing the John Rutter version of this song when I was in the school choir in junior high.

The third verse is my favorite:

"For the joy of human love: brother, sister, parent, child
Friends on earth and friends above, for all gentle thoughts & mild
Lord of all to Thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise!"

Words: Folliot S. Pierpoint, 1835-1917
Music: Conrad Kocher, 1786-1872

What could I add to what they have already so beautifully written?

January 7, 2011: Naughty or Nice?

2010-11-12T07:02:00.008-07:00

Kathy at House of Hills is graciously hosting a contest to help motivate anyone who enters to maintain his/her weight through the holidays. You can read more about the competition here.

So today is the first day of the rest of my life, but more specifically, my eight week journey to a healthier me. Every year, I receive an unwanted gift during the holidays: ten extra pounds. On my body.

Not this year. In fact, I'd rather lose ten pounds.

Maybe the words "get rid of" would be better in the place of "lose." For me, losing weight is not in the same category as losing money, losing hair, losing at my favorite games, losing my keys, losing my mind...

Practicing Joy

2010-11-11T08:20:00.000-07:00

He was playing, so I thought I'd practice my piano accompaniment for the Thanksgiving family talent show. I should have realized that once the first note was played, he would scramble onto my lap. For a millisecond, I wanted to shoo him away so I could focus on my much-needed practice. But this kid has always been on the run, even before he could run, and consequently, has never spent enough time on my lap. So instead of shooing, I savored.

I smiled as I looked at his pudgy hands with endearing indentations where knobby knuckles will one day be. When I kissed the top of his head, I could smell his soft hair.

After each phrase he played, he leaned his head back and to the side to make eye contact with me, his smile and eyes seeming to ask, "Was that pretty, Mommy?"

I smiled and said yes. "So pretty." As this ritual continued, we began to giggle.

I thought about how one day he'll be too big to sit on my lap.

And before long, we were both laughing with the music.

Love Without End

2010-11-08T21:02:00.004-07:00

When I was about eleven, I started going to church with my neighbors. They had a boy my age. One Sunday morning, I arrived early. The family was gathered in the front room, just getting ready to pray together before leaving. They invited me to join them. I have never forgotten the warmth I felt as I listened to the words spoken to God, as loved ones bowed their heads together in reverent humility. After that, I tried to arrive early whenever I could, just so I could be there for those family prayers.

The hymns became very influential in my life. I taught myself to read music by practicing the notes from a borrowed hymnbook. Each Sunday, after sitting on a bench with the congregation, the first thing I always did was look up the hymns for that meeting. Every day after school, I would spend sometimes an hour or more at the piano, playing and singing the words to those sacred songs.

"I Need Thee Every Hour," "Sweet Hour of Prayer," "How Great Thou Art," "Master, the Tempest is Raging,"and "Where Can I Turn for Peace?" were among my first favorites.

It is hard to believe that so many years have passed since I decided to be a church-goer. As I sing each week, surrounded by the family I helped create, I find I am always touched by a phrase or a sentence from one of the hymns. I try to carry that message with me into the week.

They are like messages from God just to me.

And like an answer to a prayer, yesterday, these were the words that stood out to me: "Forgive, that God may us forgive, that love may still increase."

And so I will try, because I know God knows what is best for me.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemon Cake!

2010-11-05T15:50:00.007-06:00

My parents in-law have large lemon bushes by their house that they cover with plastic every winter. Those bright yellow-orange, big, plump, waxless, poison-free, juicy, sour-delicious lemons are bits of sunshine in my life.

My mother-in-law discovered this recipe from a Taste of Home magazine and it's so good, I'm sure it would still be divine even if you didn't use my in-laws' lemons!

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

2010-11-01T19:35:00.008-06:00

Not long ago, I gave up my search for affordable plant stands and improvised instead. I found it strange that in almost no time, this plant stand practically fell into my lap, and for only twelve dollars!

So before I put Jack O. Lantern away until next October, I thought I'd share a picture.

Happy November!

Quoting the Cute: Page Five

2010-10-29T07:05:00.003-06:00

5-year-old: "Maybe I want to be a rock star when I grow up. Rock star mom!"

2-year-old: "You kidding me!"

5-year-old: "It's not fair." ( I hear this one a lot. Welcome to life, little one!)

2-year-old: We were on a walk when we saw a gigantic hole. My daughter pointed and said, "Look, Mommy! Look at the big fall-down." I love it when kids improvise when they don't know the right word.

5-year-old: "Do you like the song I played on my Hanukkah?" (She learned about Hanukkah on Blue's Clues, so that's where she got the word from.)

11-month-old: I keep wondering if he is really talking or if it is only my imagination. The first words my oldest said were, "all done" and my second said, "kakka" first, which means "poop" in Finnish (her sister taught her to say that word, not me). I think my son is talking, but there isn't any word he says more than once or twice at this point.

I told my oldest daughter to do something (I don't remember what) and she replied, "Is that a direct order?" (We watch a lot of Star Trek at our house.)

Conversations with the two-year-old:

2: "I wan drinka water!"
Her dad: "You want a drink of water?"
2: "Actually, milk."

Her mom: "I love you."
2: "Too-oo!"

A Snippet

2010-10-28T10:17:00.010-06:00

I do not have a mop. It feels good to say this because although I have always washed my floors with a rag and bucket, I still had this:

But my lil' sister, gorgeous and talented, gave me a haircut at the end of a fun, enjoyable visit at my house.

Thirteen inches have been mailed to Locks of Love, and I have to say that their gain is also mine because now there is a lot less hair pulling happening in my life.

(I realize the after picture is blurry, but it was the best one out of the ten I had my Kindergarten daughter take for me.)

Address?

2010-10-23T20:28:00.011-06:00

My daughter brought home a paper from kindergarten that encouraged me to help my child learn her name, phone number and address. As I read it, my mind jumped back to junior high and that day that something bad happened to me because I didn't know my address.

I like to keep my most embarrassing moments to myself because I really hope that if I pretend they didn't happen I will be able to forget that they did. However, this thing happened in junior high and I haven't forgotten yet, so I might as well share it. Just for laughs.

It was midterm. My first class was gym. We sat in rows on the gym floor, two big gym classes sharing the same gym at the same period. We were instructed to fill out the top of the grade sheet. Name. Address. Phone number. Now, let me just tell you that I was never good with addresses. That being said, I still can't believe that by seventh or eighth grade I didn't know what my address was. It wasn't like I had just moved or anything: I'd lived on the same land since I was two years old!

The gym teacher agreed to let me look up my address in the phone book by the office. As I reentered the gym, I slipped in something right inside the door. I was stunned. I had fallen so quickly. Confused, I looked at the slimy liquid dripping from my hands.

It was puke.

I don't really remember what happened after that except that my friend who had let me borrow her gym socks yelled at me in the locker room. I'm can't remember, but I even think she cried (she cried about a lot of things). I kind of wanted to cry myself. I had just slipped and fallen in someone's vomit in front of more than a hundred kids.

Anyway, after remembering that event in my past, with new motivation I set a goal to teach my five-year-old her address. I know it probably won't shield her from embarrassing moments of her own, but you never know.

Phone

2010-10-20T19:32:00.005-06:00

"Hello?

How are you?

Did you have a good weekend?

We're good. It's getting--Don't stand on that!

Sorry. It's getting cold. How is work?

That's good. Oh, Buddy. You stink. Let's go change you.

So anyway, what's new with--No, no, no, no, no.

Sorry. What's new with you?

Wow, you must be--DON'T TOUCH.

Okay, when? I can't wait to see--Hey, where are your clothes?

Yeah, I look--Just a minute, I'm on the phone.

I look forward to it!

No, you can't talk to her, she has to get back to work.

Well, I love ya (as two children cry and one child whines in the background).

You too. Bye!"

Roadkill Review

2010-10-17T21:44:00.014-06:00

We almost hit an elk on our wedding night. I screamed and wide-eyed, I asked my husband "What is that?" I knew it wasn't a deer: the thing was MASSIVE. I spent the next two years paralyzed with fear every time we drove anywhere on our deer-infested highways. I just knew that if the icy roads didn't kill us, one of those road signs/elk/mail boxes/deer/tumbleweeds/antelope would get us for sure. I cried "Deer!" too many deerless times and after awhile, my husband quit braking to my warnings.

We have been surrounded by roads with deer warning signs our whole married life, but we have never hit a deer. Well, except that time we were on a tour bus that hit a deer, but that is kind of like a minivan hitting a jackrabbit, so it is probably not worth mentioning. Twice we saw other people hit deer on the road. Once after a visit to our house, three relatives in a pick-up truck hit a deer. The truck was knocked backwards down a steep hill, but thankfully our relatives were not harmed.

We have driven through herds of elk or deer (often on icy roads). There were a few times I thought a collision with one or more of them was eminent, but my dependable driver always got us through safely. I began to relax. I gained the ability to wait until I was sure I was seeing an animal before I called out a warning to my husband.

I just have to insert here a sentence about my sister. She was driving down a country road one night when several rabbits, later referred to as the suicide bunnies, jumped in front of her car, one right after the other.

One black midsummer night, we drove down an unfamiliar road, with our first baby and two cousins in the back seat. My husband slowed to watch out for deer. Almost as if it had been beamed there in an instant, the biggest, blackest cow I have ever seen stood in the middle of our lane. With the help of his lightening-speed reflexes, my husband hit the brakes, but it was obvious that we would not be able to stop in time. Naturally, I screamed with the teenage girls, although I still don't remember hearing the screams. I also put my hands up in a feeble attempt to block myself from the elephant-sized cow in our path.

It happened so fast. (Isn't that what they always say?) The next thing I knew, all I could see was white.

