Princess.

The idea of having a little girl in our family was terrifying.  With three little boys I was used to cars, mud, wrestling, and army.  Emotions were easy to handle.  Happy, sad, little in between.  You met their needs and they were off again.  People scared me about the emotions of girls.  I remember telling myself I would NEVER call her "Princess."  I cringed when I heard people say that, thinking they were setting themselves up for trouble, entitlement issues.  I know, I was a little extreme.  I only had notions, theories, not the real thing.

Thankfully, the adjustment was natural, fun even.  I felt a bond as the only girls in our family.  We're tight.  I've got a shopping partner.  I've got a snuggling partner who will sit quietly beside me while I read. 

But I think the greatest part for me is that this sweet, little girl is so innocently unaware of feminine expectations.  Propriety.  She doesn't cross her legs.  She chews with her mouth open sometimes.  She passes gas and excuses herself without embarrassment.  She wipes her mouth with her sleeve.  She is sweetly appropriate, like an innocent child should be.  And it's so refreshing.  She's learning to be a lady, lady-like, but she's still learning.  And that's what I love. 

Annie went to her first birthday party today.  A princess party.  They went to a beauty school and had their nails painted.  She was so excited, she couldn't even eat breakfast.  It was tender to watch her prep herself to be a big girl.  I think she was the youngest one at the party, not used to being without me. But she did it!  And had a royal time!

I realized something.  I want Annie to feel like a princess.  I want her to grow up with a positive self-image.  I want her to love herself.  Then take that love and turn it into confidence that will help her help others.  Not to be afraid, or insecure, but to step up to challenges.  I want her to feel beautiful, inside and out. 

I have a distant cousin, my grandpa's sister's son's grand-daughter, Paige, who thought her grandma was a queen.  A real queen.  She carried herself that way.  Graceful, beautiful, kind, smart.  And this grandma instilled in her grand-daughters that they were princesses.  They would have sleepovers with grandma and learn the art of grace.  Embracing womanhood and motherhood.  They grew up with high expectations.  They grew up respecting themselves.  I thought that was such a healthy gift to offer her grand-daughters.  I want to offer that to Annie.

So, whether or not I call her "Princess"--I'm still working through that one--I'm going to treat her like one because that's what all little girls deserve.  I firmly believe that we are God's children.  And as such, we have something special, divine, royal in each of us.  Why not make it a little easier for our children to see it in themselves?   

A Cautionary Tale.

(The picture doesn't do it justice, if only you could've seen . . .)

The Very Bushy Eyebrows: a cautionary tale

Written by Lanette

Photography by Brigham

Dedicated lovingly to women everywhere who dare to wax.

Once upon a time there was a girl.  But not just any girl.  A sweet, simple girl with very bushy eyebrows.  This girl was bustling about her day preparing for a company christmas party later that night.  What to wear?  How to do her hair?  How to tame those very bushy eyebrows that somehow got away from her watchful care?  Suddenly she had an idea, not a very good one, but an idea, nontheless.  I think I'll mosey on over to the salon and have them fix these pesky eyebrows, she thought to herself, it had been much TOO LONG.  And you know what, that's exactly what she did . . . with only three hours until the party. 

This extrication of unruly eyebrows was quite a feat.  Only a fairy-eyebrow-mother could work such magic.  Adorned in a scarf twisted like a snake through her beautiful tresses, she got to work.  Several lookings in the mirror later, "a little thinner there," "see those gray eyebrows, can you pluck those out?" and a whirlwind conversation about relationships got the girl through the semi-painful task.

Thirty minutes prior to the girl's departure with her young prince, she was applying her make-up.  (That's another form of magic.)  However, she must have dabbled in the dark arts because the remnants of the waxing wreaked havoc on the girl's make-up session.  Her tender skin beneath the once-very-bushy-brows still carried the remnants of aloe vera, and seemed extremely porous.  She couldn't bear the thought of washing her face and starting all over again so she continued.  And that was the beginning of her problems.  Layer after layer of eyeshadow was applied.  She thought she could cover up the dark colors that globbed in random places above her eyes.  Silver, white, black, glittery-brown, she kept adding and adding.  Oh, how the girl mourned after each color made things worse.  She felt somewhat akin to a snow leopard (yes, you read that right, a snow leopard).  But she didn't have time to fix it, she had to go!  Her prince was waiting.

