Of Food and Foundations

Because I have been feeling much more hungry than usual for the last four months as a result of my training, I have given much thought to food--mainly to how I feed my family, and how I want to be fed.

My little sister sent me a text this morning that said, "My weight rarely changes; it's like my [body] shape decided itself a long time ago." My reply was, "If you think about it, our bodies DO somewhat choose their shape early on. We were blessed to be raised in a home where sound nutrition was the norm, which set us off in the right direction." (Do I sound smug? My grandma says I'm smug. But she always says it with a smile, so I don't know if she's serious.)

I grew up in a home where we were nourished well--both in quantity and quality. My mom stayed at home with us seven children, and had several hearty, healthy dinners that she kept in regular rotation. We didn't stay away from any one food group, but we didn't indulge in any one food group much, either.

Moderation was the goal.

We were taught not to tie our emotions with food in an unhealthy way--i.e., do not pacify with food. But we did use food as a communication tool ("Rae, let's make some cookies while you tell me about your latest crush.") and learning tool (chocolate chip math, anyone? Family Home Evening lesson about taking care of our bodies?), and we bonded around the dinner table.

This is where that line between emotion and food is blurred for me--some of my sweetest memories are marked by a family meal. Thanksgiving, of course, but also dinners here and there where we were simply together and happy around the table. On Sunday evenings, when Monday-dread was looming and church-tiredness started to set in, my four sisters and I would make chocolate chip cookies. Always we ended up laughing or confiding, feeding each other's souls.

So I do believe that it is natural to have some emotional ties to food, and even healthy. So long as food is not the only way by which we work through emotion.

I was talking to my grandma once about the wonderful meals she served when I was little and we stayed at her house in the summers. She still makes amazing meals, when her aging spine lets her. I said, "Grandma, I miss real food. You know. The food you make. Food that just is what it is....real butter. Real mashed potatoes. Corn on the cob from your garden out back. Don't you think there's something to be said for the way we used to eat?" She gave an emphatic "Yes," but then laughed and said, "Except for the lard. And the fact that we were laborers back then."

I'm grateful to have been given a foundation in my childhood of good nourishment and an active lifestyle. I feel like it has definitely shaped how I eat now, and how I am teaching my children to eat. I am learning that extremity in any direction isn't healthy....if I want a cookie, I will eat a cookie. But I most certainly don't need 12 cookies. :) (Sometimes I do eat 12 cookies. No exaggeration there.) I do think that if I eat plenty of produce during the day, it is alright for me to have some hefty "real" mashed potatoes for dinner. And I also believe that now and then, it's alright to have a day when we simply eat what we want, because we want to. Even that isn't bad--in moderation.*

Everything in moderation.**

*I would like to state that I am in no way an expert. These are simply my opinions, and you can feel free to take what I've said and throw it out the window! :D
**I would also like to state that in our family we are free of any allergies, which makes it quite easy to eat a variety of foods.
***Thirdly (is that a word?), in general, I eat at about Great to Medium on the spectrum of healthful food choices. I'm not a health nut, but I do try to stay away from McD's and such.

I Just Wanted to Say to You Readers:

If your 4-year-old punched your 6-year-old in the nose and made it bleed,

you're not alone.

If your 2-year-old punctured your 4-year-old's foot with a rake,

you're not alone.

If your bathroom smells disgusting, takes an hour to deep-clean, and STILL smells disgusting afterwards,

you're not alone.

If your 4-year-old uses his carpet for a toilet,

you're not alone!!

And if you find it simply exhausting and overwhelming to keep your temper in check when all of these things happen in ONE DAY.....

you guessed it. You're not alone.

It has been quite the day. I will recover, but at the moment, I have put myself in time-out until I feel forgiving.

An awesome article

My aunt emailed this article to me a couple of days ago. It was published on Mother's Day, but I think it's applicable all year! I'm trying today to pick myself up off the ground (that's right--4:44p.m., and I've still done hardly a thing.), quit being lazy and remember my priorities, and this article just makes me smile. Enjoy!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sunday, 10 May 2009, (Mother's Day) Daily Herald Article

Congrats, mothers -- you're doing it all wrong

Lenore Skenazy - Special to The Washington Post

Happy Mother's Day, you moron, Love, your pals in the baby business.