"Am I dead?" I asked myself silently. "What do I do now?"

Then I realized there was an air bag in my face. I moved it away and asked my husband if he was okay but he didn't answer me. It was so dark. I called his name in a panic. Then he said with an urgency I don't think I have heard since, "GET OUT OF THE CAR!" We could smell smoke. I clawed myself out of the passenger side of the car so I could get my baby out of the seat right behind me.

By the time I was out of my door, my husband was already pulling my daughter's carseat out of the back. He had opened his door, climbed out, sprinted around the back of the car, opened my daughter's door, and pulled her carseat out with the speed of Superman, I do not exaggerate.

My husband's parents came upon our stopped car. My father-in-law said he saw us bailing out of the car and wondered if we were all sick, which makes me laugh now when I think about it.

We took inventory of ourselves: my husband's arm was scratched from the windshield glass, I had a bloody nose (I later realized that when I put my hand up, the air bag caused me to punch myself in the nose) and a bruised arm, but other than that we were all just a little shaken up. And the cow...I can still remember exactly how it sounded bellowing somewhere in the dark...

Someone came by who knew the owners of the cows, so we called to tell them what had happened. We hoped they would come and tend to the most likely dying cow. The five of us rode home with family, friends, and strangers. The man who returned me to my in-laws' house accidentally locked himself out of his truck and had to wait an hour for his sister to bring him another set of keys. Then he still had another hour drive to get home. My husband waited at the ER until two in the morning, only to be told that if there was glass in his arm, it would work its way out on its own. That information cost $250. The car, which we loved so much it was like a pet to us, was completely totaled and we only carried liability insurance on it.

Midsummer night seemed unlucky that year, if you are one to look on the dark side. (Don't do it...don't go to the dark side!) But since I am not, let me tell you I believe we were watched over and protected. We were already slowing down when we saw the cow. Those girls in our backseat did not have seat belts on (if I had known, I would have told them to buckle up!), but they were not harmed at all. The car was not on fire, we were only smelling the air bag propellant. It turned out that a family member was able to fix the car eventually and use it for his family, and we were able to get the same kind of car for us.

I know that night was unlucky for the cow, though. Rest in peace, Holy Cow. So sorry!

My Second Job

2010-10-12T08:50:00.007-06:00

After a few years of scrubbing toilets on the weekends, I decided I needed a job where I could get some more hours. Fast food seemed to be the most popular choice among my peers, but I had heard horror stories about greasy burger joints and pizza shops. There was a Blimpie sandwich shop on the outside edge of my neighbor city (there weren't any fast food places in my hometown), so I decided to apply there.

I enjoyed this job because it gave me a chance to serve people face to face (unlike my maid [I mean "room attendant"] job where I was only cleaning up after people after they had checked out or gone out). And I got to wear a red shirt and visor! Looking back though, I think my favorite thing about that job was my employee discount because MY OH MY I am still in love with the grilled chicken sandwich with honey mustard and the BLT with lots of mayonnaise (sadly, it is a long lost love, because I don't live anywhere near a Blimpie now [which is probably for the best because I have since realized how many calories and fat grams live in just one tablespoon of mayo]).

My foster grandparents used to come in often. It still makes me feel so loved because they drove past a Blimpie to eat at my Blimpie (or maybe it was just a Subway...or a Subway and Blimpie...either way, they drove a long way to eat there, something they hadn't done before I worked there, and something they didn't do anymore when I stopped working there). Grandpa would usher his cheerful but senile wife (Alzheimer's) to a table, and I would serve them waitress style. They are both gone now. Thinking of this time in my life makes me miss them.

I'll never forget the day my oldest friend came in... (That isn't really the right word...longest friend? No. He's actually kind of short. The only person on this planet who has been my friend since Kindergarten? Yes. Him.) Anyway, my long-time friend and my...what would I call him? My childhood sweetheart? Okay, so TWO GOOD FRIENDS (this story keeps getting snagged!) came in to ask me what I thought of a guy I had just gone out with for the first time. My long-time friend told me this guy liked me but didn't think I liked him back, so he was unsure if he was going to ask me out again (my friend knew this because they were coworkers). This is all starting to sound a little too middle school, and since I had just graduated from high school I'm going to end this paragraph.

It turned out that my long-time friend convinced my now-husband that he should ask me out again. The morning he came in to Blimpie to see me, the first time after our first date, I almost dropped a whole tray of bread loaves on the floor. The morning light streamed in through the large glass windows and he stood there looking handsome in a black cowboy hat. And the fact that he stood there at my counter was proof that he liked me which caused my heart to leap! Oh Sappy Young Love, I kind of miss you.

Those are my favorite Blimpie memories. My least favorite memory involves an unfortunate run-in my finger had with the gargantuan meat slicer...CRINGE...I've said too much. But since I've already said too much, I just have to say that was the freshest meat ever! Ugh. I'm still trying to forget about that, so I might delete this paragraph later.

This post did not end up being what I had planned.

A Few Questions

2010-10-08T10:48:00.000-06:00

1. Why is it called the living room when it is the room we live in the least? My husband explained it once to me: something about a parlor and dead people, but I still don't get it.

2. There are so many abbreviations that don't make sense to me. Where is the logic in: Pounds = lbs. ? And Number is No.? Ounces = oz.?

3. Am I the only one who is disturbed by the names of the flavors of Ramen noodles? When you look at them, they appear to be flavors of different kinds of meat: chicken, beef, pork, shrimp...but then there's ORIENTAL!?!

So, as I always do, I turned to Google and wikipedia for answers.

(No. 1) First of all, I have to say that I do not call the FRONT room a living room. My husband does, though. So my children hear, "Don't play in the front room!" from me and "Don't play in the living room!" from him. Anyway, wikipedia told me that architects were trying to get rid of the gloomy funeral feeling of the parlor, so they renamed it "the living room." My husband is always right.

(No. 2) Well, wikipedia told me that lb. is the abbreviation for libra (an old Roman measurement), but why we use the abbreviation of libra for the word "pound" I still don't know (unless it is because the abbreviation pd. is already taken). My study of this question also led to the controversy about lb. vs. lbs. which I will not even get into! And I am left with no desire to search for the reasons for "No. & oz," but feel free to tell me if you know.

(No. 3) I looked at the Top Ramen website and was relieved to see they now have chili flavor, so I feel a little better about the whole thing. I haven't bought Ramen noodles in years...

On Becoming a Sister

2010-10-01T12:58:00.007-06:00

I was a three-year-old only child when I went to sleep that pre-autumn night. In the early morning, I woke up to the sound of a newborn baby crying. All of a sudden, I was a big sister. Walking into the bedroom at the end of the single-wide trailer and seeing my mom and dad with a tiny new person is my earliest memory. I have pictures of me holding her when she was a baby, and she looked like a little porcelain doll.

When I was five, I remember my dad calling me from the hospital (we were staying with my mom's oldest sister) to tell me I had another sister. He said she looked like a little Indian. I remember more about her babyhood because I was a little older. She was snuggly. She still is.

The three of us had all kinds of childhood fun. My favorite memories are of the forts we made, some out of paths laid into tall weeds, some under the shade of the tamarisk (we called them tamarack) trees, and I remember one that we dug into the ground that had a swimming pool for a roof (or something--I can't really remember what the roof was made of). We carved steps into the hard-packed red dirt that led down into it.

When I was thirteen, we were blessed with another sister. The three of us stood in the doorway of the delivery room when she arrived. I loved her with my whole heart from the moment I first saw her. Tears rolled down my masked face as I listened to her very first cries. After that, we spent a lot of time together. I played a little mommy and she played the cute baby (and she was really good at it!).

It breaks my heart when I think of my youngest sister and how one by one, we all left her behind. I don't know if that is where her amazing independence grows from, but I wish I could have savored her childhood a few years more. I still think of her as my baby sister, even though she is now an adult teenager.

When my mom was almost twenty, she had me. When I was almost twenty, she had my brother. I got married and moved away just after he turned one, so I missed out on most of his life. When I was in elementary school, I remember being fascinated with my friends who had older siblings that they didn't know very well. My sisters and I spent so much time together, I couldn't imagine not knowing a sibling. I later learned what it felt like to be that older sibling: I hope my brother knows I love him even though we didn't ever get to spend much time together.

Being a sister has been one of my favorite roles in life. I know there have been many times I was not what I should have been for each of them, but I always loved them.

And I always will.

Improvising Improvements

2010-09-30T09:46:00.014-06:00

There is a room in my house that the plants and I like to pretend is a sunroom. For awhile, I've been looking around for some plant stands, but everything is either too busy or too expensive. Yesterday, I took matters into my own hands after window shopping online for more than an hour.

I dream of this room becoming a game room/study/library, hence the game theme in the arrangement. Both the trunk boxes come from my childhood: the puppy box was a place to keep my treasures when I was little, and I used the green trunk when I lived with my second family. The puppy box is topped with my husband's childhood checker board. I thought of covering the sides of it too, but I just couldn't do it!

The hat box used to look like this:

It was pretty, but it never really fit anywhere in my house, so I covered it with some of my husband's old playing cards, and put the Chinese Checkers game on top. I'll keep my eyes open for something a little taller to replace the polka dotted tin, but for now, I'm happy with it and I think the plants are too.

The Party's Over

2010-09-26T20:25:00.007-06:00

There are reverberations all around: a dozen plastic cups with the names of people I love written on them, two fortune cookies that remind me of my amusement that we celebrated something very American by going out for Chinese, pillows and blankets stacked here and there, waiting to be hugged again next time. We all waved goodbye, even the baby, until we could no longer see the shrinking cars in the distance. All of these things make me feel like it's the end of the best ride in an amusement park at closing time, but I smile because I had such a good time!

