Run Down on Our Running Around

I consider myself a not-busy person.  Sure, I have my three kids and I drive two carpools.  But I have time for the gym most days. I enjoy being an adviser in the Young Women's organization at church where I get to be involved but don't shoulder much responsibility.  I didn't volunteer myself for anything at the elementary school this year, partly because being room mom last year wasn't my favorite and partly because with baby on the way and my allergy to pregnancy, I just don't have much left to offer in the way of anything.  In fact, we went against Texas parenting mores and didn't sign our kids up for a single sport.

So why these past few weeks have felt like such a whirlwind, I do not know. I am in charge of one of the crafts for a large activity at church that is taking a lot of preparation.  I've spent a bit of time gathering and sewing Halloween costumes.  Max turns 3 tomorrow, though I can't claim that that has taken up much of my time because I still don't know exactly when we'll be celebrating  or what we'll be doing.  I have been making progress on getting this house just how I'd like, due in part to some very serendipitous furniture finds.  Someday soon I hope that things will be presentable enough for some pictures.

Meanwhile pictures of this stuff will have to do.

Nothing as fun as painting or hanging pictures, but we finally got this vent cover removed for a well deserved cleaning and found, in the wall, a puzzle in its entirety, it's pieces apparently to irresistible to keep from shoving through the slats.

We went to the arboretum,

and the pumpkin patch twice.

We went to the State fair, where the food was good,

the Ferris wheel was exhilarating,

The treats were yummy,

the roller coaster was scary,

and the spook house was awesome!



Luke was the recipient of this fantastic quilt made by his Grandma Linda, that he just loves!

I am growing a baby, still.

I think this was from last week which would make me about 20-21 weeks here.  I can't remember anything anymore.

And this shirt finally sealed the deal for all the doubters out there,

 the ones who have been watching me get fatter yet were still too scared to say anything.  I can't say I blame them, but it sure was nice when Luke's preschool teacher finally said, "Congratulations! I thought you might be pregnant but I didn't want to say anything in case you weren't."


One of the other reasons I think this past month has flown by is that this has been our most traveled year by far. It's been fun, but in the past 6 weeks, one or both of us has been out of town for parts of 4 of them.  We both went to Vegas for Garth, Dan went to Utah for Boys weekend and BYU game, Dan just returned from Atlanta where he saw another BYU game with his east coast brother. And last week, I went to Wisconsin after my sister, Leah, and 2 of her friends schemed to fly me there to take their respective family pictures.

The 2,000 pictures on my hard drive are weighing heavy on my mind and to-do list.  I was nervous about the trip but took some comfort in the fact that they were all fully informed of what they were getting (me).  I love taking pictures but hate the pressure, especially because I know how stressful it is to get a bunch of kids all dressed up and keep everyone (even husbands) in good humor. And then if the pictures don't turn out? Lame.

 As an aside, I find it quite interesting that as I decided to make a more conscientious effort to look for the little ways God is in my details, they have become so much easier to see.  Two Sunday sermons in a row is kind of crazy, I know, but I just can't help it.

The forecast while I was in Milwaukee was all rain, all the time.  Except for the last day, which only Leah and Chris were available for.  As soon as we realized what this meant (flying all the way there with the real possibility of being rained out) we all started praying.

On our way to the first shoot, it was sprinkling quite a bit.  When we arrived, we got out of the car to discuss our options, and miraculously, the rain stopped.  We hurried to shoot what we could and ended up going for 2 hours without a drop of water.  When we all had our fill, we got back in the cars, drove away and within minutes had to use the windshield wipers again. I sent up a little thank you prayer.

That evening, we headed back out for family #2.  Only this time it was not sprinkling.  It was raining. The clouds were gray and dark in almost every direction. Again, we arrived, got out to discuss our options and within a minute the rain had stopped.  We hurried to get some pictures in before assuming we'd be chased under the porch of the farm house at any moment.  But picture after picture, we shot for an hour and a half before the evening was falling and the last moment captured.

