For the first time in Big Deal's 11 year history, this moving announcement is not about our actual house, but the actual blog.
If you know me, you know I've missed writing here. I finally figured out what was holding me back, besides the fact that time is basically in warp speed right now.
My time, "me time" (and when I say "me time" I'm referring to any time that I am not actively doing something for someone else. It's the moments squeezed between making someone's toast, wiping a bottom, picking someone up, answering a school question, breaking up a fight, etc) comes to me in snatches of about 10-15 minutes.
The thought came to me, that instead of mindlessly scrolling through Facebook, I could put that time to good blogging use. Excepting for one thing.
Those 15 minutes snatches were rarely ever convenient times to sit at the computer. And when they were, none of my pictures were on there because I haven't uploaded them since 2015 (see above).
If only I could blog from my phone. Blogger's app hasn't worked for years. A quick search revealed that Wordpress does have an app and a mobile blogging function. They also showed me how to move my whole kit and caboodle over in about 2 minutes.
Done and Done.
And since I've had two more kids whose first initials add no value to our Big Deal situation, I'd love to see you over at:
www.scootersinthekitchen.wordpress.com
Farewell, Blogger! It's been real!
Monday, April 30, 2018
Tuesday, April 24, 2018
That Smile
She’d already told me goodnight, but about 20 mins later, she showed up in the doorway of my bedroom, smiling. I just looked at her, waiting for an explanation of both her presence and her smile.
After a moment she said, “I did a thing.”
Obviously not knowing what that thing was, the smile and the fact she wanted to tell me about it boxed well.
“I just read my scriptures.” She paused again.
“I hear people at church talking about reading their scriptures and I always think, I’m never gonna do that. I don’t understand them and I’m never just going to read my scriptures.”
Now, it must be understood that we do read scriptures as a family. She participates willingly and she listens and even contributes as we discuss. But her confidence in this, like many similar challenges, especially one to be done independently, is intimidating to her.
She continued, still smiling, “I was in my bed, reading my book, and I just had this thought, I should read my scriptures. So I did it. I just went to 1 Nephi and I read a chapter. And it wasn’t like trying to read French or anything. It was good. And I just feel so happy. Like if I knew I was going to feel this happy I would have done it a long time ago.”
Now we were both smiling.
She felt a prompting. Then not only did she feel it, she followed it. And then she felt happy. This is a pattern of the gospel. She may not feel blissfully happy every single time she reads. But reading will provide even more opportunities for the spirit to speak to her. And following that pattern, every time, ensures there will be many, many more happy moments in store for her. Every time we follow through, builds God’s trust in us.
“The ability to qualify for, receive, and act on personal revelation is the single most important skill that can be acquired in this life.” -Julie Beck
Yes, my dear, Ava, you did do a thing. A good thing. And a pretty big thing, too.
After a moment she said, “I did a thing.”
Obviously not knowing what that thing was, the smile and the fact she wanted to tell me about it boxed well.
“I just read my scriptures.” She paused again.
“I hear people at church talking about reading their scriptures and I always think, I’m never gonna do that. I don’t understand them and I’m never just going to read my scriptures.”
Now, it must be understood that we do read scriptures as a family. She participates willingly and she listens and even contributes as we discuss. But her confidence in this, like many similar challenges, especially one to be done independently, is intimidating to her.
She continued, still smiling, “I was in my bed, reading my book, and I just had this thought, I should read my scriptures. So I did it. I just went to 1 Nephi and I read a chapter. And it wasn’t like trying to read French or anything. It was good. And I just feel so happy. Like if I knew I was going to feel this happy I would have done it a long time ago.”
Now we were both smiling.
She felt a prompting. Then not only did she feel it, she followed it. And then she felt happy. This is a pattern of the gospel. She may not feel blissfully happy every single time she reads. But reading will provide even more opportunities for the spirit to speak to her. And following that pattern, every time, ensures there will be many, many more happy moments in store for her. Every time we follow through, builds God’s trust in us.
“The ability to qualify for, receive, and act on personal revelation is the single most important skill that can be acquired in this life.” -Julie Beck
Yes, my dear, Ava, you did do a thing. A good thing. And a pretty big thing, too.
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
Emotional Mumbo Jumbo
I've always tried to make writing things down about our family a priority. That means that even when life got crazy, and blogs weren't even popular anymore, and no one read these posts except a few treasured people, I was still posting because it was really, really important to me. All my blogging friends and family dwindled to nothing but I told myself that I was never going to stop because I wanted to be able to look back on our life and remember the littlest details instead of just the big memories of vacations and milestones.