P.S. Someone who has talent I do not made that cake, just F.Y.I.

Reusable Recipes: Salad Edition

2010-09-19T17:16:00.005-06:00

I hesitate to share this first recipe because it seems to be well known. I've seen it at potlucks (which doesn't surprise me because it is so delicious) but just because my corner of the world knows it, doesn't mean the rest of the world does!

Chicken Cabbage Salad

1/2 head cabbage, cut up
2 oz. chopped or slivered almonds
1 pkg. chicken ramen, noodles only--uncooked and broken into bits
3 green onions, cut up
2 chicken breasts, cooked & cut up (seasoned grilled chicken makes it even better)

Mix. In separate bowl combine:

Spice packet from the ramen noodles
2 Tbsp. vinegar
1 tsp. salt
1/2 cup salad oil (I don't really know what salad oil is:
I always use 1/4 cup each of olive and vegetable oil)
1 Tbsp. sugar
1/2 tsp. pepper

Mix and pour over salad. Toss, chill, and enjoy.

I discovered the following recipe in a Taste Of Home magazine (except I added the sunflower seeds) and it has blessed my life ever since.

Crab and Pea Salad

2 pkg. (10 oz.) frozen peas
1 pkg. (16 oz.) imitation crab meat, flaked
12-16 bacon strips, cooked & crumbled
1 cup mayonnaise
1/2 tsp. onion powder
1/8 cup sunflower seeds

CHAOS: x 3

2010-09-15T20:01:00.023-06:00

First of all, I wish to thank each visitor. Motivation is powerful fuel.

I had hoped to have the wallpaper down from the nursery by Monday (the Monday that happened three days ago). I can already tell that when we get to the next Monday in four days, it still won't be done--but I am making progress.

First, I climbed Stuff Mountain. Realizing it was mostly made of unfinished projects and hand-me-down clothes for my children, I tried to think of another place for the unfinished projects to live and came up with this:

Genius!

Actually, this bathroom is broken so we haven't used this shower since we moved in. Stuff has been stashed there before, but now it is the designated place for all my procrastinated projects that I am going to finish tomorrow. My house lacks when it comes to storage areas...to state the obvious.

With that out of the way, we were ready to remove wallpaper. I hired some help:

(I see now how much better this picture would have been if I had thought to put my oldest in stripes as well!) We also removed the upside-down chair rail that was pretending to be baseboards. When the three of us finished peeling, pulling, and prying, I paid my girls by telling them they could color on the walls.

(Love those lashes!)

Let me share what I learned: If you are going to be replacing carpet with vinyl, remove the baseboards before the installers come. You are going to have to move them anyway because they'll sit too high off the floor, so you might as well take them off so the vinyl will be installed all the way to the wall, with a straight edge. I wish the carpet/vinyl store had told me!

My new goal is to have the wallpaper removed and the walls primed by Wednesday. We could call it Washed Wallpaperless White Walls Wednesday." See you then!

Hats All Folks!

2010-09-14T01:15:00.004-06:00

I don't have anything to report on the nursery because I have been finishing these:

The first one was supposed to be for my friend who is enduring chemo, but it turned out to be nothing like the pattern picture so then I made the next one. I hope it fits.

Dear reader, will you take off your hat and say a prayer for my friend, Brenda, please?

Are You Looking for a Blog with Substance?

2010-09-13T09:00:00.005-06:00

A couple of years ago, I moved to a new city. I was fortunate to have a very close friend already living in the city I was moving to. We were both busy and didn't see each other as much as we had hoped, but I was comforted just to know she was close by if I became overwhelmed with loneliness. In addition to that, I loved that I was able to pack my online friends into a suitcase (the laptop bag) and take them with me.

However, as a stay-at-home mom, there were times I still wished for more in my social life. But I needed friends I could converse with in my pajamas, who wouldn't mind if I called them up at three in the morning, just because I was having a hard time falling back to sleep after a 2:30 baby feeding. At this point, blogs came into my life. So I began searching for a blog with substance. I wanted to find someone I could relate to, someone who would inspire me, someone fun.

Then I found Cjane. She is a popular blogger, so I'm not really her friend, but I think of her as mine. Over the past couple of years, I have read every one of her posts.

And from her readers I have found other delightful blogs to read. One of them gave me this award:

Thank you, Cindy! Isn't she nice?

So in keeping with "the rules" of my acceptance, I will complete the three requirements listed below.

1. Thank the person who gave you the award.

Cindy is a new friend. I love how she is willing to encourage me, even though she doesn't even know me!

2. Sum up your blogging philosophy, motivation, and experience using 5 words.

Five words? Can a blogger do such a thing? Alright (said in a surrendering tone). My blogging philosophy and motivation are to:

Be true. Remember happiness. Love.

3. Pass it on to 10 other people you feel have blogs with substance.

I have four real live friends whose blogs I read, but they are private. I love them (the blogs) because I love them (the writers). But here are 10 people I am coming to love because of their blogs:

1. My friend Likely: Her writing makes me feel like I'm inside her head and I love what's in there!

2. Mama Gale: Her posts about the past are delicious to me so I keep going back for more.

3. Starry Med Girl: She is an intelligent and affectionate mother of two whose writing I enjoy whenever there is time (for her to post and me to read)!

4. Sistership: A group of sisters, all good writers, share interesting thoughts and stories about their lives.

5. GreerAnn: I became a mother when I was about her age. I am impressed by her eloquence and talent as well as her gifts as a mother.

6. Borderland: I like to go to her blog and let her talk to me. She is funny and full of enthusiasm and has outstanding guest bloggers!

7. Jessica: I especially love to hear about her adventurous life as Mrs. Wolfe, the Kindergarten teacher, because I send my daughter to that world five days a week.

8. Section 89: This blog is new to me, but it seems to be full of what I am wishing to improve upon most in my life right now.

9. Celeste: Even if you don't love paper crafting like I do, if you appreciate beautiful things, this blog is worth scrolling through. She shares countless free ideas and printables. I think it is wonderful, how she helps others do something they love!

10. Dalene: I just found her blog yesterday, but I've been reading her for longer than I realized (When I first found Cjane's blog, I decided to start at the beginning and read to the present, and Compulsive Writer was a regular commenter). I have found thoughts that were deep, meaningful, funny, and entertaining, and I've only read the first two pages so far!

ENJOY!

CHAOS To the Power of Two

2010-09-10T04:57:00.011-06:00

Being the type that wants to have everything planned out (oh, the disappointments!), I took my nursery design questions to Facebook. I asked every question on my mind, from frame colors to accessory placement. I invited all of my friends to vote. It was FUN. Free personalized ideas came to me in comment boxes. I can't wait to use them!

But first, there's that wallpaper (my cousin made me smile when she referred to it as jailhouse stripes):

I'm still working on removing it. Look at the interesting purple and green I found underneath. Combined with the black, we've got some nice bruise colors going on.

Now, this is where the true chaos comes in. This room has been the catch-all since we moved in two years ago. For the past several months, I couldn't even get in this room to use the changing table or rocker.

And remember what CHAOS stands for? Well, when my close friend said she was coming for a visit from Colorado, I was delighted. I thought I'd just shut the door on this room and no one would know the disaster that lived in there.

I couldn't hide it, though. I couldn't even get the door shut! She must have felt sorry for me because while I fed lunch to my kids, she dug out half the room and stacked it on the other side. I was embarrassed, but more shocked than anything. Talk about super powers.

So, I've removed half the wallpaper and hope to get the rest off by Monday. It is fairly easy to do. I tear off the outer layer and then use the handy wallpaper scorer another handy friend gave me. I spray the whole area with a solution of one part fabric softener and four parts water and let it sit for awhile. Before it starts to dry, I scrape it off. Then I wash the wall with warm water while it is still damp.

You might be wondering where I'm going to put all that stuff so I can get this done? The truth? I have no idea!

I'll keep you posted.

Often Things Are Not What They Seem

2010-09-09T08:56:00.004-06:00

I pushed the double stroller down the sidewalk. The babies looked sweet in their blanket sleepers, taking in the sights, each leaning a different way.

"Bus!" said my two-year-old. A minute later: "Nother bus!" (While her baby brother inspected the weeds on the other side of the sidewalk.)

I saw a man ahead with a black dog. He cheerfully patted the dog's head when it jumped up on him. Then the dog bounded toward us and began licking the faces of my children. Horrified, and thankful the dog wasn't a biter (I was recently bitten by a neighbor's dog), I thought to myself that this man was very rude to let his dog clobber my children. I tried to push the dog away, but this was a persistently friendly dog.

As I walked away, the dog followed us. The man didn't say a word. Then I realized this was not his dog. Then I realized he probably thought this was my dog and may have even thought to himself, "How impolite of this woman to let her dog jump on me and not even apologize. And where is the leash?"

I was glad when the dog gave up trying to tongue assault my babies, but it still wanted to follow us. I tried everything I could think of (without being cruel) to get the dog to leave us alone. If I stopped and gave the dog my best "Scram!" stare, the dog would sit. I did a lot of pointing and yelling and pretend or soft kicking. I tried throwing rocks (I mostly missed). No effect. If I ignored the dog and walked on, the dog walked along side me like I had taught it to heel. (We had a dog once [that's a whole other story] and it was like a battle trying to get her to heel on a walk.)

So I just walked. What choice did I have?

People driving past us may have thought to themselves that I was a good master as they saw the dog keep perfect pace with me.

When the dog decided to dart into the street, the slowed drivers might have been thinking I was a negligent owner, to let my unleashed dog run wherever it wanted.