Desperately, she prayed, "Please help it to be dark at the party so people won't see the grossness below my eyebrows.  Amen."  It would take a miracle.  Hand in hand with her true love they braved the company christmas party.  And what to her wondering eyes should appear, but a very dark room full of Christmasy cheer (and a few people who were about to be too drunk to notice).  Hallelujah!  Joy to her world!

So, be mindful of your waxings.  Don't follow the example of this foolish, sweet, simple girl with once-very-bushy-eyebrows-akin-to-a-snow-leopard, or you might be sorry.  She has certainly learned her lesson.   

My Secret Weapon.

A lot went wrong today.  I got a call from a teacher.  I ventured upstairs to the kids' domain . . . more like a war zone . . . I'm sure if I looked hard enough I would've found an appendage or two . . . don't even ask about the bathroom.  A movie was my babysitter.  Said movie (Dinotopia) taught Lincoln some choice words . . . the exact phrase I can't remember, only it was completely demeaning if directed at another person.  Said movie also found it's way to the garbage can!

But if there was one thing that went right today, it was this: piano lessons with Great-Grandma.  I walked in a few minutes early for an impromptu recital.  My eyes felt good--and my ears, even better--to see Great-Grandma and Brigham, the same height, playing a duet.  That was a moment.  One I don't want to forget.  My grandma is almost 90!  She's a firecracker.  Feisty, determined,high expectations.  That's why I didn't teach the kids piano myself.  I'm sure they would've walked all over me.  Not Great-Grandma.  I watched her tap Brig's back with one finger and IMMEDIATELY he sat up straight!  If I did something like that he'd throw a fit and fall apart on me.  Grandma is the secret weapon.  She's starting them off right.  I count my blessings that my kids will have this precious memory to carry with them.  They've said to me on more than one occassion that the best part about taking piano from Great-Grandma is being with Great-Grandma.  That does my heart good.  I never had the "every day" moments with a grandparent because we lived too far away.  I was jealous of those who did.  This time with her is pretty special not only to them, but to me as well.  And hopefully they become adept at "tickling the ivories" a bit, too.

Jeans and Jealousies.

 

(This was one of their friendlier moments today. Birthday party forgotten . . . by Lincoln, anyway.)

I was putting my jeans on this morning and I got to thinking.  My jeans slipped right on, not too tight, just perfect.  Cozy.  I thought to myself--with a hint of satisfaction--that it was a slight miracle because I've done zippo in the exercise department for about four weeks (I'm glad you all know I'm a slacker).  And then it hit me.  My jeans all feel great because I haven't washed them in a loooonng time (slacker in the laundering-of-jeans department, too)!  They're all stretched out!  It's amazing how we can rationalize something--like staying slim without exercise--so much that it almost seems true.  Almost.

Annie said the prayer on dinner tonight.  "Please bless us that we won't have a food fight.  And please bless us that we won't pick our noses."  Ben and I peeked at eachother with shared smiles.

Annie got invited to her first birthday party today!  She carried the invitation around with her ALL DAY LONG!  She kept asking me if it was Saturday yet.  Sweet girl.  Unfortunately, Lincoln was EXTREMELY jealous.  So much so that when I wasn't looking, he would pinch her or do something to make her cry.  When confronted he kept saying, "It's not fair.  Why does Annie get to go to a birthday party?" How quickly he forgets that he just went to a birthday party two weeks ago! Hmm.  He's is hyper-aware of others' good fortune which often blinds him to his own. We've got some work to do.

On a side note, completely unrelated to anything (Ben flipped to the Grammy's on the tele), my heart kind of aches when I see beautiful women who are either oblivious or guileful concerning the affect they have on society.  I imagine all the good a beautiful, talented, and capable woman can do in the world today, the influence she can have, etc. and when I see her living below her potential I feel so sad.  I think about all the impressionable girls and women, men even, who are affected by her.  We are a visual people.  I know, you don't have to be beautiful to make a difference.  But, there is definite power in beauty and when I see it abused I just, I don't know, I just wish things were different. So, if you're gonna be beautiful, be good, too. Because if you're beautiful, the world is gonna judge you harsher from the get-go, anyway.  People will judge you before they even know you.  Prove them wrong.  Be kind, be good, use your beauty for good.  I'm talking to you, Katy "I Kissed a Girl" Perry.  Sorry for the soapbox moment. This is just me talking.

Cereal, Snowpants, and Seniors.