We got back in the car and just as it had that morning, the drops were hitting the windshield as we pulled out onto the road.  Some might call it a coincidence, but not me.

Sunday Sermon Returns

Long, long ago in a land far, far away, back when everyone updated their blogs and people actually left me comments, I had a series of posts called Sunday Sermons.  They weren't really sermons at all, just my attempt to record the hand of God in our lives and the lives of those I know, as I could see it.  And I regret that it has become a thing of the past, because surely between that last post and this one, I have witnessed many instances that have gone unrecorded, aside from a few very special ones living in my handwritten, personal journal.

In fact, over the course of the past few weeks I kept having a bunch of ideas and impressions floating around in my mind.  I was positive if I could just sit down and and corral them all into the same place, they would make a lot of sense and bring me some peace and reassurance.  And add on top of those thoughts, experiences of family and acquaintances that were lining up in perfect support of my discombobulated theory. Just let me sit down and write this out and my mind will rest and I and will have the impressions organized into a helpful pile of words.

Weeks later, when I actually made the time to do just that, I sat down and my mind was blank.  Nothing. All the things that had been flooding me were inexplicably absent.  Blame it on a mind blowing at half mast or a natural consequence of procrastination.  In any case, I got the message loud and clear:

Write it down.  Don't wait.  Without a reminder, time makes it easy to forget things you knew.

For me, there is no reminder like going back and reading my own words and thoughts on a subject that allows me to relive an experience.  Pictures help me too, but it's mostly the words.

So Sunday Sermons are back. They may get a new, more up-to-date name or they may not. But I am making a renewed effort at writing down these things, big and small, as they come.

In the midst of a Sunday School discussion this past week, we talked about Jesus Christ's visit to the people in 3 Nephi. During this visit He prayed for the people and it was written that the joy they felt at that act was beyond their ability to describe.

I couldn't help but think about a time in my own life when the love I felt from a prayer in my behalf changed my heart.

I was in my first semester of college.  I was struggling, due in part to what I believe is the natural child to adult transition, partly due to poor choices (despite my general desire to be a good girl), and the rest I owed to the inevitable and necessary processing of the traumatic experience that had shaped my life, yet I had never really faced.

I felt inadequate and forgotten.  My self esteem was low.  My heart had been broken in a way that I thought it could never recover.  And I was having my first experiences in what would turn into an ongoing struggle with feeling safe. I was not the girl I wanted to be. There was sadness but there was also a bit of anger.  Anger at God for making me suffer.  I  was a good girl, why were these things feeling so hard? Why were they all culminating at the same moment?  Why didn't He love me enough to ease up? Did he not see me drowning down here?

During the midst of it, I attended a meeting for the Young Single Adults of the church.  One of the main differences between the Mormons and other Christian denominations is the belief that there is a prophet of God on the earth today.  In 2000 it was Gordon B. Hinckley.  He spoke at this meeting and gave what would turn out to be one of his most well-known talks, casually referred to as the 6 B's.  He counselled the youth of the church to be grateful, be smart, be clean, be true, be humble, be prayerful. It is a beautiful talk and you can read it right here.

But it was the prayer at the end of that talk  which has left me with this lasting impression.  I had heard general authorities of the church pray many, many times.  But that was the first time I heard them pray specifically for the youth, specifically for me. For me.  He prayed for me.  He spoke to God in my behalf. And it is at this point, like the Nephites, that the love that I felt at that time defies my ability to describe.

I  felt the love of this man and the love of Heavenly Father from head to toe.  The feeling was the most reassuring experience that could have happened to me at that time in my life. God did see me.  He did know my hurts.  Because He let me struggle did not mean He didn't love me, in fact it meant quite the opposite. He did love me.  And I would come to learn that those points of desperation were actually a gift.  They allowed me to develop my trust in Him, to develop a relationship with Him, to learn that should I give it to Him, the sacrifice of my will would bring the fruition of His, and His will for me is always better than whatever I had  planned. President Hinckley loved me and God loved me. God loved me, God loved me.