Funny thing is, they would have all been wrong!

CHAOS

2010-09-08T12:46:00.009-06:00

If you are a Fly Lady, you know what CHAOS stands for: Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome. And I've got it bad. I've seen blogs where people post their projects and remodels and I love to see how much they accomplish as much as I hate to see how much they accomplish (because it makes me feel like a loser).

So, I thought I'd give it a try. If I believe even one person might be "coming over," maybe it will motivate me to get off my duff and get some things done around here!

Below you will see the before picture of my baby boy's room that he still doesn't get to live in.

This is the way we found the room when we moved into the house. See that carpet? I'm pretty sure it would have turned thirty this year with the house if we had not murdered it last year and dropped it in a dumpster. Hey, we had motive! Imagine digging around in a well-used litterbox with your nose; that's what it smelled like. Even after several scented candlelight vigils, it smelled no better. I told my husband we needed to clean it and he said we might as well rip it out and start over. So we went to the local carpet stores and began to premeditate its removal. It was a double homicide too. The mauve carpet in the girls' room was just as nasty (only it smelled like an old nursing home instead), so it had to go as well.

I don't really gross out easily, but when I saw the bottom side of those carpets on installation day I was GROSSED OUT. The only way I can think to describe how it looked is hundreds of overlapping Venn diagram pee spots. I'm sure they weren't all pee spots, but they all looked the same to me.

This leads me to share my joy in choosing vinyl. Because even though I don't have indoor pets and my children don't pee on the floor very often, if they did, no one thirty years from now would ever know about it by looking at the bottom of the vinyl!

And now, for that wallpaper...

All of Our Ducks in a Row

2010-09-02T09:44:00.005-06:00

Okay, well, not ALL of them. But we did catch the bus today, and yesterday I conquered the dishes and the dining room floor.

This morning I walked into my daughters' room to see this:My two-year-old is at the stage where she gathers like toys together and puts them in a line. These groupings always amuse me, can you see why?

Needless to say, I saw this "row" as a good omen for today. So far, so good!

Tomorrow, the Other Side of the Street

2010-09-01T08:34:00.007-06:00

We missed the bus again today. More truthfully, I missed the bus again. As I ran up the sidewalk with my three children (two of them in a stroller), only to see the bus pass by at the end of the street, my brain couldn't avoid a flashback to childhood.

It must have happened at least a hundred times: me running up the dirt road only to see the bus pass by at the end of the street. The morning air was only slightly cooled and sat still as I hurried. Luckily, the bus had to come back that way, so if I crossed the street, I could be picked up on the other side. The streak of yellow at the finish line might as well have carried the banner, "You lose again."

And that was how I felt today, only worse. My daughter has never ridden the bus to school. She wants to, but her mother can't get her to the bus stop in time. Yesterday, on her second day of Kindergarten, I promised her that we would catch the bus "tomorrow." I should have known (from experience) it was a promise I am incapable of keeping.

As I drove her to school, a knot in my stomach, I told her I was sorry for breaking my promise. When I asked her how I could make it up to her, she said that she just wanted us to try again tomorrow. Her forgiveness only made me feel worse. I watched her as she ran to the playground, the knot tightening as I worried about her drowning in the sea of children. When I could no longer see her, I drove home.

On the way, I thought of the many ways I have neglected my duties as wife and mother. I hate to admit it, but I have discovered that it is easier to neglect a child (and a husband) than I once believed. I do not think my goals are lofty because I have seen many women who gush of the life I am striving for (my husband's mother is the best among them). So I know it can be done.

I am usually one to look on the positive side of things, but today the only thing I feel I am successful at is failure.

It isn't just about the lost race to the bus stop. I wish it was. It is about a cluttered home, dozens of unfinished projects, late appointments, procrastinated intentions, and unmet promises. It is about a pile of unfolded laundry, a sink and counter full of dishes, a sticky dining room floor, weeds growing in the yard and mold growing in the toilet, to name only a few.

I looked in the rear view mirror at my babies, one of each kind, and wondered if they would get a better mom than their big sister. As I parked in front of our home, I could hear my daughter's words echoing in my head.

I hope God doesn't mind that I pray daily for super powers because I think that's what it's going to take to pull this thing off.

Bedtime Snuggling, Down to a Science

2010-08-29T21:00:00.000-06:00

Baby No. 1, Rule No. 1: Baby must be sung to and rocked by Daddy. If he is unavailable, Mommy will suffice, but only if the baby is very tired. Rule No. 2: To help baby fall asleep, caress her arms and legs with fingertips. Baby will hold arm or leg out for maximum reachability.

Baby No. 2, Rule No. 1: Baby must be sung to and rocked by Daddy. If he is unavailable, Mommy will suffice, but she must allow baby to crawl onto her chest and shoulder and snuggle into the neck. Rule No. 2: DO NOT caress her arms and legs with fingertips. This will upset her.

Baby No. 3, Rule No. 1: Baby must be wrapped in a blanket, then sung to and rocked by Daddy. If Daddy is unavailable, Mommy will suffice, but DO NOT try to snuggle baby on the shoulder unless he is facing out. Otherwise he will squirm and fight until he is put down so he can crawl away.

Toddler No. 1, Rule No. 1: Every night she will request to, "Yay on Mommy." Mommy must lay flat on back with toddler on her chest and abdomen until snoozing has commenced. Then she may carefully roll toddler onto her bed and tiptoe out of the room.

Toddler No. 2, Rule No. 1: Every night she will command, "Way buh-bus." The translation for this is "Lay by us." With Child No. 1 tucked into her bed on the top bunk, Mommy or Daddy must lay by Child No. 2 on bottom twin bed. One hand must rest on her chest if she is laying on her back or on her back if she is laying on her front. DO NOT move hand away, not even to quickly scratch an itch, or toddler will grab the hand by the wrist and put it back where it belongs.

When it is finally bedtime for Mommy and Daddy, Daddy must remember to kiss Mommy before he puts on his mask and turns on his VPAP machine. If he forgets, Mommy will give him his good-night kiss on the arm. Then Mommy must position herself below the flow of cold air pouring from the mask.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz................(for awhile anyway).

Reusable Recipes: Meat Edition

2010-08-27T08:40:00.005-06:00

When I got married, my paternal grandmother gave me an empty cookbook. It has become the special cookbook, because only tried-and-loved recipes get recorded on its pages; recipes for special occasions, and recipes that get used over and over again.

I learned my three favorite meat recipes from my foster mother, who is now a vegetarian. All I have to say about that is I am glad I lived with her while these meals were still on the menu, because they are YUMMY!

And here they are:

Pulled Pork (We always called it shredded pork when I lived with them, but I have decided this name is more fitting [plus, I love alliteration!])

Cook a picnic pork shoulder, fat side up, covered, in a 300 degree oven overnight or 6-8 hours. Make sauce while it cools (or whenever you want). Separate meat from bones and fat. Pull meat into small strands; place in 9 x 13 pan. Cover with sauce. Heat in oven, stirring a few times and then broil if desired.

Sauce: Warm in pan: 1/2 cup melted butter or margarine, 1 cup brown sugar, 1 1/3 cup ketchup/catsup, 1 Tablespoon prepared mustard, 1/2 cup vinegar, 2/3 cup water, 1/4 cup soy sauce, 1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce, 1/4 teaspoon pepper,
2 teaspoons salt. Stir well, until everything is dissolved together.

This dish makes a delicious leftover too!

Sweet Taco Meat (This may sound strange to you, but it is better than you can imagine. Serve on soft tortillas with your choice of taco toppings and ranch dressing or sour cream.)

Brown 2 pounds ground beef. Drain. Add in pan: 1 envelope dry onion soup mix, 1 cup ketchup/catsup/tomato sauce, 1/3 cup brown sugar, 2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce. Simmer and stir until sugar is dissolved. Simmer for a half an hour, stirring occasionally.

I realize that most of the ingredients in this recipe are the same as the pulled pork, which explains why I love it so much!

Oven-Fried Chicken

Crush 2 cups of cornflakes and stir in 1/4 teaspoon of garlic salt and a few dashes of pepper. Dip chicken pieces (about 2 and a half to 3 pounds) in 1/2 cup melted butter or margarine. Roll in bread mixture (No, not you. The chicken!) and place in a greased 9 x 13. Sprinkle with remaining crumbs and butter. Bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for 1 hr. Don't turn (No, not you. The chicken!)

I often think of Amelia Bedelia (my namesake) when I read or write recipes, can you tell?

I Love You, Two!

2010-08-17T10:05:00.007-06:00

Dear Two,

I have heard you are terrible, but I love you. I have watched two daughters grow through your year. I cherished that phase both times. Sometimes I would look at my girl and think, "Oh, good. She is still a baby." Other times I would exclaim proudly after a new accomplishment, "Good, girl! You are so big!"

I guess what I mean to say is that I am thankful that I had a year to say goodbye to the baby who needed me so much. I had time to say goodbye to things like putting on her shoes and changing her diapers.

I also had a year to celebrate new conversations and welcome her ability to use words to tell me of her wants and needs. And even though she was big enough to walk and run, she was still small enough to want to be carried and rocked sometimes.

So thank you, Two! I think you are lovely.

Love,
Me

Peanut Butter and Honey Sandwiches

2010-08-03T09:21:00.010-06:00

If I made a bar chart that showed how many times I've eaten each different food item in my lifetime, peanut butter and honey sandwiches would tower over all the others. Most of them were consumed in my childhood, on days when my mom didn't feel like cooking. I find it strange that I never got tired of them. Even now, they are my ultimate comfort food.

Then there are the other foods. Don't mind me as I reminisce.