(Doesn't she look ravenous?  Like she's eating 50 mph?)

It was a cereal-for-dinner kind of day.  I could've made something, I wasn't busy.  Instead of cooking dinner, I wasted time looking at a cookbook, dreaming of beautiful food.  I love looking at cookbooks . . . if they have pictures.  While we were getting ready for dinner--the arduous task of POURING the cereal--we had two massive spills.  I was knee deep in Rice Chex and Berry Colossal Crunch when Lincoln came up to me crying.  I was caught up in the cereal mess so I kind of ignored him.  Here's what I hear, full of desperation, "You don't care about your children!"  Bless his little heart!  I'm pretty sure I hugged him until he pushed me away.

Speaking of pushing away, I've realized something about myself.  When I want to do something, when I need a little time for myself and the kids are around, this is what I do: I grab them and start kissing them.  They protest because I'm totally overboard, and it drives them away.  They don't want THAT again, so they leave, and I'm happy because I got them to leave in a loving--however, totally annoying--sort of way.  I never thought I would be guilty of annoying my children.

(Hah!  What am I doing to my sweet, little girl?  Rather, what is she doing to HERSELF!?  In case you're wondering, this is another "play dead" moment.)

I spent the day in my snowpants.  You'd think I'd have spent the day in the snow, gleefully making snow angels and having snowball fights.  Umm, nope.  I was outside for 15 mintues, which was about how long it took me to get ready.  I'm a wimp.  Totally.  But the snowpants were so warm and cozy and I'm always cold, so I kept them on.  I even wore them to Cub Scouts tonight at the church.  Someone said to me, in a cool, nonchalant sort of way, "Been boarding today, eh?"  Ha!  I'm a nerd.  "I wish," I said.

(Guilty: caught eating Christmas candy in my snowpants.  Nice.)

Speaking of Cub Scouts, I really think they should change the name.  I don't know, something starting with WWF or UFC, something like that.  Just a thought.

My evening ended with a phone call to the sweetest 87 year-old woman.  Evva.  Sounds like "ever," with a little sass ("evah," for those who didn't get it, like my sweet husband).  Every month we chat for about 20 minutes.  And she IS sassy!  She was telling me about her birthday this year.  I said, "Evva, you are amazing!"  And she says, "Yes, I AM!"  I love it.  Before we hung up I said, "I sure love you."  And she says, "Well, I kinda like ya, just a little bit."  Sweet, sweet Evva.  I want to be like her when I'm 87.  I love people from her generation.  So different from ours.

Well, I'm off to finish my juicy romance novel.  Juicy in a PG sort of way.  Nighty-night.

TKO . . .

I really didn't want this day to start.  I always struggle getting back into the swing of routine life.  I pine for the lazy days of just being.  Well, I obviously didn't get my wish.  Up before the sun, I was.  And life went on as usual.

I did have one thing going for me today.  The sun was with me all day long.  I can get through just about anything with her shining down on me.  My house glowed from the snow's reflection.  I didn't need the lights on, which I usually do all winter long to keep things BRIGHT. 

I watched my kids today with impressions of their growing up weighing on me.  What will life be like when I can no longer persuade my boys to do things with a kiss or a hug?  I don't want their hearts to harden as they grow. 

I have no idea what I'll do if they fight, wrestle, carry on like they do now, when they're teenagers.  Black eyes?  Bloody noses?  Yikes.  I'm thinking about this because Lincoln and Brigham FELL into the house today, rolling across the rug and onto the wood floor.  Totally fighting and totally in snow clothes.  I was grateful for the extra padding.  However, I couldn't believe I actually saw Brigham punch Lincoln in the face whilst rolling!  Holy cow, I thought.  Are they for real?  Kidding or angry?  Now, don't get me wrong.  We're a family of three very boyish boys.  Very hardy, very masculine, very aggressive if need be.  But I've never seen my boys hit like that!  They usually pin each other down, punch in the arm, Lincoln still bites if he has to.  But in the face?!  No way.  My mind wrestles (pun intended) with this identity crisis: are we an old fashioned, farm-living family with boys who have a good fight and are best friends afterwards, patting each other on the back as they congratulate the victor, or a family with anger-management issues, like city-boys who fight and end up killing each other for real, followed by an hour-long 20/20 special?  I pick the first.