But here I am, this blog (or lack thereof) startling evidence of the point at which I really felt I lost control of my life. I believe we could pin point the time almost exactly--Once Jack was born and I started homeschooling. That's when this train jumped the tracks. From there, we can add on a calling of Young Women's president and my fate was sealed. I literally had no.time. Life felt like it was spinning more and more out of my control and what really might have been a great outlet for me (writing) became such a pipe dream. The cobwebs grew in all the corners here and it made me so sad, and even more sad that I couldn't do a thing about it.
We've moved and I no longer have a demanding calling, but I don't have an ounce more time. (Which is actually a testament to me of the enabling power of God and being set apart for a calling. I was truly carried for that year and a half. The thought of doing that calling now, seems absolutely impossible.)
I've just had so many little thoughts that I've wanted to write down. The other night, I ended up looking for something from a few years ago and I got swallowed up in old posts and I loved it. And it made my heart hurt because the documentation of these past years has been so barren. Of course I've kept up on Instagram and Facebook for the most part, but there is something about this space that is much safer for me. Those are always written for public consumption but here I write not only for public consumption but also sometimes just for me.
I recently went to the mall for the first time in probably a year. It's crazy because in Texas, both Houston and Dallas, we went to the mall all the time. Not to shop really, but because it was a great place for the kids to play and run around. We could get out of the house, ride the carousel, eat a pretzel. And the other day, I walked into the mall with Finn and Jack with my parents, and I realized that Jack had never been to the mall, not one time in his whole 3 year existence. Finn had been maybe once. And they loved it.
And I thought, "I should do this more often."
A thought that was followed by the guilt that washes over me when I think about how much TV these little boys watch so that I can get school done with Ava. How fun would it be to go on little excursions and field trips with them? Instead it's homeschool jammed between all of the pick ups and drop offs. And instead of feeling like I can cater to these boys, I have to shove them onto the back burner with their best friends and babysitters, Peppa Pig and Daniel Tiger.
I remind myself that kids are resilient. And that I can only do so much. And what I'm doing is wearing me to the absolute core and it has to be enough, because there is very literally nothing left.
And maybe it's because I'm a shell of myself these days, but my trip to the mall also made me realize how very out of touch I am with so many things. I am not the girl who spends hundreds of dollars on a purse. Or overpriced makeup or clothes. I just can't even imagine the circumstances that would make spending money on those things an enjoyable endeavor for me. It's like I don't even care. I don't care what's cool or who's cool. I mean, I do like clothes and I do like certain styles, but I just cannot identify with any of it anymore. I don't know if that's a good thing, but I kind of feel like it's not bad.
My parents are here for a few months this winter. My dad ruptured a disc back in the fall. He had surgery to fix it, but the damage to a nerve in his foot was already done, the foot drop caused him to fall shortly after the surgery and tear the tendon in his elbow, which brought on another surgery to repair it. I have begged for years for them to come and live with us. Finally my dream has come true, at least until the weather improves and they don't have to worry about the snow they can't shovel back in Michigan.
I wish they would stay for ever. But I fear they have truly come to know what the reality of this house is actually like--a lot lot lot of crying. And I guess that includes me. The first week they were here, my heart felt so happy. Not only were they helpful but their adult presence was just a reassuring feeling. They were like a ray of light for me. And it didn't take long at all for me to move along in my mind to how it will feel when they go home. I mean, let's be honest. I pretty much cry every time I take them to the airport even when they've only stayed a week. How would I feel once we'd settled into a routine and they became a staple of help and love and then went home? I've cried at just the thought of it more times than I should admit.
I need to really embody the motto of being present, right here and right now. I can get so wrapped up in my worries and in anticipation of what's to come, and even if there are real bona-fide worries, so much focus on them doesn't leave room for focus on anything else. It's like I think that if I worry about something hard enough, I can fix it, or at minimum, control it. Letting go feels like losing control, but the truth is, all that overwhelms and worries me is already out of my control. I am learning slowly, that while I'll probably always be a worrier, it's ok to let go of them enough to be happy for all that is right.
There has been so much I've wanted to write for so long, and that's because I want to remember it. Having a lot of things you want to remember must be a good indication of a full life. At the end of the day, a full life (full of both good and bad) is a good life, and I am grateful for this one.
But here I am, this blog (or lack thereof) startling evidence of the point at which I really felt I lost control of my life. I believe we could pin point the time almost exactly--Once Jack was born and I started homeschooling. That's when this train jumped the tracks. From there, we can add on a calling of Young Women's president and my fate was sealed. I literally had no.time. Life felt like it was spinning more and more out of my control and what really might have been a great outlet for me (writing) became such a pipe dream. The cobwebs grew in all the corners here and it made me so sad, and even more sad that I couldn't do a thing about it.