If you're a mother, you might recognize that sentiment -- sweet wishes

from the passive-aggressive baby industry that wants you to feel so

completely, even dangerously unprepared for the challenges (they're

always "challenges") of parenthood that you will run out and read its

magazines, buy its products and take its advice. Ka-ching!

Here's a tip from a little article on flying a kite with your kid:

"Choose a sunny day when there's no chance of lightning."

You mean, don't fly kites when there's a funnel cloud headed for the

driveway? Got it.

Or how about this pointer from Parenting magazine on how to delight your

baby: "Lean in close and kiss her nose." Kissing my baby. Why didn't I

think of that?

And here's my favorite recommendation from a book of "Baby Must-Haves"

(yes, a 200-plus-page volume on items you simply must buy unless you

want your baby to be seriously deprived): "You'll get more bang for your

buck with a toy that can be played with in more than one way -- for

instance, a push toy that can also be pulled."

Now, you've got to feel sorry for the poor writer who had to come up

with something -- anything -- to say about a pull toy. But can you think

of a push toy that can't be pulled? Can you think of /any/ toy that

can't be pulled, besides a cranky daddy trying to watch SportsCenter?

These tips treat parents as if we were the 2-year-olds, so wet behind

the ears that we need an expert to tell us which games to play, which

toys to buy, what to say to our kids and what to feed them. This talking

down to parents is big business; the "mom market" has reached $1.7

trillion in annual revenue, according to the book "Parenting, Inc.,"

with $700 million spent on zero-to-age-2 toys alone. That's a lot of

pull toys.

Excuse me. Push and pull toys.

The whole gestalt is enough to convince us moms that today's children --

unlike all those who came before them -- do not have their trajectory

pretty well mapped out simply by being born human: cry, crawl, toddle,

walk, grow up, breed and cry some more. No, this generation won't make

it without a whole lot of help from specialists, safety gear and

Internet searches. But why? Are our children more vulnerable -- and we

less competent -- than any previous generation in history?

Of course not. But that's the message we're getting. We're living in a

time when parents worry about their offspring's safety and development

and health and you name it (OK, I will: SAT scores, emotional IQ, body

image, rattle skills, pacifier addiction, iPod addiction, self-esteem,

potential abduction, Facebook friends, cookie intake) more than ever,

thanks to a parenting industry that relies on turning us into nervous

wrecks.

It begins even before the baby's born. There are books and books about

what to eat during pregnancy, as if the average expectant woman couldn't

figure out whether she should choose the kale or the Krispy Kreme. (And

by the way, even that doesn't matter as much as the books make you

think. As my doctor told me: Just eat like you normally would, only a

little more -- and add some folic acid. I toasted her with a Yoo-hoo.)

That kind of counsel is too reasonable for the parenting-industrial

complex. Taking a chipper-but-chiding approach that sets the tone for a

whole generation of parenting advice, the "What to Expect When You're

Expecting" pregnancy guide goes so far as to remind moms-to-be that

"each bite" is a chance to give their babies the perfect start. Which

must mean that not making "each bite" nutritionally stellar risks

ruining your kid forever. There's no rest for the weary parent in this

high-alert world, especially after the little bundle arrives. Take, for

instance, the baby bath thermometer, an item so popular that there are

several competing brands on the market. The cheapest one looks like a

rubber duck. Place it in the tub and if the bathwater is too hot, these

words magically appear on its tummy: "TOO HOT."

You'd have to be convinced that you're incapable of testing the water

temperature with your own hand before you'd buy this gadget. But that's

what that crafty duck is out to do: undermine your confidence in your

own childrearing capabilities. (Never mind that the instructions on the

back of the package remind adults to "ALWAYS" check the temperature with

their hands first!)

It's hard to feel secure about being a good mom now that every decision

is so fraught with consequences. My friend Lainie Gutterman, who is just

entering her second trimester, says that her head is spinning. "I don't

know what's right, what's wrong, and for everyone who swears by

something," she says, "there's someone who hates that product and thinks

it's overpriced."

Usually that someone is me. And not just because it's a waste of money.

It's because I want the old days back.