My mom makes the best potato salad. I have tried many times to recreate it, without success. It always had the perfect amount of olives, eggs, and dill pickles. She also made goulash, but don't ask me what that is because I'm not really sure. For us it was any meal in which pasta, tomato sauce, and hamburger were the main ingredients, but I don't think that's what goulash really is. It seemed like most meals that were made of those three ingredients ended up on the floor, but that's another story.

Whenever my mom needed to take a potluck dessert somewhere, she usually made a pumpkin roll. I have never made one because it looks so complicated. I'm impressed by my mom's ability to make this wonderful dessert because she didn't bake very often. I like to bake, but I usually stay with simple things like cakes, cookies, and muffins. I'm pretty good at making rice crispy treats, but I don't think that counts as baking.

Two or three times a year, we would have a big "Thanksgiving" dinner. My dad often took pictures of the formally set dinner table at these non-occasions, complete with three proper daughters with napkins on their laps. Dad always included a table manners lesson during these dinners. My little sisters especially loved when he would "accidentally" make mistakes (like flinging food from his plate with his fork). His lessons were informative as well as entertaining. Dad took a lot of pride in teaching us.

Sometimes my dad made steak or fish or shrimp or shish-kabobs. I shared my dad's love for crab salad from the deli, and I still remember the first time I tried some of his canned smoked oysters. I should have been grossed out, but I loved them. I still do. In fact, every year, Santa puts a can of smoked oysters in the bottom of my stocking because he loves me and knows I'm a good girl.

We ate tostadas regularly. I don't know how other people prepare tostadas, but my family ate them just like tacos, but with a tostada shell. Our toppings were: refried beans, hamburger, avocado (sometimes), diced tomatoes, sliced black olives, and sour cream. Sometimes our dinner was seven layer dip (made from the same ingredients) with tortilla chips. We used a small rectangular coffee table in the front room for this meal. Mom and Dad sat on the couch, and my two sisters and I would kneel at each of the other three sides of the table. It was always a race to see who could scoop away the largest section of the big circle serving platter, even though we knew none of us could ever beat Dad. We liked this meal, and in our childish enthusiasm would declare, "Dip for dinner!"

When we had tostadas or dip, I got to cut up the tomatoes or olives. I diced the tomatoes into very small bits because I didn't like them, so the smaller the pieces, the better. My whole family would be waiting for me to get those tomatoes cut up so we could eat!

But back to the peanut butter and honey sandwiches.

My kids love them too. I think it is ironic that my daughters think I am neglecting them by only allowing them to have peanut butter and honey sandwiches once a day when for a long time, I thought I was neglected because some days that was all there was to eat.

In the Bible, it says that John the Baptist lived for a time on locusts and honey. It must work: although I would rather get my protein from peanut butter than from locusts, no doubt!

The Question

2010-08-02T10:15:00.016-06:00

I am a little slow. It always takes me a long time to finish any given project, and sometimes I do not get jokes until the next day. This story will probably demonstrate.

I was on a date with my long-distance boyfriend on a Sunday night and things were awkward all evening. I was grumpy. He was acting strangely. We planned to spend some time on our favorite bench at the temple grounds before we went to a fireside* together, but there were a lot of people there, so we decided to go after the fireside. Which reminds me of the time we accidentally got locked into the temple grounds:

We enjoyed a long conversation as the beautiful white building towered above us, glowing white against the night sky. We strolled to our car, but realized the tall gate was closed. Quickly, we walked to another exit--but it was also locked. My boyfriend panicked. I laughed (so typical of both of us). He began to plot our escape: something involving him hoisting me over the 8-10 foot iron fence. I was wearing a dress and heels, but even if I had been in a leotard, I would not have dared! We rang the doorbell by the baptistry in hopes there would be someone in the building who could let us out. I was thinking about what would happen if we didn't make it home by curfew (midnight). How would it look to our parents if we did not come home until morning? Then I thought of how my parents would worry. It seemed like we paced for hours, but it couldn't have been hours because a security guard let us out, and I was returned home before midnight.

Anyway, back to my story. So we made our way to "our" bench after the fireside, but someone else was using it. So we found another and sat down to talk and read something together, something personal and spiritual in nature. We had read them together before. I felt close to him as he read to me a prayer for his future: a future with a wife and a family. I leaned my head against his chest as he finished reading. He then said quietly in my ear, "I want you to be the woman my blessing speaks of. Will you marry me?"

I was stunned. I remember asking myself, "Did he just propose to me?" We had talked about marriage many times (this is kind of an understatement), but he had never actually asked me to marry him. "Was this it? He wasn't on his knee, I didn't see a ring...but those aren't requirements, are they?"

There was a long moment of silence.

I was startled out of the dialogue going on in my head when in a worried voice he said my name (with a question mark). I decided I should answer him, so I said, "I will."

Then he stood up and I turned to see he was trying to dig something out of his pocket. He was having a hard time with it, and when he succeeded, all of his pocket change clanged onto the sidewalk. He mumbled as he picked up the coins. I stared, thinking to myself that the pennies were relatively insignificant at this moment, but I was also amused by what was happening. He tried to pick the dark pocket lint off the fuzzy pink ring box before he handed it to me. When it was in my hands, I didn't know what to do. I did not want my reaction to it to be calculated, and opening the box myself made it feel like it would be. I said I didn't want to open it. Not understanding, he started to worry about me not liking the ring (even though I hadn't seen it yet). Finally, I forced myself to open the box. It was lovely. It was more than I had expected.

Realizing that this was the moment that would always be the story of the start of our engagement, I started to cry as I told him how sorry I was that I had been in a bad mood all evening. If I had known, I would have been angelic!

But then again, I guess it was good for him to know what he was in for.

*A fireside is a religious devotional,
usually held in the evenings.

The Over-On-the-Shoulder Boulder Story

2010-07-30T19:40:00.001-06:00

Because this particular story has a moral to it, it is worth telling even though it leaves me looking a little...inept.

The year was 2000-ish. We had a big maroon car-boat that was constantly giving us trouble (the worst of its faults was when it would turn its own lights off as we were driving down the highway at night).

I was driving the car-boat to a reservoir to meet up with my husband and my friend's husband who were fishing. As I drove along, I saw a rock in the middle of my lane. It looked small enough to straddle, so I headed straight for it. However, the closer I got to it, I realized it was bigger than I first thought. A little too late, I decided to dodge it. In my near-success, I hit the rock with the right front tire, which pummeled the rock into the side of the car and knocked the strip of paneling off (it was one of those skinny plastic strips, not the wide piece of pretend wood paneling you may be picturing).

Anyway, I pulled over, retrieved my piece of whatever-you-call-it (tossing it into the trunk that was big enough to haul eight bodies at once), and resumed my trek to the fishing spot. My friend, who witnessed all of this from the passenger seat, found the whole thing to be hilarious.

When I bashfully went to confess to my husband, I began, "Um. There was this rock in the road and..."

Without a pause he answered, "I know the rock you are talking about."

As it turns out, as he approached the same rock earlier that day (when he tells this story, he calls it a boulder, but I assure you, it was NOT a boulder...just a big rock), his friend said, "Should we stop and move it?"

His answer was, "Anybody dumb enough to hit it deserves to."

Maybe I could stop there and let you decide upon your own moral, because I'm having a hard time picking one:

"Always be a pioneer because the one who comes along behind you might be your other half."

Or "Keep the pathway clear because the dummy who follows might be the woman who uses your checkbook."

Or I could quote the Bible and say, "Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these..., ye have done it unto me." Except I would replace "me" with "yourself."

Or something completely different like: "Objects in the road are bigger than they appear."

We could take votes.

Because of this experience, when I see a rock in the road, I pull over and move it.

I think the moral to this story is really the golden rule, don't you?

Quoting the Cute: Page Four

2010-07-29T11:00:00.001-06:00

Five-year-old: I can't remember exactly how, but she asked me something about taking care of my "young." I think she got it from watching kids' animal shows on the internet.

Two-year-old: "Aw, C'mon!" (She got this from her big sister and it's so funny.)

Five-year-old: Today our neighbor said he thought she was a monkey in the tree & she reminded him matter-of-factly, "Yes, but monkeys don't wear shoes."

Two-year-old: "I wan play play-doughs!"

Eight-month-old son: "Da da da!"

My First Job

2010-07-28T22:29:00.001-06:00

When I was twelve, I started a Saturday/summer job at a motel. I'm guessing most motels don't hire so young, but my aunt was the head housekeeper and she vouched for me. My cousin/friend worked there too (we called ourselves "cuz buds"--doesn't that sound so twelve and thirteen?). Most days, my cousin and I got to team clean. It was always a hundred times more fun than cleaning alone. We could work the day away with giggles and races to see who could make a bed faster (she could). And hairy bathtubs and skid marks didn't seem so bad when I had someone to laugh about it with.

Each room had a hanging rack on the wall by the vanity. I usually hit my head on it when I cleaned the vanity. You'd think I would have learned, but I worked at that same motel for eight years, and I never really did. My cousin laughed every time. You might also think after all those years, it wouldn't have been so funny, but it always was to her.

My aunt was a blast. She has this laugh that makes you want to laugh. I miss those days with them. I rarely see them or talk to them now, so those days are nostalgic to me.

Cleaning the same fifty rooms (but it was like cleaning the same one room because they were practically identical) over and over for years on end was good preparation for the life I live now. I gained useful skills like how to spread a sheet on a bed in just the right spot without having to walk around the bed to smooth or straighten, or how to scrub a bathroom from top to bottom in seven minutes flat. And even though hairy bathtubs and skid marks are pretty gross, so are poopy diapers and puke in the carpet.