We've moved and I no longer have a demanding calling, but I don't have an ounce more time. (Which is actually a testament to me of the enabling power of God and being set apart for a calling. I was truly carried for that year and a half. The thought of doing that calling now, seems absolutely impossible.)
I've just had so many little thoughts that I've wanted to write down. The other night, I ended up looking for something from a few years ago and I got swallowed up in old posts and I loved it. And it made my heart hurt because the documentation of these past years has been so barren. Of course I've kept up on Instagram and Facebook for the most part, but there is something about this space that is much safer for me. Those are always written for public consumption but here I write not only for public consumption but also sometimes just for me.
I recently went to the mall for the first time in probably a year. It's crazy because in Texas, both Houston and Dallas, we went to the mall all the time. Not to shop really, but because it was a great place for the kids to play and run around. We could get out of the house, ride the carousel, eat a pretzel. And the other day, I walked into the mall with Finn and Jack with my parents, and I realized that Jack had never been to the mall, not one time in his whole 3 year existence. Finn had been maybe once. And they loved it.
And I thought, "I should do this more often."
A thought that was followed by the guilt that washes over me when I think about how much TV these little boys watch so that I can get school done with Ava. How fun would it be to go on little excursions and field trips with them? Instead it's homeschool jammed between all of the pick ups and drop offs. And instead of feeling like I can cater to these boys, I have to shove them onto the back burner with their best friends and babysitters, Peppa Pig and Daniel Tiger.
I remind myself that kids are resilient. And that I can only do so much. And what I'm doing is wearing me to the absolute core and it has to be enough, because there is very literally nothing left.
And maybe it's because I'm a shell of myself these days, but my trip to the mall also made me realize how very out of touch I am with so many things. I am not the girl who spends hundreds of dollars on a purse. Or overpriced makeup or clothes. I just can't even imagine the circumstances that would make spending money on those things an enjoyable endeavor for me. It's like I don't even care. I don't care what's cool or who's cool. I mean, I do like clothes and I do like certain styles, but I just cannot identify with any of it anymore. I don't know if that's a good thing, but I kind of feel like it's not bad.
My parents are here for a few months this winter. My dad ruptured a disc back in the fall. He had surgery to fix it, but the damage to a nerve in his foot was already done, the foot drop caused him to fall shortly after the surgery and tear the tendon in his elbow, which brought on another surgery to repair it. I have begged for years for them to come and live with us. Finally my dream has come true, at least until the weather improves and they don't have to worry about the snow they can't shovel back in Michigan.
I wish they would stay for ever. But I fear they have truly come to know what the reality of this house is actually like--a lot lot lot of crying. And I guess that includes me. The first week they were here, my heart felt so happy. Not only were they helpful but their adult presence was just a reassuring feeling. They were like a ray of light for me. And it didn't take long at all for me to move along in my mind to how it will feel when they go home. I mean, let's be honest. I pretty much cry every time I take them to the airport even when they've only stayed a week. How would I feel once we'd settled into a routine and they became a staple of help and love and then went home? I've cried at just the thought of it more times than I should admit.
I need to really embody the motto of being present, right here and right now. I can get so wrapped up in my worries and in anticipation of what's to come, and even if there are real bona-fide worries, so much focus on them doesn't leave room for focus on anything else. It's like I think that if I worry about something hard enough, I can fix it, or at minimum, control it. Letting go feels like losing control, but the truth is, all that overwhelms and worries me is already out of my control. I am learning slowly, that while I'll probably always be a worrier, it's ok to let go of them enough to be happy for all that is right.
There has been so much I've wanted to write for so long, and that's because I want to remember it. Having a lot of things you want to remember must be a good indication of a full life. At the end of the day, a full life (full of both good and bad) is a good life, and I am grateful for this one.
Thursday, December 14, 2017
It's Great to be Eight
It was an intimate affair, which is just to my liking.
Max knew exactly what he was doing and he was ready.
The program went smoothly, Grandma Leslie gave a talk on baptism, Grandma Linda spoke on the Holy Ghost, and Ava and I sang The Miracle.
The spirit touched me multiple times throughout and brought with it reminders and insights into Max. I kept thinking this is exactly what I needed. It's what every mother needs, to be able to see her children more clearly and more like Heavenly Father does.
As Ava and I sang, Max sat riveted on us both and mouthed every word right along with us. Trying to sing through my tears added a layer of difficulty, but the memory of him singing with us, etched in my memory, is a treasure.
As is he.
Max is 8
After feeling the pinch of 2018 bearing down on us and realizing that also meant the time I had to get the kid's pictures done in the same calendar year as their birthdays was drawing to a close, I took a lot of pictures in a short span of time.
Max's were last. I had a cute subject but I was feeling low on creativity (and possibly patience). But they are done!
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