Oh, these boys.  These sweet, aggressive fighters.  What's a mom to do?  Maybe I'll join them next time.  We'll see who wins.  That'll teach 'em.  Hah.

O, Christmas Tree . . .

It's up. 

I'm joyful. 

All is calm, all is bright.

Black-Freakin'-Friday-Fest

Yes.  We did it.  Starting at 10:00 p.m., Thursday night.  We drove to Evanston, Wyoming's Walmart.  Want to know why?  Because they're nice, down-home, and NOT CROWDED in small-town Wyoming (right, Candy?)!  I couldn't stand the thought of getting into a fist fight over How to Train Your Dragon, or the Cowgirl Jesse doll, or the 25th anniversary-edition red wii bundle! 

Then we headed back to Utah for a little Toys-R-Us and Target.  That's where you need multiple people helping you: one to stand in line, two or three to divide and conquer.  Sweet victory over the masses!

Personally, I think the Black Friday craze brings out the worst in humanity.  I hate seeing large groups of people selfishly push and grab and skirt around stealthily as they sneak the coveted wii game (before 12 a.m.).  Yet, I can't stay away!  I'm a deal fanatic, and some deals are too good to pass up.  I mentally prepare myself so I won't feel upset if I can't get my hands on a particular item.  It's just a thing, I say to myself.  My mantra.  "It's just a thing."  And it works.  And somehow we always get the things we hoped to get.  That's probably because we never want the "latest" anything.  We're not electronically savvy.  I couldn't tell you the latest i-anything, pod, book, pad, touch . . . . 

Come 5:30 a.m., I could drowsily say, mission accomplished, as I climbed into bed, turned on my side, and slept 'til 11 a.m.  Sweet success, I love you.  Until next year . . .

SUPERWOMAN.

That's Ben's mom's middle name.  No joke.  I've watched this woman operate for over 10 years.  Here's what I've discovered, here's how we differ.  She goes through life, simply living, discovering new things and just does them.  She isn't out for glory, for accolades.  She isn't showy AT ALL, in fact, she purposely keeps out of the spotlight.  She learns something new, executes it, amazingly, and moves on to the next thing.  How do people do that?  It takes me forever to decide to do something.  Then I get scared of not doing it perfectly, so I end up not doing it at all.  Isn't that retarded?!  The funny part is, half the time no one would even see what I've done, perfect or not.  Get over it, I say to myself!  Thankfully, as time goes by I think I'm a little closer to overcoming this ridiculous notion.

Here's her latest attempts.  We went to a Christmas boutique.  The latest thing there were these hats with flowers or the flower headbands.  Mom goes out and buys her yarn, sits in her lazy boy and crochets a storm.  She's made a hat for every grandchild.  She's taking requests from the moms.  You better believe I want one!  A cream hat with a green flower, or charcoal hat with a red flower.  I can't wait until Christmas!  What a woman.  Superwoman. 

THANKSGIVING DAY.

We spent this gluttonous holiday in Utah.  There's something comical, intriguing, and fun about family gatherings.  It's a feast for people watchers.  And believe me, I'm a people watcher.  I love observing what motivates people.  But I also love being around people who know they're loved because of the nonsensical, impractical things they do.  I think that's why I love Ben's sister, Teri, so much.  Everyone teases Teri.  Everyone loves Teri.  She sets herself up for it, unintentionally, and everyone feeds off of it.  She laughs right along with us, because she knows we love her BECAUSE of these things.  It makes her who she is.  And I wouldn't change her.  In fact, I love being around her.  She's great.  I have to say that I feel pretty lucky to have married into this family.  They are a wonderfully down to earth, good-natured sort of family.  Their examples have certainly rubbed off on me and I'm praying that my own children take note of their goodness.

(Playing Around the World later that night.  It should be called Flashcard-Battles, or, Who Can Yell the Loudest.  I did have my fair share of victories . . . beating 10 year-olds.)

Unfortunately Ben didn't play in any Turkey Bowls this year.  I'm not sure what kept him away.  They did have lots of snow, probably too much to have a good game.  Ben spent the morning busily helping his mother do some Thanksgiving prep, while I was a lazy bum and slept in.  I know, some daughter-in-law, but it is what it is.  I did get up in time to do my assignments, set the table, etc.  I wasn't a complete slacker.  The meal was wonderful, the company hilarious, and all in all it was a great, great day!

NO PLACE LIKE HOME . . .

