Oh, England!

I've taken my sweet time getting it up here but it's time to talk about England.

So, I went to England.  

The whole trip was planned long before this pregnancy was(n't).  Maybe a year ago, my sister, Chandra, told me her daughter, my niece, Kieran would be performing with her ballroom dance team in Blackpool England. My immediate response was, "I'm going!"

When you talk about exciting locations with friends, we often say, "I'm going!" but I really meant it.  I told Chandra if she was going, I was going too.  And then we went on with our lives.

Some months later, my brother in law, Paul, Chandra's husband, called to say he was surprising Chandra with the trip and wanted to see if I was still interested.  Of course I was! 

The only hiccup that came along was the whole "will we have a job?" dilemma that needed to be sorted out.  But I paid my deposit to tag along with the ballroom dance group anyway.    

Buying a plane ticket became troublesome because I didn't know whether I'd be traveling from Dallas or Denver.

When Denver became our destination, Baby #5 made himself known, bringing the biggest question mark of all.  I just didn't feel really comfortable, flying internationally by myself, pregnant.  But after running it by my OB, he told me I'd be crazy not to go.  So I bought my ticket and paid the rest of my money.

And then for the weeks leading up to it, I ran through every scenario, I planned out all the meals I would pre-make for my saint of a husband who'd be taking the week off, and I worried.  

When things got tough around the house, or I was feeling particularly down, the consolation always was, "In a few weeks you"ll be in England!"

In preparation I washed, folded, and put away every single piece of laundry within a 12,000 square foot radius.  I made 7 nights worth of dinners.  I wrote out every minute detail of the last week of school including Luke's Kindergarten graduation.   

And then the day came and I was off. I had some apprehension but I knew I'd feel better once I met up with Chandra in Blackpool, where the group had already been for the past two days.

I flew to Manchester, England.  

I took a train from Manchester to Blackpool.  

And then I took a taxi to the hotel.  

Kieran was at dance practice and Chandra was on an excursion so I took advantage of the empty room and slept a few hours, which was helpful because that night we would be up late for the performance.  

We got to the venue in time for the professionals Latin competition which we watched until it was time for Kieran's standard formation team.  

The whole affair was a fancy thing.  We had been assured that our typical "Sunday Clothes" would be sufficient but I couldn't help but feeling a bit under-dressed in my cotton maxi dress and cardigan. 

When it was Kieran's time to perform and some of the more serious spectators stepped away to the bar, we snagged their front row seats, which were unknowingly in the reserved section, to see better and take pictures.  After the dance, as we walked back in our "Sunday Clothes" and I saw the reserved sign, I knew we looked so....American. And not in a good way.

But I got the pictures and that's all that matters!

 How many people can say they performed at Blackpool? Very, very few. I am super proud of Kieran. And seeing her do it was definitely the highlight of my trip.  And not just because the trip took a bit of a downward turn from there on out.  It was just one of those times, I felt like it was a true once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

That night, as we left to go back to our hotel, and we walked down the wide, red carpeted stairs, my right knee started to ache a little bit.

The next day we went on a church history tour of Preston, England.  I didn't know what to expect but I pleasantly surprised.  After the church was restored in America in 1830, the first missionaries came to Preston, England.  The conversions which happened there, "saved the church".  This river was the site of many baptisms.

It was a beautiful little town.  And I learned a lot from our very knowledgeable tour guide.

That afternoon we went to the Temple.  It was a little crazy to me that even though this was not a "church trip" all involved were members of the church, which allowed for these side trips.

The grounds of the Preston Temple are beautiful.  Chandra and I spent some time in the garden and around the grounds taking pictures.  

My knee was still giving me trouble but mostly only going down stairs.

The next day we had some free time, so Chandra showed me around Blackpool.  It was just like a beachy vacation spot should be, colorful and salty, with a retro vibe. 

Of course it wasn't yet in season, so things weren't busy, but I didn't have trouble imagining the people who would stroll the boardwalk, eat the taffy, or ride the carousel in a few months.