But most of all, I got used to the idea that most days have pretty much the same routine. After awhile, things will change a little (like new bedspreads or a new baby), but the to do list doesn't change a whole lot from day to day. It might be fun to compare routines from different life phases.

This is the one I'm in now:

Wake up. Feed kids. Change two diapers. Dress kids. Feed me (at computer). Exercise (70% of days). Put baby down for nap. Shower. Dress me. Clean. Feed kids. Change diapers. Dishes. Feed me. Laundry. Snack. Clean. Change diapers. Make dinner. Eat dinner. Dishes. Change diapers. Brush teeth. Jammies. Stories. Kids in bed. Movies with husband. Pray. Me in bed.

I've been working on inserting "Pray" and "Make bed" between "Wake up" and "Feed kids," and "Make kids laugh" (more points if I can do it without tickling) between "Dress me" and "Feed kids." Once I've accomplished that, I'd like to squeeze in: Finish unfinished projects. Work on family history/genealogy. Scrapbook. Crochet. Mend. Clean more. Read. Bake. Paint. Build shelves. Learn Finnish.

And a bunch of other things I've forgotten about (like the hanging rack by the vanity).

Birth Stories: Forward

2010-07-20T12:08:00.000-06:00

After years of infertility, I joined an online support group. I was looking for encouragement, but I found more than that: I found friendship. For a few years now, I have built relationships with twelve online friends. From my computer, I have witnessed joyful events and tragedy in their lives. I could write pages about each friend, but to briefly tell you about each one:

1. She suffered miscarriage after miscarriage and is now patiently waiting (already months longer than originally planned) for her son who will come to her family through adoption from Korea.

2. She lost her miracle baby, and then found out she had one chance to conceive through IVF before she would need a hysterectomy to rid herself of cancer. The IVF was unsuccessful. Now she and her husband are saving money to pay for adoption.

3. After enduring eight years of infertility, then a miscarriage, then another two years of infertility (all while she ran a daycare in her home), she now has a sweet little girl of her own to take care of.

4. She was blessed like me and has two young children, eighteen months apart.

5. I could hardly believe my eyes when after she was told by doctors that she would never be able to conceive, she DID ANYWAY.

6. A mother of an adopted daughter was elated to be expecting a baby, but lost her at fifteen weeks. She has since adopted a son, but she still grieves.

7. At age forty, she experienced a miscarriage and several failed reproductive procedures, but she carries on, hoping she can turn her only child into a brother.

8. Her first child, Kierstyn, died after only two weeks of life. My friend now has two sons, but she still struggles as she faces a world that not only does not have her daughter in it, but also lacks support for her to keep Kierstyn's memory alive.

9. She has lived nine years of infertility with miscarriages during the first half and no pregnancies during the last half.

10. I cried when one friend faced the birth of her twin boys at twenty-two weeks and rejoiced when she later gave birth again to twin boys that made it.

11. After 3.5 long years, she finally became pregnant. She miscarried within the week.

12. She has been waiting for a baby for nine years. I cheered her on as she successfully met her goal of losing 130 pounds.

All of these women stood by me even after I changed from an infertile woman to a mother of three small children.

I have noticed (with an ache in my heart during the years I was longing for children), that when mothers get together for a long conversation, the talk always leads to childbirth. I have heard some amazing stories. But, because I have felt the pain of longing for children, and I have friends who still do, it only feels right to acknowledge them before I share the stories of the birth of my children.

I love my children with all of me. I cherished carrying them, but I want to say wholeheartedly, carrying them was NOTHING compared to having them in my arms. It was like a means to an end--the reason why I loved my pregnancies was because they were going to bring to me A CHILD. Those nine months are almost insignificant when it comes to the years I have spent and will spend caring for them and loving them. If I had adopted my children, I would tell the story of how they came to our family just as passionately.

I love birth stories and I love adoption stories.

Here are a couple of adoption stories I enjoyed reading:

This one and this one...

And this one made me cry (happy tears).

Birth Stories: First Child

2010-07-19T11:55:00.000-06:00

I could hardly keep the good news to myself: I was expecting our first baby after more than five years of trying. We savored our secret for about a month so we could tell our family members face-to-face when we visited.

I had planned to wait until twelve weeks to tell our friends and neighbors about the change that would come to our family. Then I caught a cold that would not go away. After three awful weeks, I went to the clinic to see if there was anything that could be done. When I told the Physician's Assistant I was pregnant, he kind of shrugged his shoulders, as if to suggest that colds that will not go away are just part of the facts of pregnancy life.

One of my good friends is the wife of that Physician's Assistant. At community choir practice, she asked what I had found out at the clinic. After I told her they said there was nothing they could do for me, she "hmphed" sympathetically.

The next morning I got a call from her husband. He said, "I am so sorry. I think I did a bad thing!" Surprised, I asked him what he meant. He said, "I think I let the cat out of the bag!" Then he explained how after early-morning family scripture study he went back to bed to catch a few more z's before getting ready for work. He had been almost asleep when his wife had indignantly asked him why he couldn't help me get better. He told her, "I can't help her...she's pre...I mean she's sick. She's really really sick!" He told me he tried to cover it up, but he wasn't sure if he had been successful or not. I laughed and told him not to worry. The rest of the day, every time I thought about it, I couldn't hold back a smile.

I decided it was time. It was a few weeks sooner than I had planned to announce it (I was looking forward to telling my friends on April Fools Day to see if they would believe me or not), but I was ready. I called my close friend and asked her if I could stop by later. Then I went for my weekday morning walk with two other friends, one of them the wife of the PA. As it turns out, my husband and I are not good at lying. I don't remember the particulars, but the other friend who walked with us had been perplexed by contradicting information she had received from my husband and I (all I remember is that it had something to do with going to the doctor in the city--an hour away). It was relieving and exciting to tell them how our dreams were finally coming true.

My midwife recommended a couple of cold medications that were safe to use during pregnancy. I tried one and it made me upchuck. A few days later I tried the other kind and I was puking again. I called my midwife and she told me not to take any more medication. I just have to say here that I HATE to throw up. I LOATHE it more than anything I can think of. Even though I had queasy, nauseating sometimes all-day morning sickness, the fact that I only ever puked three times in my life while pregnant (all three during my first pregnancy), is something for which I will be forever grateful. And thankfully, the cold did go away after that.

I read every pregnancy book I had from cover to cover. I was constantly reading online about pregnancy. I wanted to soak in any and all information about it. So when the nausea went away precisely the day after I made it to the twelve-week mark, I thought, "Wow, the books were right on!"

I experienced heartburn for the first time in my life when I was six months pregnant. I ate dinner, and then went outside to pull weeds in the flower bed. BAD IDEA...but a learning experience. Heartburn became my companion after that, but I found that fruity Tums were a better friend.

My sister came to stay with me when the baby's due date arrived. A week later, there was still no baby and apologetically, she left to return to work. I was still pregnant when I went to church the day of my sixth anniversary, nine days after the due date. I would be exaggerating if I said that everyone asked me why I was there, still pregnant, but it seemed like I could read that question on each face even if it wasn't asked. That was the first day I could say that I was truly miserable. My body ached everywhere. I was tired because I had felt contractions the night before and had stayed up late to time them. After so long, I had come to the point where I almost believed I would always be pregnant.

That night, I made peace with eternal pregnancy (even though I was scheduled to be induced at the hospital at 6:00 the next morning) and climbed into bed. Before I could fall asleep, I felt my first contraction. It was midnight. Even though my contractions were coming only semi-regularly, I became nervous because we lived almost an hour from the hospital. I woke my husband at 2:00 am and said we should go. I had called the hospital and they said it was fine for us to show up a couple of hours early, just in case. I had contractions up until the time they put me on the monitor (about 4:00). Then they stopped. Lesson learned: I should have slept!

I made slow progress all day long. I tried to rest, but it was hard with all of the excitement (and pitocin) running through my veins. My husband was good company and had me laughing a little too hard. The contractions were becoming more painful, so I rocked in the rocking chair. After awhile, that didn't help anymore, so I tried walking. That only made me feel worse. When my midwife asked if I'd like a bath, it sounded like just what I needed.

I was on my second bath of the day (after being only five centimeters dilated for hours) when I called to my husband (who was reading a book in the hospital room) to help me get out. He came into the bathroom and in a panicked cry I begged him not to make me go through the birth without pain medication (even though I had made him promise to help me do it without the aid of drugs). I told him that I would never make it. I had so long to go and I was afraid I would never make it to transition, let alone through it.

Soon after, my midwife (who had been assisting another of her patients, who was having an emergency cesarean section of twins) returned to check on me. She coaxed me to the hospital bed. I was pleading for drugs. When she encouraged me with the words, "You can do this, you are at a ten! You made it through transition all by yourself. I am going to break your water and then you can start pushing," I cried with relief. My husband denies it, but I remember vividly that he cried too. He told me shortly after the birth that he felt sorry that he had left me to go through it alone. This moment was tender to me. I hadn't needed him until I called to him, and when I did, he was right there, but knowing that he wished he could somehow help me was a reminder of how much he loved me.

If I had known how long I was going to have to push, I would not have felt the relief I did. After twenty-two hours of labor, an hour and fifteen minutes of pushing, and so many "I can't do its" they couldn't be counted, I became discouraged and disoriented. I kept asking the midwife how many more pushes. I was so tired and in so much pain, that I forgot why I was even pushing. So when the baby was finally born, I looked at the little bundle of tiny pink body parts and said, with awe in my voice, "It's a baby." My husband still makes fun of me for that. "What did you think it was going to be?"

