Day of (un?)rest

Normally, I would not say it's restful to wake up before 6 on a Sunday morning, get dressed, then have my 3-year-old come in the room with white lips and an upset stomach. It's not usually good when he then asks for a bowl of cereal even though I know he will be losing said cereal within minutes of eating it. It's especially not a good thing if it's a Sunday when I am supposed to both teach the lesson in Relief Society, and conduct my first choir rehearsal in two months right after church. To add to the confusion, I had a house full of visiting in-laws, who were trying to get ready for church and pack up their stuff to leave for home right afterward.

But I have a fabulous husband who cleaned up Riley's mess on the floor, the bucket, the bathtub, and changed the sheets TWICE, and comforted the poor sick kid. I have kind, self-sufficient relatives who took care of their own needs and didn't mind getting their own breakfasts. I have a great Relief Society whose members like to comment a lot during lessons. And I have an easygoing choir, half of whom actually showed up (mixed blessing there).

Best of all, all of this Sunday-morning craziness was a welcome change after a week spent going from one family gathering to the next. We had a barbecue with Kurt & Kara, Dan & Dee, Kathryn and Kent, and all the kids going crazy. We went swimming with the herd of kids. We had a family dinner to welcome Leo and Tricia home. We had a family breakfast just for fun. Bruce and I had six kids under 6 sleep over here (plus two over six and their parents). We took all the kids to the park. We played cards. I gave up sweeping the floor becuase of all the kids kids kids! And to top it all off, Zeke started crawling on Sunday morning!

So you can see how maybe teaching a lesson and conducting a choir pale in comparison to all that stress. We had tons of fun, but I'm happy to be back to work and the normal routine. The only problem is, work is starting to seem stressful again. Could you all please visit (at the same time) every week or two so I can keep my stress level in perspective?

Future spelling bee champ?

If you don't like hearing proud mamas brag about their brilliant kids, watch out!

Last week sometime, S and R were coloring and Riley showed me a piece of paper on which he'd neatly written "i-L-E-Y." I was excited, but I just helped him write his "R" and then forgot about it. Until Friday.

We were outside coloring with chalk and he excitedly showed me the "R" he had drawn all by himself. Then he wrote the rest of his name. Every letter got a little bigger than the last, but other than that they were beautifully formed--as nice as Sammy's letters, and he's been working on them for a year and a half! And mind you, he was writing with chalk on concrete; not the easiest thing. Even I'm a little messy in that medium.

So here comes the impressive part. He and I were sitting down and I was showing him a few tricks to make it easier to write some letters. Then he turns and writes, "Y-E-L-I-R." He didn't say, "There's my name backwards!" Just, "There's my name." Now, he didn't write it backwards, starting with the "R." He wrote it left to right starting with the "Y," without thinking about it, like spelling a word backwards is no harder than spelling it the regular way. He wrote his name and Tyler's name a few times more, once backwards.

The kid is a genius, I tell you! I have been thinking lately that it's time to start teaching him to trace letters and figure out what sounds they make. Too late for that! Not only can he write, he's got this logical little brain that lets him spell and write backward and forward interchangably.

I adore babies and toddlers and I miss that part of childhood when it's gone. So it's a fabulous thing that we get the excitement of learning and growing up all over again with these little kids. Baby Riley is gone, but now I get to see his unique personality and gifts and talents develop in amazing ways. On to the next discovery!

Creepy crawlies

I'm a daydreamer. One of my biggest daydreams of the past several years has been to move toward a more rural lifestyle. You know, chickens and maybe a goat in the backyard, a really big garden (like, enough to sell the extra at a roadside stand, or at least give it away), big canning parties at harvest time. Life away from the suburbs (but not TOO far from Costco).

But let's face it. I'm a wimp.

There is a really HUGE spider, or maybe more than one, that lives in the window well right next to my computer. It was stuck between screen and window for a few days, and I sat staring at it for minutes at a time. Revulsion? Horror? Yes. But could I open the window to kill it? No. Bruce's job. I shriek and run when a yellowjacket surprises me in the garden. In fact, I only weed before 9 a.m., partly because of the heat and partly because of the bees.

In reality, my imagination is just too good. Or my paranoia. Last week I went to pick apricots at a u-pick place nearby. Not too far from the parking lot where Dan saw a rattler last month (just after our kids had been tramping through the weeds, mind you). So snakes had been on my mind all day as I psyched myself up to go. Alone. Luckily there was a tough-looking guy in military gear picking apricots at the same time. I traipsed across the open field to where the best fruit was. Two minutes later, he was done and turned back. I was alone, picking fruit, on a hot and sunny afternoon. I heard a noise from about 50 feet east. Stop. Again. Stop. I'm not sure if it was a rattlesnake, but it was a distinct possibility. Then the same noise from 50 feet west. Stop. Again. I climbed up the ladder and tried to pick more fruit--the apricots were GREAT on this tree. A few more rattling noises, from both sides.