These stairs leading down to the beach would not let me leave without using them for a little portraiture.  Chandra was thankfully willing to be my model.  

After looking around Blackpool we decided to ride the train back to the neighboring town, Poulton Le Fylde and check it out.

It was home to a beautiful old church which dates back to Super Old.  When we visited they were setting up for a wedding the next day.  What a dreamy place to get married.

We wandered around town and came to another one of my favorite parts of the trip.  It's kind of silly though because it was in no way grand or exciting.  

But we wondered about the Bowling Green sign we saw in the local park and went to check it out.

Turns out, it is where you play Bowls.  It appeared similar to Bocce. The players were very friendly.  They invited us to play but we figured we would make a better audience.

I just loved sitting there watching.  It was peaceful and fun.

I took the requisite red phone booth photo. I tried to get into the Ministry of Magic but they must have known I was a muggle.

And here's the thing.  I hate being pregnant for so many reasons. It's no secret. The only good thing about it is the spectacular prize at the end.   I loathe how I look and I'm not just talking about the fat tummy part. My face gets pregnant.  My nose actually gets pregnant.  And if you try to be nice and tell me I look the same, or if you really do think I look the same and you tell me about it, I will want to poke you in the eye with a toothpick.  

I wanted to be in England and I wanted to have pictures to prove it.  It took all of my will power not to delete every one we took.

Poulton still had their stocks in the town square.

For lunch I tried the jacket potato with beans.  It was pretty yummy.

When we decided to return to Blackpool, we headed to the train station. My knee was ramping up the dial and the stairs in the station were awful both up and down.  I fell asleep on my own lap as we waited for the train.  

That night we took in some more amazing ballroom dancing.

Saturday we said goodbye to Blackpool and boarded a huge tour bus bound for London.  Along the way we stopped at Warwick Castle.  My knee was really starting to get to me.  It wasn't just the stairs anymore either.  Each step was starting to be a bummer.

At one point this castle was one of Henry VIII's.  It was lived in until the 1970's.  I can't remember too many more specifics but it had some crazy old stuff and lots of famous names.  

Like Marie Antoinette's clock.

The thing I kept having to remind myself was that this was not Disneyland or Medieval Times or some other made-up attraction.  It was such a huge tourist destination that it did feel very touristy, hardly authentic, although it obviously was. 

I pretended I was tough and that pain is mental and I climbed the battlements.  But that pain was so physical, I felt more stupid than tough.  

The views were spectacular though.

The peacock garden did not disappoint either.

After Warwick, still on the way to London, we stopped at Stratford Upon Avon to visit Shakespeare's home.

My knee was becoming more bothersome with each step, but I loved the feel of this town.  I wish we had more time to explore and enjoy, but that's not the way things go when you travel with a large group. 

Shakespeare's home was just as cute as expected. 

Apparently, for years and years, when visitors came to his home, they signed the windows.

                         

 I was very impressed with his flowers.

We hit major traffic on the way into the city and we finally arrived at the hotel exhausted.  

 While I loved the view from the balcony...

The room was...something else.

Tiny, would be an accurate descriptor.  The bed touched three walls.

With an conveniently placed shelf overhanging the left side.  We had to pull the bed out from the wall for us to sleep in it and when we did, it blocked the door.

They were nice enough to stuff some toilet paper in the old keyhole to thwart the peeping toms.

When we went to bed the exhaustion and hysteria set in and we literally laughed ourselves to sleep with tears in our eyes over the state of the room and how awful it would be if Chandra fell into the hole between the wall and the bed in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, Chandra was not laughing at 2am when her asthma was keeping her from sleeping and breathing because so much cigarette smoke was getting into our room.  We assumed it was from the open window (because our room was tiny and hot and had no air conditioning).  The front desk receptionist said there was nothing to be done, all the rooms were full.

Lucky for us, the hotel staff went into our room while we were gone the next day, gathered up all of our stuff (minus our toothbrushes, medicine, plug adapters and phone chargers) and left it all in the lobby so that we could move rooms that night.  We were able to recover everything except the toothbrushes and the medicine.