And what the love and those realizations did to me was the crux of this whole story.  Inspired by that love I decided that whatever the prophet asked of me, I would do. From that experience I knew that he, just as my Heavenly Father had my very best interest in mind.  They loved me and wanted me to succeed and be happy.  Right then, I so desperately wanted those same things and for the first time in a while, they actually felt possible.

It was not an overnight thing.  Some things I could clear up quickly.  Somethings came simply with more prayer.  But some things would not be so easy.  I would get through them with the help of other people who loved me, with great struggle, with prayer, and with God.  But all the while I still suffered, I had the reassurance of that love I had felt.

So.  All of this went through my mind in Sunday School.  The teacher asked, "What can the Savior's prayer for the people mean to us today? What can it help us learn for our own life?" Other comments plus the novel above led me to my own little house where I live today with my husband and 3.5 children.

I was reminded that while I am neither the Savior, nor the prophet, I am the mother and wife of these people.   Just as I knew that President Hinckley and Heavenly Father loved me by that heartfelt prayer for me, I can have a similar effect.  When my children hear me pray specifically for them, for the things that are current in their lives, the hard and the easy, they will feel my love for them and their Savior's love more fully. When my husband hears me pray for his concerns and well being he will know that he is my most precious thing.  And perhaps inspired by that love, this family of mine will have a sense of reassurance and a greater resolve to do what is right. To follow those things that we as parents teach and ask of them and the teachings of our God and our prophets.  Because they will know that I love them and God loves them and that we want nothing more for them than the very best of this life and the next.

Better Late Than Never

Being 5 months pregnant and at least 3.5 months behind on life is no coincidence.  But today it was time to take Luke's 5 year pictures, never mind his birthday was in June. I was careful not to get any pumpkins in the shots because years from now it might confuse him.

On the way to our locale, he asked if we could take just 5 pictures since he was 5 years old.  I tried to break it to him easy that we were going to take a lot more than that.  He's a numbers guy so he wanted the specifics.

How many?

Maybe 100.

100??

50? Is 50 better?

Yes.  We can do fifty.

I shot them fast, he cooperated fairly well, so I snuck in 75. These are my favorites. They're not so fuzzy if you click on them.

Pretty handsome dude if I say so myself.

Coming to Terms

with the fact that in 18 short days, my bubba will be 3 years old.

 Max is a character.  

They way he says yes makes me laugh.


"Yis"


He asks me to draw Harry Potter everyday.  The exact same way.  On a broom, with glasses, boots, and a golden snitch.

And then he rips the (usually terrible) drawing out of my hands and declares with excitement  "I want to watch Harry Potter!"

Whether he means Harry Potter 1, 2, or 3 takes a little figuring out.

Harry Potter 3 is "the scary one" or "with dementors"

Harry Potter 2 is "the train one" or "the one with Doby"

Harry Potter 1 is my favorite request because he calls is "Harry Potter Potta!" The last word being "Potter" with an English accent.

As I walk through the house, I collect the week's worth of daily drawings.  Here's a small sampling, with a couple of "Darf Gators" thrown in.

Dan said my Darf Gator pictures were unrecognizable.


He wants to be Darf Gator for Halloween.

I bribe him to stay happily in the child watch at the gym with a lollipop everyday because I like to start healthy habits early.

He is excited for the baby but I know he has no idea what's really coming.


He will not let an opportunity to say a prayer pass him up.  Consequently, we often say two prayers just so somebody else can have a chance.

He tells me all the time that I'm his baby.


He is addicted to doing headstands on the couch and assumes that position for most of his TV watching.

Music can take him to another world.



There's just something about Nora Jones that does it every time:

If you don't watch that video, I think you might be a little bit sorry.