(What I wouldn't give to walk in lush, green grass again . . .)

I've just survived my first blizzard, and I'm not talking about Dairy Queen!  This day was a little surreal to me.  No school for the kids, no work for Ben.  We were all home on a Tuesday.  How often does that happen?  I felt like we lived in our own little world today.  No outside influences, except Little House on the Prarie epidsodes, but they're a part of our family (who doesn't love Charles Ingalls, or Pa, as we affectionately call him?).  I loved it.  I thought a lot today about how grateful I am to have a home.  How lucky our kids are to have a home.  And not just a place to live, shelter from the cold, but a home, a haven.  I embraced the feeling of safety, love, companionship that's felt in a happy home.  Sure we have our problems--I'm not blind to those--but there's a spirit of love that lingers notwithstanding.  As the mom I feel a great responsibility in that area, however short of the mark I fall at times.

So when it's my turn to say what I'm thankful for on Thanksgiving, I'm going to say, "Home."  Because I felt so strongly today that my home really is a sacred place.  A place to teach, to love, to learn, to serve, to forgive, to grow, to enjoy, to rest.



SNOW DAY!

I was up before the kids this morning watching the news, in the dark, hoping that school was cancelled because of the snow.  I'm not sure why I wanted them to have a snow day.  It doesn't make my day any easier.  Nostalgia?  Laziness for morning routines?  A break from the mundane?  Probably all of the above.  I was giddy when I got the call.  NO SCHOOL!  I jumped back into bed hoping for another hour (or more) of sleep.  My hopes were not in vain.  8 a.m.  Seriously, it was heaven!

We drove to town, picked up a few Christmas presents, and I found the prettiest little Christmas dress for Annie not to mention the one I bought a few weeks ago.  I'm trying to justify to Ben why Annie needs two Christmas dresses.  Rotate weeks, every other, right?  Hah, I'm such a rationalizer, it's killing me!  Ahem . . . but I still want both dresses.  We'll see how convincing I am.

I don't hide my disdain for snowy days.  However, I can honestly say that today was great!  The kids were in and out of the snow all day long.  They had a partner in crime, Lizzy, who is the coolest little tomboy-of-a-girl.  Somehow, adding a girl in the mix made everything better.  I love boys.  I do.  But Lizzy balanced everything out.  Things never got out of hand, the boys exercised a measure of self-restraint because she's a girl (and they're still on somewhat shaky ground with female peers), and they went from one activity to another: puzzles, snow, bead necklaces, snow, hot chocolate, snow, coloring, snow, hide-and-seek, snow.  And I didn't even mind the mess--and it was a mess--which means the nostalgia-factor must have kicked in.

Here's the best part: NO SCHOOL TOMMOROW EITHER!  Can you believe my luck?  Maybe snow isn't so bad after all . . . "by their fruits ye shall know them . . . ."  Good stuff.

It gets worse . . .

Q.  What's worse than cleaning up your child's throw-up, covering a 5 ft radius, at 1 a.m. (sorry for the graphic details)?

A.  Cleaning up multiple childrens' throw-up AND diarrhea, covering 5 ft radii, at 2:30 a.m., and 3, and 4, and . . .

All in favor of a "cozy chair" day, say "AYE!" 

Any opposed?

If so, may these blessed moments travel your way. 

In case you're wondering, this is definately a "peel me off the bottom of your shoe" moment.

Ramblings . . .

Rambling #1.  It's funny to look back at your own blog and think that your life is an emotional roller coaster!  One day the kids can do no wrong; the next, their life is in danger.  One day, Ben is the dearest husband ever; the next, I wonder how we'll ever make it.  One day, I'm on top of the world; the next, you could peel me off the bottom of your shoe.  You are so patient to ride along with me.  I think it's pretty fascinating to follow someone's crazy life, what they're thinking, hoping, etc. . . . as an innocent bystander, of course.  It's a different story when YOU are the crazy one!