For my friends and me -- gals raising elementary and junior-high-age

kids and even some who are just having babies -- things have changed

dramatically in a single generation. The worries that make us

hyperventilate didn't even faze our moms -- and not because they were

lazy or bad. It's just that in the past, people didn't see every tiny

parenting decision as such a big deal. Our moms could feed us formula

and not worry about whether they were subtracting IQ points. They could

let us bike around the block without thinking about last night's Nancy

Grace. They could hang a mobile above the crib and not worry too much

about:

- Whether it was developmentally appropriate (including colors and music).

- Whether the attachments were facing the right way. (Really! I just

read an article that said they should face down, toward the baby, or all

bets are off.) And ...

- Whether we were going to strangle ourselves if we somehow managed to

pull the mobile down, play with the pull chain and accidentally wrap it

around our necks.

They didn't sweat the way we do because they were reading Dr. Spock, the

child-care guru of the 1950s and '60s, who famously began his book "Baby

and Child Care" with the words, "Trust yourself. You know more than you

think you do." Not, "Freak out! Your baby is at a super-important stage

and you must devote every fiber of your being to helping him ace it."

Deprived of this kind of "help," our parents let us stay outdoors till

the streetlights came on, and maybe even fly a kite on days that weren't

perfectly sunny.

Today is a day to thank those moms for all that they did. But it is also

a day to thank the current crop of moms, stuck trying to do their best

in the face of a whole parenting culture that's insisting, "You're not

doing it right!"

Yes we are. Or at least we're doing it right enough, thank you, and the

odds are very much on our side. Happy Mother's Day to us.

Lenore Skenazy is the author of Free-Range Kids: Giving Our

Children the Freedom We Had Without Going Nuts with Worry.

my work

When my grandma is proud of me, she'll say, "You're good at what you do." After she got to hold each of my newborn children, and hear the stories of their births, she always said, "Oh honey, you're good at what you do!" And she'll still do it, when I call her and tell her I'm tired and cranky and barely hanging by a thread. So today, I'm showing off. I'm displaying my motherly work with pride. :) Happy Mother's Day, all of you beautiful friends of mine!

mama marks

As crazy as I get with nit-picking the things I want to change about my body, there are some things that I actually don't mind. It helps me, on days when I feel bound by body-image neuroses, to remember the small things I like.

I wish I didn't store any extra weight in my hips and thighs, and I wish that my body overall was more toned, more...uplifted, shall we say?

But I don't think I'm in a hurry to get rid of my stretch marks. Not that I love them--not that I'm raring to show them off. But they're meaningful to me, meaningful enough that I would feel strange and somehow lost without them.

One day, Reed saw my belly as I was buttoning my pants.
He asked, "Mom? What are those?"

I asked (just to be clear), "What are what?"

"Those marks. Stripes. On your stomach. What happened here?"

"Oh, these?" (And here I was stalling for time, trying to find the positive explanation for something I don't often feel that positive about.) "These are.....these are marks that show I'm a mom. They show that I had a baby in my belly, and they show that my belly grew when that baby grew. These are my mama marks."

He smiles and says, "Mama marks. Like me? Like when your belly grew with me in it? When I grew?"

And I smile and say, "Yes. Like that."

"Can I touch them?"

"Sure."

"....Soft. And shiny. Hey look! They change color."

"Like fish...."

"Yes!"
and later
"Can I see your mama marks again?"

My little boy doesn't find them ugly at all. The colors of nature, the marks of motherhood, right there on my body, are not repulsive to him. Because they are evidence of my willingness to be his nourishment, his protection.

I can live with my stretch marks. I can even like them.

sweet tooth

When the house is clean, and Reed is at school, and Savanna is napping, and I have had sufficient time to lay down for a minute, I like to bake. (This is not the only time I like to bake. If it was, I would bake once every two weeks.) Jaxon likes to pull up a chair to the counter and help out, and sometimes it becomes sweet one-on-one time between us. I love to see his big dark chocolate eyes light up when I offer him cookie dough or ask him to pour in the entire bag of chocolate chips. I like the conversations we have.

"Mom, that's flour and sugar in those white things."
"Yep. Flour and sugar."
"Why do we need eggs in cookies?"
"Because when we bake them, the eggs hold the cookie together."

When I dropped a cookie sheet on the floor-
"Mom, that sound was so loud it almost maked my ears bleed!"