Sunday morning we went to church in Hyde Park.  My knee was worse.  If you have been to London, you know that every tube station has stairs.  Lots and lots of stairs.  And they were torture. But there was nothing to be done.  I had to get where we were going or I had to stay at the hotel.  Heaven knows I was not about to "hang out" in our room.

After church, we walked with a smaller group through Hyde Park to Kensington Palace.

I wish I would have had time to linger in the park and maybe eat some lunch and watch some people.

Seeing the royal dress collection was interesting.

Chandra and I followed it up with lunch at a creperie where I could get off my knee and try to get a hold of Dan in hopes he could speak with my doctor to come up with a treatment plan, while the rest of our group hit up another museum.

Dan did speak with my doctor, but there was not good news.  Ibuprofen would be best, as I knew, but not a good choice because of the pregnancy.  Ice and rest were the next best choice.  But our schedule did not allow for either.  Except at the end of the night when we returned to the hotel, Chandra was so sweet to procure ice so I could ice it before bed.

Sunday afternoon we went out to Hampton Court Palace.  This was also among King Henry VIII's homes.  Apparently it was his 4th favorite.

I did not pay attention in history class so I learned a lot on our tour. That guy was a complete tool. 

 His palace was pretty spectacular though.  I hobbled through and up and down all the stairs. I caught a more accurate glimpse into the lives of the people during that time, the knights, the cooks, etc.

I learned the origin of the word Eavesdropping, which came from faces carved into the eaves of the great hall.  No one spoke ill of the king, as there was always a pair of ears to hear, including the ones in the eaves.

The stairs were painfully beautiful, literally.

 By the time we made it through the palace, I had to sit down.  I really wanted to meander through the gardens which I'd seen through the windows,  but my leg refused to cooperate any longer.

So we found a nice place outside and waited as I gathered back up my gumption.

Chandra let me take her picture some more.  I didn't even have to get up.  I shot this right from my bench.

I was determined to see at least some of the gardens so with just a few minutes left before we needed to meet the group we fast limped through a small portion.

I wanted to see the Great Vine, the largest grapevine in the world, planted in 1769.  It lives in this green house. 

But I found the most spectacular part to be this area which was home to its extensive root system.

On the way back out Chandra took this picture of me that I actually didn't hate.

By the end of the night, my knee was a full blown Thing. Making it through that last tube station was absolute torture and I took each stair one by one, held up large groups of people, and did my best not to cry.

I could tell that whatever the problem was, it was super inflamed.  Each step made it worse.  When I woke each morning and took my first shuffles to the bathroom, it only hurt a little and every morning, my hopes would soar that maybe it was getting better.  But by the time I was dressed and stepping out of the elevator, I knew it was no better.  With each step, the pain I thought could get no worse, did.

 A doctor in our group guessed it was my IT band.  I've never had much knee trouble in the past, though as I thought about it, when I have been in the running mode, this right knee sometimes did get aggravated.  The only thing I ever did about it was stop running for a week or so and it always seemed to resolve itself.  I knew there in London that there was no way it was going to get better until I stopped walking on it, especially multiple miles each day.

I felt stuck between a rock and hard place. And to add insult to injury, it was becoming clear that, due to the planned out schedule of the group, I would not have the opportunity to see most of the places on my Must See in London list.  And it really bummed me out.


Monday morning was St. Paul's Cathedral.  I knew nothing about it except that the view from the top of the stairs, through the dome was amazing.  An amazing view I was not going to see because stairs were the devil's toys. It turned out I would also not see the inside either.

When we arrived, it was discovered that 2 months before, the cathedral had been removed from the London Pass, so entrance was not covered and if we wanted to go in, we'd have to pay for ourselves.  I think it was upwards of $30.  I didn't feel like it was worth it for me.

I'd have two hours to kill before we were scheduled to meet back together.  I saw a tiny ray of hope that I might be able to squeeze in some of the places I was really hoping to see.  Another mom from the group, was having a touch of trouble with her back and decided to sit the cathedral out with me.  I told her I was thinking about trying to get on the red double decker bus for the hop on/hop off tour.  I didn't want to do any hopping but I wanted to ride through the city.