Rambling #2.  Today is one of those dreary, windy, brisk days.  A day that allures and tempts, coaxing me to sit in a cozy chair, wrap up in a soft blanket, read a fabulous book, drink a soothing cup of cocoa, and avoid all responsibility.  ALL responsibility.  Unfortunately, I'm pretty good at all those things and often desire them over anything else.  Such are my winter moorings.  I knew they would come.  I just need to learn how to balance them (even if I don't want to).  Keep up with the everyday, while still making time for my cozy chair moments.  I keep up at home, because I'm a hermit in winter.  I like to clean, I like to tidy-up.  But I don't keep up outside my home.  I don't feel like talking to anyone when it's cold.  Isn't that sad?  It's called social hermitage.  And living where I do, in the country, makes it more than easy to execute.  I never thought the day would come when I thought visiting was exhausting.  But in the winter, it is.  Or maybe I should say "superficial visiting," because there's nothing more comforting than cozying up with a dear friend for a nice chat.  Those moments are treasured.  So, if you ever want to talk to me this winter, you better come up with some pretty deep things to talk about . . . or else:).  I'll try to have the blankets and cocoa ready!

REAL.

(R.I.P.  She was such a good girl when she was alive.)

I can't get over how my kids keep life so real.  I think God knew--and laughed at the thought--that I needed kids because if I didn't, I'd be an anal, selfish, snooty girl, who thought she was pretty cool.  Isn't that awful to say about yourself?  The truth hurts sometimes.  Where now, those inclinations have been metaphorically flushed down the toilet!  Which is a good thing.  It's created space for better things.  Important things like love, humor, silliness, selflessness, peace, empathy, compassion.  Some people get there on their own.  Not me.  I needed four little ones to keep the world from revolving around me.

I think it's the unabashed honesty of kids that does it.  They say and do things that I only imagine, and sometimes things I can't even imagine.  Things I wonder about but would never act upon.  That's what I love.  Like playing dead.  Have you played dead lately?  Try it.  I promise you'll smile.  They make me kiss body parts that are otherwise, um, unsanitary.  Toes, bottoms of feet, bloody knees, and yes, even a bum or two.  They make me jump on the trampoline when I'm not in the mood to wet my pants.  But I do it.  Because I love 'em.  Because making them happy means more to me than being able to wear white shirts as often as I'd like.  Or getting the GMC Acadia I've dreamed about, but can't accomadate a family of six.  Or spending my mornings in book-books rather than Strawberry Shortcake coloring books.

(The gloves are my favorite....  My little lunch lady-man. Where's the hairnet?)

I guess kids help us remember that we're really not as important as we think we are.  That people, especially little people, are always more important than Things.  That life works out when we put others' needs first (assuming that we're in a healthy place ourselves).  Jesus really hit it on the head when he taught us to become like a little child.

Weaving a little magic . . .

I've been reading a collection of writings by Elaine Cannon. 
What a delight! 
She's witty, smart, wise, spiritual, insightful. 
All the things that I hope to be one day. 
One distant day.
But I'm not giving up,
I'm still becoming the Me I'm supposed to be.
I know that.

Her writings are brimming with hope.  And I'm convinced that hope can be an ever-present reality if we choose to look up.  That's the Lord's gift.  Crap happens (pardon my vulgarity).  That's life.  But that's never the end.  We're never left with the crap. . . unless we choose it.  He can make all things beautiful.  " . . . Beauty for ashes . . ." (Isaiah 61:1-3).  Even the messed-up realities of life.  However, "beauty" and "easy" are not synonomous.  I think they become beautiful as we struggle and wrestle and search and adjust and broaden and stretch, finding bits of understanding along the way.  Just enough to keep us moving.  Forward. 

Speaking of hope, of changing and becoming, I love Elaine Cannon's thoughts about families,

"Families are God's way of blessing the world, of shaping a strong, stubborn man into a strong, sensitive father, and a beautiful, bossy woman into a beautiful, blessed mother."

My family, my kids are giving me a gift.  Not that I'm always grateful, but I have hope that I will be one day.  However, I'm not sure if I can relinquish the "bossy" part.  I kinda like that.  Can't I be a "beautiful, blessed  AND bossy mother?"  I hope so.  After all, don't you have to be kinda bossy to be a good mom?

Here's another:     

"A family keeps a mother from doing the things she's always wanted to do until she is too old to do them.  But somewhere along the way a family weaves such a magic that one day Mother realizes that this, after all, is what she wanted to do all along."

They're still weaving at my house. 
Still trying to perfect they're magic.
But even they're imperfect weaving is yielding something pretty special.

Crazy Dreams and Priorities . . .

I had a dream last night that made me feel totally helpless. 
I'm a big dream-rememberer.
That's good and bad.
Depending on the dream.
I'm glad we're not accountable for our dreams. 