"I maked chicken with dad last night. And then we put it in buh-reedo's." (Chicken enchiladas...he helped Phill shred the chicken.)

"Mom? Why do we pick up the chair instead of scrape it across the floor?"
"Because if you scrape it across the floor, it's loud."
"Yeah. That would make my ears bleed." [At this point I wonder what Reed has been telling him...or if it is just his own conclusion he's reached.]

Lastly, as he was licking cookie dough off his hand,
"Mmmm.....yummy, yummy, yummy."

Recipe to what we made today: My Kitchen Cafe's Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies. The dough is divine....I have yet to actually try the cookies, though I did save some dough to make some. The dough, I can promise, is yummy-yummy-yummy.

POST-EDIT: These cookies are SOOOOOOOO good!!!!

evening peace

Tonight we had an unusually quiet dinner; one that wasn't punctuated by Jaxon's furious outcries over spilled milk (literally), and one where quiet conversation prevailed. The food was good, too. Phill made some chicken that was really flavorful and tender, and I made a salad.

Everything just smelled good, tasted good, sounded good....and outside it was 90 degrees with a slight breeze.

Our backyard, now a happy place with its carpet of green, is in shade from about 2:00p.m. on. The grass makes it cooler (temperature-wise), and with the hint of a breeze today, it was invitingly pleasant out there.

After dinner, the kids were milling around the backyard in plain sight while I did dishes and Phill swept the dinner remnants from the floor. The soft clink of dish-on-sink, the lull of the air conditioner, and the delicious scent of our dinner still in the air; the children on the grass outside, happy and safe; the kitchen slowly becoming cleaner and cleaner after we had filled our bellies.

"This is nice." Says Phill.
"What--that?" I ask, gesturing to the kids outside, singing and making sound effects while they play.
"Yeah. This." And he moves his hand in the direction of the yard, then over our kitchen, then over the dishes and the air around us.

This: Our children, playing without concern or care while we look on. Our dishes, full of food we are grateful to have, now clean after our thankful hands' work. Our marriage, ripe with laughter and friendship and that particular romance that comes from supporting each other through monotonous day after day; until you reach a moment where it is all glaringly beautiful and the gratitude could ooze out of your ears it's so much. When you are reminded that out of all the less-spectacular moments and more-gritty times, there is beauty in shared happiness. Beauty in home.

Yes. Tonight, this is nice.

separation anxiety

At the beginning of the school year, I figured it was advisable to stay by Reed's side when dropping him off, then wave when he walked into class. For a long time, I wouldn't even walk away until he was out of sight.

For about three months.

Then I decided this was rather intensive; I was too clingy, too coddling, and decided to drop him off, hug him, and go right back home. That day when I picked him up, it was clear that this was too much, too soon. "Mom, when you got in the car and drove away my tummy was nervous. I was brave. But my tummy was nervous."

So I very willingly went back to the same routine, although once he was across the threshold into the school, I waved and left. A little better.

If you don't know this about me already, then I'm not very articulate: I have a hard time letting go of my children. This includes all new phases of life for them. Savvy is turning two (ouch), Jaxon will be getting potty-trained soon (ouch, but yay), Reed is a kindergartener....Reed is in kindergarten, two months from the end of the year, and apparently I haven't adjusted myself to this fact yet.

Today we got there five minutes earlier than usual. Reed is his mother's son; he finds comfort in being in line early, being exactly where he needs to be in good time, just in case. (Being prepared soothes his nerves so he can function....like I said, he is his mother's son.) So when he saw that the line wasn't quite formed yet, I could see he felt a bit aimless. He always has friends asking him to play while they wait, but he'll 9-times-outof-10 choose instead to stand next to me in line. I've been wondering of late whether this is the best. I have no problem being with him 'til that very last minute--this is obvious, given that I have done this up until the school year is almost over. And it makes my heart soar when he holds my hand in front of all those tough little kindergarten boys, inviting speculative looks and secret snickers. But in watching his hesitation to go join his friends when there was no line to be had, I realized that our initial separation anxiety (it was shared, yes) became mine, became his, became mine....we've enabled each other.