The first bus wasn't scheduled for a few minutes so we dropped into a pharmacy to look for a knee brace or a cane or something.

Afterwards we found our ticket guy right by this gum and butts light post and bought our $50 tickets. 

 At that point, price was no object to me.  I was going to see London and I wasn't going to have to walk to do it.  And I had no idea that the swindling ticket man would turn out to be a butt himself.

When we told him we had 1.5 hours before we had to meet our group, he hesitated.  This tour was much longer than that.  He tried to show us how we could hop off at one stop and hop on at another and cut off one whole side of the city and shave off the time we'd need.  But we needed to start on this one certain bus and it would be here in 2 minutes.

I mean, 5 minutes.

20 minutes later, the bus arrived, we were down to an hour and not feeling confident that even if we skipped a side of the tour (and got lucky enough to do it correctly) that we would make it back in time.  

He put us on the bus and tried to explain to the driver what needed to happen.  He and the driver disagreed over whether it was even feasible.  

And out of nowhere, my "friend" got testy. It's true, I just wanted off the bus and I wanted my money back too, but if I was going to insist on that I would have gone about it in a totally different manner.  I have rarely been so embarrassed.  She was so rude and she was yelling and saying ugly things. I wanted say, "I'm not with her.  I don't even know her" and run away but I couldn't.

Long story short, they refused a refund.  We had no choice but to attempt to work the plan.  

I settled into my seat on the top level, my hands completely full.  I had my bag, my ticket, my purchases from the pharmacy.  And at my "friend's" insistence, I was trying in vain to use one of my limited international texts to text the lady in charge to tell her we'd meet up with them at the next site so we could actually enjoy the tour we'd paid for.  

Meanwhile the bus is driving, and I'm missing London and I try to snap a picture from my phone of the London bridge as we drove across it, and of the Tower bridge across the river.

I am so flustered.

We realize that we have to get off at the very next stop to try to switch buses if we want to have any hope of meeting our group.  

The text would not go through.

As we get off, there is another ticket man hoping to direct us to where we wanted to go.  We try to explain our predicament and he too, is skeptical that we'll make it, but directs us to the bus we need.  About this time, I realize that my hands are still full of everything except my bus ticket.  I have dropped it somewhere along the way.

I quickly tell the ticket man, who watched me walk off the previous bus, and ask if he could reprint my receipt, which was obviously required for hopping on and off.

He should have been standing next to a butt lightpost, too.  He said, "no."

My "friend" resumed her yelling and I started to cry.  At that moment I just wanted to be home.

We bought tickets for the public bus and returned directly to St. Paul's Cathedral, just a few minutes before our scheduled meet up time.

If you're keeping track, I paid $50 to ride the bus for one stop and see the Tower bridge, which I "walked" to later that afternoon for free.

  

That afternoon at the Tower of London, after hobbling slowly and taking a picture or two, 

 I sat on a bench across from this blue door, alone,  for nearly an hour and a half. I had been left to my own devices because I could not keep up with the tour. My arsenal of devices often includes tears and this time was no different. I had a small break down as the realization dawned that my hopes and expectations for the trip were vastly different than the reality.

 The day's consolation prize was that evening's trip to see Wicked.  I felt like I could hardly call myself a real Mormon woman because I'd never seen it and therefore couldn't love it.

Before the show we grabbed a quick pasty for dinner across the street at Victoria Station as recommended by Mom.

I tried to take a picture of us at the show but no matter the angle at which I held the phone, I looked terribly unattractive.  Covering my face seemed to be the best option.  Chandra covered hers to make me feel better. 

I really enjoyed the show.

Getting home that night was The End.  I knew that even if I wasn't scheduled to leave in the morning, I would have been unable to do anything the next day anyway.

I said my goodbyes to Chandra and Kieran, who still had a few more days in London before they headed off on their own to tour Ireland.

I made it onto the train towards Heathrow Airport.  I sat in my seat as we rocked down the track and the tears trickled down my cheeks.  

My knee was hurting so much.