I was in college again.  Different apartment, roomates from freshman and sophomore years mixed together.  I was sitting at our kitchen table with two roomates who, like me, are presently married with children.  I was trying to get them to agree with me that life isn't the same without our kids while going to college (heh, obviously).  I didn't hear my kids giggling and I was concerned.  Where were they?  It was like this strange alternate reality--college life and family life meshed together--weird.  I wanted to find them.  Why weren't my roomates as concerned as I was?  Futility is an awful feeling. 

And then, you know how you always jump to another part of your dream without transitions?  Well, I was looking everywhere for a great pair of shoes to match my outfit.  I kept finding my roomate's shoes, and they were so cute, but I couldn't find mine.  I couldn't just wear her shoes without asking.  Normally, I'm sure this wouldn't be an issue, but in my dreams borrowing shoes was off limits, I could feel it.  I wanted my cute shoes (if we're being honest, I don't think I had any cute shoes in college, I was pretty conservative, functional).   And they were gone, too, like my kiddos.  Panic.

So, what do you do when you can't find your giggling children OR a pair of really cute shoes?
You wake up.
And that's just what I did.

I'm glad I've got my priorities straight:
Kids THEN shoes.

p.s. I finished My Name Is Mary Sutter last night, my civil war book.  Loved it.  Unforgettable (to me).

And so it begins.

I mourned yesterday.  Slushy, wet, cloudy, dark . . . and two sick kids home from school.  And today, my sorrow has turned to joy! 

I was up 'til 11:30 p.m. give or take a few.  Reading (because I napped too long with Annie that afternoon)  my civil war book, of course (an insightful, smart, devastating, emotional read).  I refuse to look at the clock at times like that to save myself from mental martyrdom the next day.  If I don't know the time, I can't complain about it.  Ignorance is bliss.  That's my philosphy.  Shoot, I just remembered the psalm or proverb, whatever it is, "Folly is joy to those destitute of wisdom."  Oops. 

I switched off my light and lay there in the dark.  All I could hear was Ben's soft breaths because his initial round of delightful snoring passed while I was reading.  Looking out my window, I relished the stillness of my peaceful, warm room.  The night glowed, silvery and oddly bright because of the snow blanketing the ground.  Life was simple at that moment.  Quiet and white.  Beautiful.  Like tangible peace, does that make sense?  I sat there absorbing it.  Not worrying about anything (which is rare).  And I slept just as peacefully through the night.

Morning dawned crisp and bright because of the pristine snow.  All four kids joined my scripture study before 6 a.m., two still sick.  But that made them still, which I appreciated.  No little bodies bouncing on me or my scriptures.  That's always a treat!

I wish you could've seen me in my jammies and boots, trapsing out to the shop in search of snow clothes.  Lincoln was set on wearing his gear to school, as he was the only one going today.  I was a sight, believe me.  And not a pretty one.  It was actually fun to help him get his snow stuff on.  Fun, because it was the first time this year.  My "fun" has a short shelf-life when it comes to mittens and boots.

I revelled in his delight as he rolled in the snow, made angels, and ate it.  Of course, Annie soon followed.  And I'm left with a mess--a happy mess, but still a mess--in my foyer and laundry room.  I thought to myself, And so it begins . . . .

Let us pray . . .

"God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change . . ."

(even if it is kind of pretty, dang it.)

Whoa.

I just talked to a good friend at church today. 
You'll never believe the news I heard. 
Triplets! 
Due in May. 
No joke. 

She has five little ones, three still at home during the day!  Her oldest is in fourth grade.  Imagine going from five to eight!  I think my mouth was dragging on the floor for about five minutes.  I looked at this sweet, petite friend and just couldn't believe it.  But you know what, I could believe it.  She is someone to admire.  Do you know anyone who quietly goes through life with a positive attitude, does tremendous things without drawing any attention to herself?  She's like that.  Honest, real, quick to laugh, willing to help, encouraging.  Too often my prideful self wants praise and recognition, but Kellie seems to have it figured out.    Oddly enough, her dad was Ben's parents' mission president on their mission in Montana (a year ago).  I wish I could pop into her mind every once in a while and see what she's thinking and feeling through this pregnancy.  What would you think?  "Help me, Lord (with humor and desperation)!" or "My poor, little body.  I may very well sag forever."   Joy and a little sorrow (short-lived), perhaps?