He had this bottle of vitamin water today. I had to do some errands at Wal-mart before dropping him off at school, so his lunch was this vitamin water (the focus flavor....as if he really needs focus. The boy focuses on everything) and a Lunchable. On our way to the school, he asked, "Mom, can I bring this drink with me when we line up and hold it? Then I will give it to you when it's time to go in....?" I could tell it would make him feel grown-up to be holding his very own bottled drink when he walked into the school yard. (I remember that kind of odd pride....it feels so adult to them to do anything remotely like what is everyday behavior for their parents, doesn't it?) So I smiled and said of course, that was fine.

So, armed with his bottled drink, Reed and I made our way to the school yard. He realized there was no line, he looked to me for his next cue. Two friends of his came up and begged him to join their Pokemon club they were just forming. Reed glanced almost inperceptibly at me and said, "Mmm...no....I....?" I sort of let myself drift a ways away, as if to save him a spot in line. He was not tethered, and he let me let him go. I let him let me go. He ran off with his friends, proudly showing them his drink, probably confidently saying things like, "Yeah, it's mine. It's so great, dude. It tastes like strawberry." I quietly watched him for a bit, and that was when I realized that I am probably long overdue for another little let-go.

There is always an adult in the school yard, corraling and watching over the kids. Often, his teacher is out there already, chatting with other parents or the kids, before it's time to go inside. It's not as if he is completely unattended. It used to be about safety; I used to stay because I was making sure he was safe. But now I know he is safe; now I am sure he is protected and cared for as I would like. I started trusting them a long time ago.

So why didn't I let go (a little more) a little sooner?

I waved him over and told him that I was going to leave then, right then. He said, "Now?" with only curiosity in his voice. Then, "Okay!" No fear. No anxiety. I deemed it the right time. That's right. It's April, and I have finally decided I can officially drop my child off at school....*sigh*

I like to think I'm adaptable, but in this case, the evidence is against me.

I'm hoping he won't mind this change later on. I'm hoping he won't worry about me so much that he feels he has to re-instate our previous routine. Because I know this is best for him (at this point, anyway). He was so happy in the corner of the yard, talking with his friends and showing off and far away enough to feel confident in himself. That's really what it is, I think....I think I have been unknowingly undermining his trust in himself by sticking around like I have been.

It is April, and I think I've just now accepted the idea that Reed is in kindergarten.

Silly me. :)

penmanship

I miss my mom today.

Not a crying-in-bed unable-to-move hurts-unbearably kind of missing.

Just a sigh-here, memory-there, wishing-she-were-here, contemplative kind of missing.

Flowers make my mother think of her mother. Me, too--mostly with peach roses. (We had a few conversations about those.)

And while flowers are beautiful and smell good, they're not necessarily what call my mother to my mind.

Pens. Pilot pens.

While grocery shopping the other day, I realized I had no pen with which to cross off the items on my list. I decided to buy some. (My list was huge.) I picked up a package of Pilot pens and stared at it for a while, just standing there in the aisle with a weird half-smile on my face. Because Pilot pens--those good quality writing utensils--make me think of my mom.

I'm not sure that at the moment I have enough words in me to describe some of the things I love best about my mom. That would be an awfully long post, which might find me crying at the end, the ache for my mother grown sharper. And I think she might have switched to Uni-Ball pens.

But I remember watching her sit at the table, our big kitchen table equipped to seat nine, and I would marvel at her beautiful handwriting and consistent effort. She was earning her degree from BYU through independent study; working around the priority of family, fitting her tasks into the little chinks in our schedule. (Little, little chinks....) It took her ten years--along with a very patient husband and hopefully half-as-patient children--and now she's going to Harvard in the summer. (Really! She is! That's the great part--it's true.)

They'll be in Boston. Not so far away in Japan anymore!

I marvel at my mother--her intelligence and love of learning and boundless talent for teaching. I hear her sometimes in my voice when I say to my children, "Well, let's look that up, because I don't know the answer." And then it's as if she's right there at the table next to me.

Although sometimes it just takes a pen.

Progress

Sometimes I'm really quiet for a long time, because I just can't think of anything to write, or writing what I want takes too much time/effort/thought when I finally get around to it. I like to think of all you readers waiting on the edges of your seats, but I actually hope that isn't the case because I sometimes have these long stretches of silence! I'm working on it. I am. I have a busy couple of weeks coming up here, but I promise I'll make this an interesting piece of internet space soon enough.