I left the tree. I traipsed back across the field (luckily, away from the unidentified noises). The owner of the trees said, "Is that all you got?" I made some excuse (remember, I had left the trees with the best fruit) and headed north, past the little house and garden, to some other trees with smaller fruit, not as ripe. I heard no rattling noises. I paid and went home, happy to be alive.

So how would I do on a farm? Maybe okay, if I had a gun on me at all times (and could keep my wits about me enough to aim at the snake). Maybe not. But even here in the suburbs, nature sometimes gets a little too creepy for me. For now, I'll keep getting my eggs and goat cheese from the store, and buy my fruit for canning from someone else's roadside stand.

Have you done any good....? YES!

I learned an important lesson recently: you never know how much of an impact you can have on the lives of others. For years I've lived in self-doubt about my mission experience. Most of you have heard the story about how I struggled to even make it into the mission field, and how that experience itself helped me gain a testimony of prayer, fasting and the Book of Mormon. Even so, the mission itself was difficult, with hours of tracting and street contacting, a lot of rejection and little success... or so I thought.

At the end of my mission, I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to teach and help baptize a single-mother family from Peru -- Blanca Luz Vasquez and her three sons, Carlos, Norman and Manuel. We taught them by reading the discussions in Spanish (as best I could) and then discussing the principles in Norwegian. We baptized them just a few weeks before I left the mission, and in spite of good intentions to stay in contact, I lost contact with them shortly after coming home. This was mostly my fault for not writing more frequently and allowing school and social life to dominate my thoughts. Over the years I thought about the Vasquez family often, and occasionally prayed for them and felt guilty for losing touch, but guilt was as far as I got.

When a young man from our ward was called to Norway on his mission last year, I was mildly interested but soon forgot about him. As it happens, however, his dad, Mike Leatham, owns a local company that United Way frequently does business with, and during a meeting with him recently he talked about his son Tanner and what a good experience he's having. I asked where he was serving, and Mike said, "He's in Oslo right now." When I got back to work later, Mike had forwarded his son's latest email and I took the opportunity to send Elder Leatham a letter of encouragement, a few words in Norwegian, and a request that he look up "Blanca Vasquez." To be perfectly honest, I was not confident he would even be able to find her, much less report on her activity in the church. A week later I received a letter from "Eldste Leatham." He didn't have to look -- he knew Blanca very well because not only was she active in the church but she often helped the missionaries when they had Spanish-speaking investigators. Shortly afterward he called Blanca on the telephone to report that he had received a letter from the returned missionary who had taught her the gospel, and the next thing I knew my mobile phone was ringing with an "unknown caller" as we shopped at a Ross store in Albuquerque. I'm not sure what the other shoppers thought about the weird guy speaking excitedly in some strange language and trying to choke back tears in the middle of the store, but it was an incredibly happy moment in my life.

I've already traded several emails with Blanca and even added her as a friend on Facebook! Her spoken Norwegian is excellent, she has a full-time job as a "health secretary" at a local hospital, she has been to the temple and she is faithful in the church. Sadly, her sons are not active, but she maintains good relationships with them and their girlfriends, and it sounds like they are not unfriendly toward the church. Tonight I invited each of them to be my Facebook friends as well, and hopefully they'll add me. Of course, Blanca is not without trials -- she worries about her boys and about her sick father, and sometimes she has problems at work. But she told me how good Heavenly Father has been to her and that she has felt His love for her in life. She immediately forgave me for my lack of contact and made it sound like talking to me again was an answer to prayer... which I found extraordinarily humbling. (Let's be frank - a conversation with me has rarely, if ever, been an answer to anyone's prayer!)

I'm just so grateful to know I've made a small difference in someone's life, and that my mission was worth every minute of difficulty and frustration. The Lord said, "from small things proceedeth that which is great" and "the weak and simple" would proclaim His message. I feel like the "weak and simple" part definitely applies to me, and I'm grateful and happy I was allowed to play a small role for good. So don't listen to the voice that tries to tell you that nothing you do makes any difference, or that your feeble efforts don't matter to anyone. They matter. You matter. You make a positive impact in the world every time you try.

Sorry -- I know this probably comes across as preachy, but it's how I feel right now.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

I'm in post-vacation mode. You know, glad to be home, until I realize I have two weeks' worth of laundry to do, the kids have "helped" with the unpacking, there's no food in the house, and I'm too tired to do anything. So, I blog.

We had a great vacation to New Mexico. It doesn't always seem like a vacation to spend 11 hours in the car each way, with crying kids (no Zeke does NOT sleep well in the car), but it was worth the drive. My good friend Megan got married, which meant all her sisters AND Amy Chaston were in town for the event--it was quite the girl party when we got together. Plus, what could be more fun than frosting two hundred cupcakes and at least that many brownies, and getting to wear a white apron for the wedding reception?