At first, the midwife forgot to tell us what kind of baby it was, but we discovered soon enough that a sweet little GIRL, seven pounds, nine ounces, had finally made us parents. After she was born, I encouraged her to eat, but she just wanted to sleep. My husband went home to prepare for his substitute at work the next day, so I put her in her bassinet and closed my eyes. I couldn't sleep because my body had obviously released a huge dose of mommy endorphins, but it felt good to soak in the peace of my room: my labor music playing, the lights turned low, and my whole life's desire sleeping soundly close by. When she was three hours old, I opened my eyes to look at her and she was staring at me with her tiny dark eyes open wide. I will never forget that moment. I said, "Hello, Baby," and gently picked her up and held her close to me. This experience was so FULL, I could never put it into words. It was a speck in time that overflowed with love, bliss, contentment, joy, gratitude, purity, glory, awe, and beauty--

and so much more.

Birth Stories: Second Child

2010-07-18T11:11:00.001-06:00

Because my second child was conceived by "basting," we had the treat of two early ultrasounds at the fertility clinic. I have decided that an ultrasound at ten weeks is the most fun. I loved being able to see the whole baby (instead of the typical, "This is the head, this is a foot..."). My child looked like a squirmy little Kewpie Doll and he/or/she was absolutely adorable.

I assumed pregnancy the second time around would be easier. After feeling sick for most of the first half of the gestation, I had given up on the nausea giving up. Thankfully, at twenty-two weeks, it started to subside. At that point, I wanted to eat everything in sight because food finally looked good again.

I had an appointment with the midwife on my due date. There weren't any sure signs of the baby coming soon, so she told me to come back in a few days. The contractions started early in the morning the day after that. They came every seven minutes, so at 3:00 a.m. I got up to take a shower. I french braided my hair while I timed contractions. A little after 4:00, the contractions seemed to stop and I felt tired. Because I had learned my lesson from the last time, I decided to go back to bed. The contractions woke me up every fifteen minutes, but I did manage to get a little bit of sleep (or should I say some little bits of sleep?). My three-year-old daughter joined me in the bed around seven and I told my husband he might as well go to work and I would call him if I needed him. So he did.

My daughter and I snuggled and snoozed until about 9:30. After I was up and moving, I tried to do some housework. I talked on the phone. I wrote down how far apart my contractions were and how long they were lasting. In the afternoon, the contractions were still between ten and fifteen minutes apart. However, by this time, the contractions were so painful that I had to get on the floor on my hands and knees to make it through them. Noticing my strange behavior, my daughter started to mimic me, blowing out slowly as she swayed on her hands and knees by my side.

By 2:00, I couldn't take it anymore. I called my husband to come home. He still had one class left to teach, but someone covered for him. He arrived home and anxiously gathered the bags, the laboring wife (who was trying to finish the dishes), and his little girl into the car. Within the hour, our daughter was playing at a friend's house, and we were on our way to the hospital, almost an hour away.

I hadn't predicted how uncomfortable that car ride was going to be. Each contraction threatened to send me through the roof. I wanted to get into the back seat, but I knew it would be impossible to get my swollen body back there without stopping the car--and there was no way were were stopping the car!

When we got to the hospital (about 4:00 p.m.), my biggest fear was that they were going to send me home because my contractions were still ten minutes apart. When the nurse checked my dilation and declared in a somewhat surprised voice that I was already to an EIGHT, I almost let out a happy squeal.

The nurse called my C.N.M., who was just on her way out of town. She arrived a short time later, checked my dilation and accidentally broke my water. While I was on the monitor, my husband entertained me by going through the bag to see what I had packed. Among other things, there was a bag of Western Family jerky for him. He read from the package: "Inside awaits the most tender beef jerky you'll ever eat!" Then he opened it and tried to bite off a piece. His head vibrated as he applied all of his tooth pressure to take a bite. I laughed so hard it hurt. Maybe you had to be there, but it was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I guess it was just meant to be because every piece after that first one was tender.

When they were finished monitoring the baby, I got up to walk around the room. Labor became quite difficult. I was disappointed I could not get into the bathtub (because my water had broken). As I transitioned, I rocked in a rocking chair, with my husband holding one hand and my midwife holding the other. The rocking chair was obviously not a good place for me because I was in so much pain that I wasn't breathing correctly and my hand started to go numb.

They put an oxygen mask on me. By 7:00 I was fully dilated. I was helped onto the bed. Although it seemed like an eternity, I only had to push for eleven minutes. My midwife guessed I was going to have a big baby boy, so when she saw a nice round head crowning, she encouraged me to push HARD. I did, and the feeling of my baby passing through me in one sweep is indescribable.

I listened to hear if it was a boy or a girl. My midwife said something like, "Boy, look at how short this cord is!" In a small voice I asked my husband, "It's a boy?" He then looked at the baby, and the midwife said, "I forgot to look!" (I don't think doctors or midwives are used to announcing the gender anymore because most parents find out before birth.) She looked at the baby and said it was a girl. Then I said, still breathless, "It's a girl?" (At least I didn't ask if it was a baby!)

She had a nice loud cry and a perfect round head. And fat rolls on her legs. A baby sister (I couldn't wait to tell my daughter)! Seven pounds and fourteen ounces of pure sweetheart (Coincidentally, she was also born at 7:14). My labor (from the start of the contractions) was seventeen hours: five-and-a-half hours shorter than with my firstborn.

When I replay that night in my memory, the only word I can find to describe it is LOVE. Love multiplied by infinity. Instantly, I was able to love TWO children with my whole heart, and that love expanded out into the world: I felt love for all of the infants (every one of them as pure and holy as my new baby). I loved them too, and I cried when I remembered that many of them were cold and hungry and unloved. I kissed my baby girl on her soft head, clothed her, wrapped her tight, and promised her I would try to be all she deserves. And then I said a prayer for all the mothers on the planet. I know that is a big prayer, but I also know that God heard it.

I missed my oldest child all night long. I couldn't wait to see her again. When she came quietly into the room the next morning, with pigtails and a gentle smile, I was so happy to see her. Thankfully, even though my baby had been born the night before, they let us leave the hospital by early afternoon. My mother-in-law had sent matching fleece blankets, and the girls slept under their soft comfort the whole drive home. When we arrived, we carefully took them out of their carseats and laid them on the warm floor of the front room, covered them with their new blankets (what good sleepers!), and ran for the camera.

Birth Stories: Third Child

2010-07-17T11:07:00.001-06:00

Third time's a charm. And it was. Everything about my third child was easy. Well, pretty close to easy anyway, when compared to other pregnancies/births/babies, not when compared to things like pie or pieces of cake. During pregnancy, morning sickness paid a short visit, heartburn was kept at bay by my fruity friend, and I had loads of energy. What a blessing that was, since I was in the process of chasing my daughter who had just learned to walk.

We had moved to a new town with a hospital (and an OB clinic) within walking distance of my house, which was a nice change. Many days I put my daughters in the double stroller and walked to my appointments with the doctor. I was a little apprehensive about having to switch doctors, especially after all the attention I had received from my excellent midwife. But I decided that I could be big (no pun intended), and do this whole pregnancy and childbirth thing pretty much by myself.

I liked my new doctor a lot. He was friendly, patient with my girls (who came to most of my appointments), and efficient. He used my name when he spoke to me, and was supportive of my personal preferences. When I saw the doctor on Monday, five days after my due date, he told me to make an appointment for a couple of days from then. When I talked to the receptionist to make the appointment, I asked her if I needed to cancel this appointment if I had the baby before then. She said no, that she would automatically do it if I had the baby. Even though there weren't any signs of the baby coming soon, I think I knew then that I wouldn't be making that appointment.

My bags were packed. I had a little pink and a little blue, and unfortunately, a whole bag of cough drops. I had a head cold that I was hoping to kick before the birth of my baby, but it didn't seem to be working out the way I had planned. The next day, my contractions started at 2:00 in the afternoon. This was unexpected, since my contractions began in the early hours with my first two children. I waited until my husband was done teaching school before I called him. I set things up with my close friend who was planning to watch my girls. I tried to put my house in order.

At 8:00 that night, I brought my girls to a sleep-over at our friends' house. I laid by my eighteen-month-old for almost an hour before she finally fell asleep. My contractions seemed to be getting closer together, but I couldn't time them while I was laying in the dark. When I got home, I continued to time them, surprised at how close together they were. I didn't tell my husband how close together they were because I really wanted to finish the dishes (déjà vu?). By 10:00, I decided I had better let him in the loop.

We then had a conversation about when to go to the hospital. I knew that if I went to the hospital before midnight, I would be charged for the entire day. I told my husband I thought we should hold off until after midnight. I could tell this was difficult for him. I had never felt contractions this close together before while still being at home. But, I didn't feel like the baby was coming yet, so we waited.

We got to the hospital at 11:45 because I wasn't sure if they would count the time from when I checked in at the front, or when I was actually in my room. The receptionist said they count it from when I sign in at the front, so we sat in the waiting room until midnight. My contractions were less than five minutes apart.

After checking in, my husband and I both realized how tired we were. By this time of night, both of our girls had already been born. We tried to get some rest, but this is very difficult to do in a hospital room. My contractions would not let me sleep or lay down, so I walked laps around the OB wing, sometimes alone, and sometimes with my husband. I was only dilated to a three or four at check-in, which was disappointing to be sure. I was anxious for my labor to progress so I could be done. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion. The labor music I had spent hours preparing was of no use because my MP3 CD player decided to croak right there in the hospital room.