Phill was talking about a university that will give him credit for his military service. I think that makes perfect sense. But then I joked, "Oh! Do you think that they give credit for moms, too? Because, I mean, that's....that's a lot of experience, too...." Which started me thinking. Can you imagine a phone call like that?

"Hello, Rachel! This is Life University calling. We just took a look at our records and we'd like to give you some information regarding our school and the way your current education could be put to use here! Do you have a moment?"

"Not really. But I'm intrigued; go on."

"Well, the system goes something like this: Each year of your child's life counts as one school year. And each time they were incredibly sick and you held them and comforted them when you felt like falling over counts as one completed class. We also shave a little off the price of tuition for each time you have to buy food for your family, buy new shoes for each child, get hair cuts for each child, or have to make a doctors' visit co-pay. Furthermore, Mrs. DeVault, we award credit for each stretch mark, each pound gained during pregnancy, each hour of labor, and every time you woke up in the night to feed your baby. And if you were very sick with any of these pregnancies, we'd like to offer you a lifetime supply of gift cards from your favorite restaurant--the one you couldn't go to until you were all better."

What would I be?! Professor Parent? Doctor DeVault? Master Mama?

All of my joking is really leading up to what I'm trying to say, which isn't a joke at all: I am starting to see how progress works. Just a tiny bit at a time, we learn and we expand and our comfort zones enlarge....suddenly a few years have gone by and we're startled to realize that *GASP!* we have progressed!

Some of the things that used to seem so daunting to me now feel like a breeze. A lot of things that intimidated me I have overcome or at least can manage. Although I doubt myself and my strength more as a mother than I ever did, with those daily tests come daily confidence as I conquer. (And daily chances to improve my faith when I fall short.)

I'm not saying that I'm perfect or professional or that I have "arrived".....on the contrary, I am saying that we don't arrive! We learn. We inch along. We take little bites and find in time that we have eaten the whole.....enchilada? My sister told me (from something she read) that progress is meant to be gradual, and that we are wired for progress (Mommy Mantras, Abby? What was it?). That the brain can only handle so much at one time or we simply implode.

When I have an hour or two (or day, week, month) that feels overwhelming and crushing and I am full of thoughts of failure or needed improvement, it helps me to have a little perspective, and realize that all these experiences are good for me. Over a long period of time, I am learning, I am changing, and I pray that I am progressing. These experiences are all credits, and I am very slowly gaining an education.

Growth

Last night we had something of a milestone reached in the form of Reed taking a shower.

That's right. He just stood there and laughed crazy-happy while the water poured down. And Jaxon decided it looked fun, and still thought it was fun when he got a turn!

What's happening? They're growing way too quickly! I HATED showers until I was 15. (That is to say--I took baths whenever I could and hated showers unless a bath was impossible.) Actually, sometimes I still hate showers. (Because I love baths that much.)

Anyway, tonight, I decided to put Savvy in the shower, too. She sat on her tiny hiney and quietly enjoyed the steam and the spatter of water nearby, but was furious when I stood her in the actual stream. (Go figure. She's only 19 months--the crazy-happy laughter will take some time, I suppose.)

It cut our bedtime routine in half. And made it easier. And the kids were cleaner.

They're just so.....growing.....fast. (sigh)

Speaking of growing. Phill leaves for the second half of BNCOC (Army training that Phill has to complete to have a chance of being promoted) starting tomorrow.

He'll be gone for six weeks.

I've been pondering ways that I can grow during this little while, as opposed to regressing and turning into a cranky hermit. (As I seem to do when he's gone.) I'm making myself a list of tips, because I become lazy and overwhelmed and forgetful when he's gone, instead of doing the things that I know will make his absence less difficult. (Mostly.)

Take the kids somewhere each day or at least every other day. The park. The post office. The library. The grocery store. On a walk. To a friend's. Anywhere! Just not at home all day every day, while they beg to "do something" or "go somewhere". This isn't good for any of us.

Ask for help when it's really necessary, but just buck up and do it when I can. *I have a hard time with this one. I am either too afraid to ask for help, even when it's really necessary, or I cease to function under the incorrect and uber-dependent assumption that I can't do anything without Phill.