Sammy and Riley loved Grandma and Grandpa's house: foosball, movies galore, pancakes for breakfast, their own bedroom with "new" toys, a treasure box that provided a treat every day, and a big basement where parents rarely ventured. I'm not sure why we bothered going swimming or to the museum--they had more fun staying home. However, the fishing trip with Grandpa was well worth the time and money, even considering that the four fish they caught tasted, well, exactly like mud. Sammy said it was the most delicious fish he'd ever eaten, so the rest of us let him eat it. Riley liked fishing for the first 10 or 15 minutes, then he discovered the snacks we had brought. Anyway, huge thanks to two grandparents who know how to entertain little boys. And thanks to Melissa, who took care of them a ton as well.

Then there was Zeke, who was teething or something half the time we were there. Grandma and Grandpa must think he's a fussy baby, which he's really not. He didn't even sleep through the night most of the time. But he's back to normal now that we're home. He did manage a few big grins on the trip, though (see the slideshow).

Don't you wish you'd been there?

More than just surviving!

I usually go into survival mode when Bruce is gone--extra movies for the kids, no cleaning the house, early bedtimes all around (well, not for me). I thought this trip would be extra hard since he's off in Wyoming with nary a cell phone in sight. I can't even unload on him at the end of each day.

But the past few days I've been reading a horribly predictable, extra-cheesy romance novel (published by Deseret Book, which gives you an idea). Don't ask why. Anyway, there are two single parents who, during their dating "crisis" and all their other stresses (including bratty kids), somehow manage to be perfect parents. Not a grumpy word. Always saying the right thing. Not clueless about why their perfect children are suddenly slamming doors, but able to let the kids work it out with just the right amount of help. You get the picture. Yeah, fake.

Normally, that would bother me more than a Hannah Montana TV marathon. But I guess it's rubbed off a little. I've never been so cheerful on five hours of sleep and no husband for three more days! I preempted a few potential fights and tantrums today. Kept my patience while watching my friend's kids. Surprised Riley by saying "yes" when he asked for pancakes for dinner, and "yes" again when he pulled out the chocolate chips and asked to put those IN the pancakes (you should have seen the disbelief on his face!). Gave the kids an EXTRA bedtime story, despite Zeke loudly clamoring for food and bed too.

Sorry, I'm not bragging. Heck, I'm too embarrased about the lame book to even tell you what it's called. But if reading about two (fictional, of course) perfect parents can make me a better one, even while Bruce is out of town, I might just struggle through a few more trite, predictable books. At least it's slightly more interesting than parenting books, which just depress me and make me feel like a failure. In the meantime, does anyone know any worthwhile books about really great parents? Probably not--you can have a good novel or perfect characters, but not both.

Happy Hot Rockin' (Redneck) Fourth!

So this posting is over a week late--sorry.

Bruce scored some free tickets to O-town's Fourth of July bash, so we decided to take the family (thank goodness Melissa was around to help keep an eye on the kids). Dan & Dee declined to come with us (can't figure out why!), so we gave our extra tickets to some lucky people in line when we got there.

The highlight of the event for our family was a bunch of inflatable bouncy slides/tunnels/climbing walls for the kids. They played there for almost two hours and got a little giddy with the excitement of it all. We just sat in the shade watching them and listening to the sound of screeching tires and crashing, crumpling metal. Oh yes, the highlight of the event for everyone else who went was the demolition derby that started about the time we arrived.

Have you ever been to a demolition derby? I hadn't before. We couldn't see it from the kiddie area, but I ventured over there for awhile and enjoyed the crashing brutality of it all, and it was kind of funny to see a car flipped by another car and end up producing billows of smoke (a few people thought it might catch fire or explode, but we weren't that lucky). But suddenly, I felt a little too much like a redneck. No one else would have thought so, though. I was way overdressed (not enough skin showing). And I wasn't smoking or with someone who was smoking. So, feeling self-conscious I headed back to the grass and shared a sno-cone with my kids.

Anyway, our indecision gave way to determination that we would indeed stay for the fireworks, since none of us adults had gotten our money's worth yet (remember, the tickets were free!). I had brought earplugs for Sammy, but he still got hysterical fifteen minutes before the fireworks even started, and cried under a blanket (while sweating profusely) until the fireworks show was over. Then the tears turned off and he was fine. Riley and Zeke both loved the whole show, and so did the rest of us. Well, not Melissa. Being a teenager, she would only admit that it was "okay," but that's high praise from her these days! Anyway, we were glad she was around later because we totally forgot where we parked the car, and she pointed us the right direction.

We all had a blast (ha ha) a few nights later when Joel and Leah brought over a pile of gunpowder (okay, fireworks, legal ones at that) and we set them off together with D&D and kids. Sammy kept his ears covered but enjoyed the show, and talked about how "awesome" the fireworks were. We're so glad he had a good experience to make up for the forced fireworks show a few nights before. The boys all especially loved the sparklers, of course, and were very careful with them--I guess they believed my warning that hot sparklers would burn a hole through their skin and hurt for days and days. Didn't even have to exaggerate on that one.

Finally, after all that blah blah blah, I just want to say that I am grateful for this country and the freedoms I enjoy and often take for granted. Despite its imperfections and problems, this is still a great country. And if it needs improving, I guess I'd better go do my part.