I had hoped to have a relaxing, rejuvenating adventure, without kids, without worrying, but I was returning back to life at half capacity.

Dan had been so kind to take off a week of work.

I had put in so much time and preparation to leave and I'd had such high hopes.

We had spent so much money for me to do this.

I saw some wonderful places but the majority of my wishlist remained unseen.  

Tear, tear.  Sniffle, sniffle.

And then I remembered the present I had bought for my parents at Warwick Castle.  I didn't have it.  I realized it had never made the switch of hotel rooms in London.  And it wasn't cheap. This realization was the proverbial straw on my crybaby back.

My sniffles turned to full on, hormonally exaggerated sobs.  You are so glad you weren't with me because I was super embarrassing. I looked down and shielded my eyes with my hand. All the disappointment came pouring out along with tears and snot.  I eventually had to look up because it was dripping all over my shirt.  When I did, this sweet lady across the aisle was holding out a tissue for me.

I'm sure her mind supplied scenarios of what this pregnant lady's issue might be.  Maybe her husband left her alone and pregnant. Maybe she just found out that her baby has a birth defect.  Maybe her Grandma died.

I'm pretty sure she never thought I was crying because my vacation didn't turn out like I'd planned. That made me feel guilty and I cried some more.

I was happy to go home.  That was the only remedy in my mind. I think being off my knee for 16 hours helped initiate the healing process.

It's taken me a little time and distance to write about this trip but as I've taken it, I've come up with a list of my favorite parts.

1.  Seeing Kieran dance.

2. Spending time with Chandra, just us.  We have 11 kids between us, which means that even when we rarely do get together it's amid chaos and confusion. (But we do love our kids!)

3.  Laughing ourselves to sleep the first night in London.

4.  Seeing Wicked

5. Falling madly in love with After Eight dinner mints and discovering I can buy them at World Market here in the U.S.

6.  Chandra recovering my parent's present from the hotel staff after I'd left.

7.  Watching Bowls

8. Seeing lots of things I'd never seen before and many that I WILL see again.

Because there is only one thing left to say to dear old England, in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, 

"I'll be back!" 

Ava at 9

 She went ahead and did it. 

Even after my explicit instructions to the contrary.

 Ava turned nine.

This past year has been a one of marked growth for her.  She seems more responsible with each day that passes.

She does her chores everyday, without reminder, without fail.

She looks after Finn and gets him after naps. In fact she helps out all the brothers. 

She is invaluable help and the perfect shot of femininity that our household needs.  She orchestrates the surprises and the thoughtful presents.  The boys are more than willing to go along, but she is the initiator.

On her birthday wish list, item #7 was: A Sister

I wasn't excited to tell her our new baby would be a boy but she has taken it beautifully, only leaving a few disparaging entries in an open diary.

She is so silly.  She loves to tell stories and jokes and does so with great animation.

She loves her books.  Her shelves are full, so next to her bed are towering stacks of her current reads.

And she has ridden the wave of this Colorado move better than I expected.

School may never be her favorite thing, but that's alright with me.  

Her teacher says she's one of the hardest workers she's seen and as far as I'm concerned, that is as much as I can ask.

I pray daily that her confidence will grow as fast as her body. 

And that she will learn to see herself for the beautiful, kind, creative, creature that she is.

As much as I hate to see her growing up, she is doing a really beautiful job of it.

Random Rundown

Sitting around the table the other night for our Family Home Evening treat, just following our discussion of summer plans and goals, I admitted that I was having trouble thinking of my goal.  And what I should have said was, that I wanted my goal to be spending less time on my phone but I wasn't sure how to turn that into a measurable thing.  Luke, being ever so helpful, thought I just needed a goal.

 "Oooh!  Oooh!  I know what your goal should be, Mom.  Your goal should be that by the end of the summer you can do the splits!"

At nine months pregnant, that would be quite a goal, indeed. I think I'm going to stick with limiting my phone time.

While I was in Chicago last month, Dan texted me this picture of the extra tooth he discovered while helping Luke brush his teeth.

The two baby guys there in front weren't really even loose.