By 3:00 a.m., I found walking to be too painful. The most comfortable place was on the floor with my head on my husband's lap. He would stroke my hair as I breathed. After a while, I found that sitting forward on the birthing ball helped also, but as exhaustion settled in, I was on the verge of falling asleep while perched upon it. I decided I would try to lay on the bed so I could at least rest in between contractions. My husband helped me onto the bed. When the next contraction came, I screamed in horror, "HELP ME!" over and over. My husband tried to give me a comforting hug, but I yelled, "Stop! Stop! You are smashing me!" As soon as the contraction was over, I was off the bed and back on the ball as lickety-split as an overdue laboring pregnant woman can. The nurse said she had talked to my doctor on the phone and he had said that he would come in at 7:00 and break my water. My husband and I looked at the clock and then the floor. 7:00 felt as far away as truly owning your home does when you sign papers on a thirty-year mortgage (I know, because I've done that twice).

Somehow I survived. The contractions were very painful, but I was having little breaks in between. I told the nurse that I was worried about transitioning and not having that relief in between contractions. She assured me that I could very well go through transition without feeling that my contractions were right on top of each other. I don't think she had any idea the hope that gave me. The doctor arrived right on time. When he broke my water, I felt the baby drop down in an instant. The doctor said that the baby was ready to come, so he and the nurse began to convert the hospital bed into a birthing bed. Because I was already on the bed, my husband was holding up one leg while the nurse held up the other.

The bed did not want to convert.

I'm sure the nurse did not realize how much she was moving my leg around in the air while she jiggled the bed parts. This would have been very funny to me at that moment if I hadn't been about to give birth. All I could say was, "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow." (I have decided that if I ever give birth again, I would like to be more eloquent.) After they got the bed set up, the doctor and the nurses told me I could push. It was only a few pushes when the baby's head was out, and I was done. At least I thought I was. The doctor told me I needed to push again and I remember thinking, "AGAIN?" With my girls, once the head was out, I was done pushing. With a little encouragement, I pushed again and a NINE pound (and three ounces) baby BOY was born! He was born at 7:07, seventeen hours after labor started (just like last time!).

Some who read my birth stories may wonder why I chose unmedicated childbirth every time. There are actually many reasons. I am always filled with a happy exhilaration right after my babies are born and it lasts for days. From the process of natural labor and childbirth I gain humility and power both at once. I feel closer to my husband than at any other time, and closer to God. Plus I don't like to feel numb (and it costs less to have a baby without anesthesia). All of these reasons make it worth it to me.

After my son was born, he only wanted to sleep. I didn't get to hold him as much as I wanted because I was coughing and sneezing and sniffling so much. He had bruises on his eye and cheek where he had rammed into my bones when my water broke. When I told my dad about that, he sort of chuckled about how my son had come into the world with a punch in the face for a welcome. The baby had also swallowed a lot of amniotic fluid, so it was about ten hours before we could get him to eat. But he was oh, so sweet. Because I grew up with sisters and began motherhood with daughters, I was worried I wouldn't know what to do with a boy.

But I figured it out quickly: I am completely, unashamedly in love with him!

I Could Have Sworn

2010-07-16T08:35:00.000-06:00

I could have sworn that box of markers said "washable" on it!

This is after three washes!

An After-School Obstacle Course

2010-07-14T12:08:00.000-06:00

I don't know what it was about the bus ride home from school that made me need to use the bathroom, but it seemed to happen a lot when I was young. On one such day, my sisters and I hurried home from the bus stop only to find we were locked out of the house and no one was home. This happened often enough that we stored a butter knife on the outside windowsill of the bathroom so we could use it to pry open the window. This window was one of three windows that actually opened in our house, and it was the easiest to get through. I, being the oldest, would open the window and crawl through, or lift one of my sisters to climb through. The inside person would then open the front door for the two of us.

So on this day, I was in quite a hurry (see first two sentences). I wasn't sure if I was going to make it in time. I opened the window as quickly as I could (while doing the potty dance), and chose to go through the window myself (the TOILET was in there!). Relieved to be through the window and almost there, I jumped from the window into the bathtub...but it was full of cold water from someone's morning bath. My sisters heard the splash and began to laugh. I also laughed (so hard I couldn't breathe), and just so you know:

I didn't make it.

Lullabies

2010-07-12T10:00:00.000-06:00

I remember three songs my mother sang to me when I was little.

The first was her own version of "Rock-a-bye Baby." I have seen other censored versions of this song, but I still like my mom's the best:

"Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough swings, the baby will too
And she'll keep on sleeping all the day through."

She also sang "Brahms Lullaby," but because she didn't know the words (I don't either--are there words?), she would sing:

"Lullaby, and good-night. Won't you please go to sleep?" Over and over until the song was over. This makes me smile now as I sing it the same way to my little ones.

The last song I remember comes from a Korean folk song called "Doraji." She learned it in elementary school. These are the words:

"Toraji flower of light
What makes you climb so high?
Do you say that I should be a cloud
And then I'd know why?

(Chorus:) Hay-yay-ya (repeated three times)

Toraji flower of light
What rings your little bell?
Do you say that I should be the wind
And then I could tell?

(Chorus)

Toraji flower of light
What makes your fragrance grow?
Do you say that I should be a bird
And then I would know?

(Chorus)"

It is has a lovely melody. I found the original version HERE (the song called "Doraji") that has the same melody for the verses (the first two lines), but a different melody for the chorus (the original version doesn't have a chorus), and different words.

One more thing about lullabies: my husband is usually the one to sing our children to sleep. His wonderful singing voice and strong, firm arms have always made him the preferred parent for bedtime rocking, for all of my children. His concerts always begin with, "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam," and "Jesus Said Love Everyone." Then he branches out into songs varying from Finnish Christmas songs to "Ave Maria."

It is hard to describe how it delights me to see and hear this ritual. I think St. Francis de Sales said it best when he said, "Nothing is so strong as gentleness, and nothing is so gentle as true strength." Amen.

The Princess Who Became the Queen

2010-07-10T09:32:00.000-06:00

I was laying next to my 2-year-old daughter at nap time with my long hair falling over the side of the bed. When my eight-month-old charming prince used my hair to pull himself up to stand, I realized how much I am like Rapunzel.

Every time I do a load of laundry, I lose the match to at least one pair of socks. So even though I don’t own a pair of glass slippers, I can sympathize with Cinderella.

Sleeping Beauty’s awakening kiss didn’t have anything on the slobbery kiss that pulls me from my two-minute accidental nap on the playroom floor. Especially when it is accompanied by a firm bite on the nose with six sharp baby teeth. That would wake up any princess, no matter how strong the sleeping spell!

This life is my dream come true.

Running in Circles

2010-06-18T08:19:00.000-06:00

I have three children who have the same age differences as my parents' first three children. As I watch my little ones, I am often reminded of my childhood with my sisters: when play was our main occupation, summer was a time to be bored, and the calendar was just a paper with squares on it.

My dad drove a track into the weeds in our back yard so we could run races. I was the oldest, but my sister (who was 3 ½ years younger than me) was actually hard to beat. The youngest of our trio was always trailing behind, calling for us to "WAIT!" This sister wasn't fun to play "tag" with either. If we ran away too fast, she would cry. If we tagged her, she would cry. If we didn't tag her, she would cry.

But she was very sweet. When I was five and she was a plump baby she would snuggle with me. I remember holding her and wishing I could always remember how good it felt. I always have. This is saying a lot because I only remember a few things from when I was five.

Our Grandfather's funeral brought us together recently. After the luncheon, my sister and I headed down a dirt road to play badminton with our family. The sun was shining on our backs, the fresh mountain air tasted good, and we all felt at peace about Grandpa. All of a sudden, our younger sister was pretend-running up the road behind us, calling "WAIT! WAIT!"

It's funny how a moment like that can warp me back in time twenty-five years.

Only this time, we laughed, waited for her, and then walked together.

Transitions

2010-06-16T09:48:00.000-06:00

When I hear the word, "transition," I usually think of childbirth and the three most painful moments in my life. I know everyone is different, but for me, transition is the most difficult part of natural childbirth. It happens very soon before the most wonderful part: the part where the baby is born, fresh and sweet.

I hear a lot of parents talk about the transition from having one child and then two, and then from two to three. Some say it is most difficult going from one to two children. They say after giving all of the love and attention to one child, it can be complicated to divide it between two. Others say that going from two to three is hardest because you only have two hands. I am wondering if going from three to four may be even harder because we would have to buy a larger vehicle (I wish someone would invent a double/triple carseat so I could fit four kids in the back seat)!

For me, the transition from one to two children was smooth because my oldest was three-and-a-half. She understood, for the most part, what was happening. And she was ready for it. Although it was hard for her to be second in line so often, it wasn't long before the baby had grown big enough to play with her. We learned that transition happened before the most wonderful part: sisterhood.

The transition from two to three was more complex because my second child was only eighteen months old. The day after the baby and I came home from the hospital, I panicked when I was laying down with my eighteen-month-old at nap time and the new baby began to cry in the next room. I knew if I left, my nap-needing toddler would not stay in bed. I worried to myself, "How am I going to do this?" Then I realized that as long as the baby was fussing, I knew he was okay. And again the transition happened just before something wonderful: In a matter of minutes, they were both sleeping soundly.

And so it goes in life. How often I have seen that something difficult is then followed by something wonderful! The darkness and cold of night are followed by a sunrise and the warmth of the sun. A devastated cry is followed by the release of pent-up emotions. For me, years of infertility were followed by grateful mothering. And how can we forget that resurrection followed the crucifixion and tomb?

When I was a kid, my daddy always told me that the bad times would help me appreciate the good times. I have learned that he was right.

This weekend, I will go to the funeral of my grandfather. It is sad to know I will not see him again in this life. But deep down I know that death is only a transition into the next life.

I think one of the greatest things mortality teaches us is how to love Heaven when we get there.