It's funny that this should all come up because I was just reading in John 16:21, "A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is come: but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembereth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is born into the world."  In my friends case it would be, "for joy that several men are born into the world."  Babies are joyful, as hard as they are sometimes.  I guess that's how we grow to love them so much.

Bless her heart.
I guess you know who I'll be praying for tonight.

Craigslist Crony.

This post has two stories, completely unrelated: 

The words and the pictures. 

Follow along. 

Enjoy, with sympathy for younger brothers everywhere.

Craigslist and I go together like peas and carrots.

Like thunder and lightning.

Like popsicles and summer.

I'm not sure how I feel about it. 

I mean, I love seeing all the cute and not-so-cute furniture for sale,

all the shabby restorations, 

crafty ladies selling their wares.

But my main purpose is NOT checking out the furniture.

It's the cars/trucks section.

I'm on a mission:

find Ben a fuel-efficient, stunningly awesome,

stunningly inexpensive

car.

His jacked-up truck doesn't fit the bill,

or the pocketbook with his commute.

I know my sleek dream car is out there.

I know there's some miraculous reason why I'll come upon an accord, camry,

BMW, mercedes

for less than 5k

and mileage under 100k.

It's there.  I know it.  Waiting to be discovered. 

And it's utterly time consuming.

Discouraging at times, but kind of fun, too.

Like a game.

That's why I can't decide how I feel about it.

I'm a hopeless dreamer and somewhat unrealistic.

But, oh well.  Our cute car is out there.

Somewhere.

And I'm gonna find it. 

Oh, and BTW,

In Lincoln's defense,

Mommy soon came to the rescue.

I showed Brigham who's boss.

Don't ever mess with Mommy.

Did I mention I was a linebacker in highschool?

Just kidding.

S and S.

(This was what I had to work with today. Pure beauty.)

I took advantage of every moment of sunshine I could today.  I ran a gazillion errands, taking the long ways home so I could bask in the sunshine a little longer, cozy in my car.  This will sound odd, but I tried to stay in the parts of my house facing south/southwest so I could feel the sun's rays.  No family rooming today, no kitchen table.  The piano room and kitchen felt best.  Do you ever cling to something because you know it will become scarce at any moment?  That's how I feel about the sun.  I don't remember feeling this way anywhere else I've lived.  I think it's because I know what's coming.  The scarcity is nipping at my heels, and anticipating something is always worse than the real thing.

Joyfully--and that word is no exaggeration--the sun hit my front porch full force at about 3 p.m.  The kids just got off the bus.  I bit my tongue and let them watch a movie (wait, that's a lie, I was practically pushing them in front of the tv).  A LONG one.  14 episodes of batman cartoons with no guilt.  For those of you that know me, we don't watch/play anything involving a screen during the week.  Just books, fresh air, toys, paper, markers, the imagination, etc. 

I knew my rendevous with the sun would not last forever so I took full advantage.  I parked myself on a little chair, propped my feet up on my front porch railing and closed my eyes.  I could practically feel the vitamin D soaking into my skin.  Sweet relief.  After communing with the sun, I got out my scriptures.  I thought to myself this was the perfect combination, sunshine and scriptures.  You better believe I feasted on the Word.  My surroundings were perfect, I was in the zone, and I had oodles of time.  I learned so much and felt so full, so satisfied, so complete.  The seal on a wonderful day.  For me, anyways (see below).

I won't mention that all the kids had to go to bed early, without stories or songs because one gave another a black eye (head to eye, not fists), one shut the door on another's toe, one refused to get her jammies on, and the list goes on, and on, and on . . . .  A vivid reminder that life is NEVER completely perfect.

My Election Day.

Did you vote today?  I hope so.
Here was my election day . . . in pictures.

(My dad was on the ballot this time.  We're still waiting to hear . . .)

(Try not to be jealous.  I'm starting a new trend: floppy sock.  I thank Ben every morning for these babies.)

(Frosty mornings, I can't seem to get enough.  Well, come February I'll have had enough.)

(Me and my good friend, Linda, food storage extrodinaire.  She was working at the polls.)

(On the drive home from voting.  This is America, to me.  I've never thought dirt has looked so beautiful.  Fertile.  Rich.)

All that's left is Cub Scouts.  And then, time to settle down with a good book.  It's called, My Name is Mary Sutter.  Civil War, midwife, historical fiction.  I'm feeling a little patriotic today.  God Bless America.