So last week, the dentist explained, that while very common, Luke's situation would benefit from pulling those four bottom baby teeth. At six and half years old, Luke has been quite anxious to lose a tooth.  I don't think any of us expected it would happen this way, but he wasn't really worried about it and was looking forward to the 4 tooth pay-off from the Tooth Fairy.

When Max heard the news, he was devastated.

Luke kept reassuring him, "Don't worry, Max! I'm going to be fine!"


But when the day came, both Luke and I underestimated how things would go.  Really, the whole process went perfectly and was quick and smooth, just as we had been told.  But still when it was over, he was quite woozy from the laughing gas, bleeding pretty good, and generally not feeling well.

 We had planned that he would go to school after his appointment but decided a milkshake and lounging on the couch sounded better.

On the drive home, I got a call from the school nurse letting me know that Ava had stepped on a large embroidery needle on the playground at recess and it had gone through her shoe and into her foot.  The nurse assured me that since her tetanus shot was up to date, she'd probably be fine even though the needle was "huge and dirty."  Knowing Ava, I pictured her wailing and freaking out in the nurse's office, but the nurse informed me that she was already back in class and never really even cried.

It was not the Colton kid's best medical day but they both handled things well. (And I did call the pediatrician's office about Ava who also said that because tetanus was up to date, all we needed to do was watch for infection).

Luke, minus a few teeth,

A few weeks ago, I got a desk set up in our so-far-unused study for Luke to do his art and circuits and puzzles on.  After the first day, I noticed something odd.

My poor girl head was in time out.  When I asked him about it, he said she creeped him out and had to turn her around.

Aunt Leah visited us last weekend. And we loved it! Even Finn wasn't shy!

Max finished up his preschool year.  After an unfortunate incident at church a few weeks ago, when a primary teacher insisted he was sick because he used the restroom twice, and wouldn't let him return to primary, he has gotten really nervous about going to church or school.  I bribed him to go to the last day of preschool.  And thanks to Leah's genius idea to draw a heart in the palm of his hand so he would remember that I love him, he very reluctantly went to primary again.

But when it came time for the preschool program, he didn't want to do it. At dinner the night before, he told us, "tomorrow is my preschool program.  I get so nervous it's makes me sick!"

 The heart in his hand and the promise of a milk shake finally convinced him to be brave.

  

"But I'm not going to sing."

"And I'm not going to smile."

And he didn't.  

He even pulled his turn around for the picture trick. 

I didn't care though.  I told him I was just happy to see him up there.

He will have this same class again next year with these same teachers and I think that will be great.

I thought I left the tornado weather behind in Texas but I was so wrong.  Three days in a row, my cell phone went crazy with beeping and vibrating alerting me to "take shelter!" Funnel clouds spotted right near our house.  The kids had to do "duck and cover" at school for an hour one day and 20 minutes the next.  

I never felt like we ever needed to get in the basement, though.  Instead I ran outside to take pictures of the crazy clouds.

Finn has been keeping things exciting around here as usual and has exhibited quite the variation of interests.  Some are typical baby stuff, like his affinity for remote controls,

and balls,

but others are kind of weird like his love of pencils and toothbrushes. Here is the pile I gathered on my last tidy-up.

 But by far the most bizarre, is his love of brooms.  Every day he fusses until I help him get the one from behind the trash can and he digs out the other from the mud room.  And then he carries them around the house. He threatens to take people out three stooges style, which is what happens when you try to carry something three times your height. He loves them.  

One can't be sure what would inspire such a love of brooms, but I think we can all be certain that he did not inherit it from me.

A Mother Again

I've decided that I really can't be pregnant on Mother's Day.  The whole situation is a set up for some major blubbering.

We found out last week that I will be a mother again to a son. I will not lie.  When I saw the telltale anatomy on the ultrasound, I knew first thing, without any word from the ultrasound tech, and a tiny little corner of my heart broke off and sat in the pit of my stomach.