Another poop post and a baby picture

Over the past week, Luke got a stomach bug.  I think that was only the second time in his five years on earth that he's thrown up, the last time being about 3 years ago.  He had no memory of that and thus no instinct on  what to do or where to run.  I was getting him out of the tub when it happened and I cursed the carpet in our master bath more than I ever have before.  Seriously, carpet in the bathroom? Why, why, why?

After the first pass, I got him turned around to the tub where he continued and between heaves, kept pitifully proclaiming, "I hate this.  I hate this so much."

And then as what often follows throw up in the stomach bug timeline, within a day he was battling diarrhea, which he also found completely disconcerting and in his words "so disgusting".  I don't know why this amused me but maybe it's the fresh perspective and commentary on something that, as adults, we've come to see as just a part of life.

I sat with him in the bathroom for moral support one night before he went to bed. He had cried on the way to his room knowing he had to go, but didn't want to. I was encouraging him to please let it out before he tried to go to sleep. 

He cried on the potty and finally told me, "Mom, you are not going to like this," as if I were going to be so disappointed.

I looked at him wondering what, specifically, he was referring to, not sure if he felt this was the right time to drop some long held confession.  "I'm not going to like what, Luke?"

"You are not going to like this.  This is going to be so, so gross."

But he went.  And he was wrong.  I did like it. Because diarrhea in the toilet is, of course, much preferable to diarrhea in the bed.

He got better and went back to school.  And Dan left for his short and sweet and very much deserved 2 day man trip to Utah.  He was going with the boys in the family to a BYU game and I was excited for him, mostly. I made him a BYU shirt for the "white out" since he didn't own a white BYU shirt.

But after he left, my head cold issues went from strictly a night time occurrence to an all day thing.  The kids felt tortured.  Not only had their super entertaining and fun dad left them, he left them with their sick and tired mother who is comparatively lame even under the best circumstances.

Ava had this sign taped up and ready for Dan by the end of day one.

And then things got (not) better when Ava, threw up all over her bed on night two.  When I ran into her room she was completely disoriented and kept insisting to me that she hadn't thrown up it was just that her hands were slimy, which they were.  

Cleaning up throw up, especially when I am gastrically-compromised by pregnancy, is not on my resume.   I would probably be considered counter productive, as just the smell can send me running.  But Saturday night there was no daddy to call on.  I gathered her blankets, which had thankfully contained it and carried them down to the laundry room. Knowing there was way too much soup to just toss in the machine, I wrapped it up like a wonton and left it for Dan on the washer. 

And then patted myself on the back and went to bed.

And then I woke to Max crying.   

Because he'd thrown up.  Never mind that he sleeps with a bed full of toys and papers and knick-knacks (not unlike his older brother used to). I braced myself again, gathered all the toys, ran them to the bathtub, changed Max's clothes, and his bedding.

And then I patted myself on the back and went to bed.

And then I woke to Max crying.

Because he'd thrown up. Again.  And he would throw up three times before the night was through.  By the end, I was out of bedding and out of blankets.  Max slept on a towel.  And Dan's pile of surprises were now a tower on top of the washing machine.

And then I went to bed again.

We were so glad when Dan got home the next day.  So, so glad. Though I'm not sure Dan was quite as excited.

And totally unrelated and un-gross, we had our ultrasound yesterday.  I was so anxious to see that little baby. The past week or so has been my in-betweener time. There is always the phase where I'm no longer reassured by constant sickness, yet I haven't really started to feel the baby move, I don't have much more of a belly than usual, and I get scared that I'm not pregnant anymore and I dreamt the whole thing up.

But there is a baby in my tummy.

I was slightly distracted by having Max there, but it was good enough for me. It's about 7 oz. now and terribly cute. We'll wait until somewhere around March 6 to see if it's a boy or a girl.  I will be overjoyed with either one. Overall, Baby looks healthy and that makes us happy!