Sure, I have some superficial reasons for wanting a girl: I am so tired of the boy clothes we've been wearing around here over the past 6.5 years that if I have to pull out those old boxes again, I will set them on fire.  And I am fresh out, plum empty, completely at a loss, for another boy name.

 But mostly my heart was broken for Ava.  I knew she would be a good sport about it, even though she'd begged from the beginning to "please let it be a girl!" And I know that she will never know the difference because it's hard to miss what you never had.  But the years and years of love and support and memories with and of, my sisters scrolled through my mind and I am just sad to think that she will never have that. She will have brothers that love her and care about her.  But a sister.  Man, I would have long ago gone crazy without my sisters.

The ultrasound continued as we saw the heart beating away and his little brain.  We counted fingers and toes. He bounced all around and back and forth.  His profile was perfect with his little nose.  Max sat in a chair next to me while Dan entertained Finn, and was in awe.  By the time that ultrasound was over, there was no more room inside me for any feeling except love and gratitude.  I get to have another baby! Another boy! A mother couldn't love her sons (and daughter) any more than I love mine! And he's healthy! What in the world do I lack?

Dan and I parted ways after that, me to my doctor's appointment and he to pick up the big kids from school. We agreed that I would bring home some type of blue treat for the kids as a surprise. Max agreed that he would not tell our secret and that he would get a surprise too.

After the doctor, I stopped and got blue "It's a Boy!" balloons and a little bag of blue candies for each kid.  While I drove home and the bouquet of balloons bopped against my leg, my phone rang.  Dan told me the jig (or is it gig?) was up.   As soon as the kids got into the van after school, Max yelled,

"MOM HAS A BOY BABY IN HER TUMMY!"

Dan reminded him, "Max! You weren't supposed to tell, remember?!"

"Yeah, I renember.  I just really wanted to!"

But Dan told me Ava was happy and already thinking of boy names.  Now, if I can get her to go buy a new baby wardrobe, all my concerns will be resolved.

I am at peace.  I am happy for my new little boy.  Heavenly Father is completely aware of our family and everyone in it, that I have never doubted.  So if a little boy is the cherry on top of this crazy-town sundae, it will be delicious.  Finn and New Baby will be quite the pair at 18 months apart. I was also reminded that Ava has 5 girl cousins very near her age, all of whom she loves dearly, and all of whom can be close sister types to her as she grows up.  My prayers for that will never end.

So Sunday was Mother's Day.  I woke up to a delicious breakfast in bed, orchestrated by Ava.  And cards and presents and drawings.  It's the best way to wake up.

My mom left me a sweet message on Facebook and I got all kinds of emotional thinking of her and how much I love her.  I love her!

I have a mother and I am a mother.  These relationships surrounding me are the most fulfilling of my life.  They mean everything to me.  And it never gets old. This ain't my first rodeo. It's not my first baby. It's not my first boy. It's not my first Mother's Day.  But that's the beauty of it.  No matter how many times it happens, unlike so may other things in life, it never loses its savor.

HalfWay

On our first date Dan played me this song:

I probably shouldn't admit this but, while it sounded familiar, I had no idea what it was or who sang it.  I was a country music girl back then.  My baptism into classic rock followed as quickly as our subsequent dates. Now I know who Bon Jovi is.

And on that note, I would like to dedicate this next song to Dan Colton.



*picks up microphone*

WOOOAAHHH, we're half way there!

Livin' on a prayer.

Take my hand,

we'll make it, I swear!

WOOAAH, 

Livin' on a prayer.

We are halfway through this pregnancy! Though on the flip side I guess that also means we are halfway closer to being a full fledged circus.

We are halfway to sending our oldest kid to college!

You're halfway to retirement!

This is my pep talk for you, for us.

We've got to hold on to what we've got!

It does make a difference if we make it or not. 

We've got each other and that's a lot.

For love, we'll give it a shot!

Thanks for your late nights and hard work.  Thanks for doing the dishes.  Thanks for whispering "Baby, it's okay" when I'm crying in the night, dreaming of running away.  You are my hero. I do recognize your efforts and I love them! 

*in my best breathy Bon Jovi voice*

Hey, Danny.  It's tough.