Do something good for myself each day. This usually falls under reading my scriptures and working out, but I need to work in Girls Night In or Go Take Photos more often. I get so destructively detail-oriented ("Reed, please put your shoes in the drawer facing the other way," I've heard myself say....) when I don't take some good old down time, or even just the pre-requisite scriptures/workout/shower/makeup routine.

I did just come off of a little break in the form of going to Payson to be in the temple with my cousin, who received her endowment. So at the moment I'm not necessarily hungry for an escape. I'm tanked up and ready to go, so to speak. I'm just being mindful of the way things tend to go, which is why I'm making myself a list.

Feel free to add on your own advice!

Food Math

Six huge pieces of cheesecake over two days = five pounds

No, Camilla, I can't eat that much cheesecake with impunity. :)

Back to the treadmill after my long, languishing break.

Soupy weather and cheesiness

The snow that surprised us all here in St.George is long since melted and it was a reasonable 44 degrees today, but I'm still cold! It's the kind of weather that makes me crave soup, so I tried my hand tonight at this broccoli cheese soup from My Kitchen Cafe. It was marvelous, and very easy!

Tonight I'm going to make cheesecake for my very first time (this one, actually). I accidentally bought blackberries instead of blueberries....so I'm not sure what will go over the top--maybe if I like the taste of the blackberries it will be a delicious blackberry cheesecake. Or maybe not. In any case, wish me luck!

Oh, and notice how I am decidedly not posting in a New Year's fashion today? Going against the grain just for the sake of doing so.....but I'm sure a resolve-heavy post will follow soon enough, because really I'm just like the rest of you! :)

Thoughts on Conference....but not what you'd expect!

Abby, thank you, thank you, thank you again for helping me have some logic and perspective when I called almost in tears today. I am certain I picked you for my older sister!

Not logical:
Expecting my three children under the age of six to sit silently through two two-hour Saturday sessions of conference.

Logical:
Asking of them just to sit through at least the Sunday morning session, having provided them with necessary hand-busying activities.

Not logical:
Yelling at my children while I listen to lovely messages about faith, hope, charity, etc.....

Logical:
Being better prepared with not only materials, but a more concrete game plan.

More peaceful impressions to follow tomorrow, I expect. In the meantime, apologizing and catching my breath. Glad to have all sessions recorded and at my fingertips for quieter times.

Birdie Babies

This morning, owing to circumstances mostly beyond my control, I was not up at my prescribed 6:30. (Sidenote: I've actually been enjoying waking up at 6:30 and come to look forward to those early-morning workouts and scripture time! Who would've thought?!) I was lying awake in bed before my alarm at 6:00, actually, but then so was Jaxon, and Savvy followed soon after at 6:20. Phill had to leave at 6:00 for the radio, and so instead of jumping on the treadmill at 6:30 while the babies peacefully slept (original plan), I ended up warm in bed with one snuggly sleepy 15-month-old and a back-to-sleep 3-year-old. And Savanna made it perfectly clear that she didn't just want to continue sleeping--she wanted to continue sleeping in my arms, in bed with me, not moving for the next two hours. Of course I consented!! :) I wasn't about to get out of bed and turn on my very noisy treadmill (I suppose that's the difference between Kmart-deal treadmills and thousand-dollar gym treadmills--noise) and wake up the two darlings sleeping peacefully in my bed.

So I wasn't too disappointed in myself (come on!), and I just hopped on the treadmill after getting the kids breakfast. I put the safety gate up at my bedroom door, put my headphones on, and turned on the treadmill. At first, all three of them stood there, totally enthralled, even laughing at my red sweaty face. Then for about four minutes, they happily occupied themselves with toys and 'toons in the living room. But when they came back to the gate, they began to make it clear that my eleven minutes so far was just torture to them, and that it simply wasn't enough to watch me at the door. (A whole ten feet away. It must have been awful.) So they proceeded, through frantic signing and pained expressions, to coerce me to stop running. Standing there at the gate, their hands on the top, their mouths open in protests that didn't reach my headphones-covered ears, and their eyes pleading, they began to remind me of little hungry birds. (Hungry for me to be right there with them, as opposed to ten feet away on my big, loud treadmill.) And then what song happened to come up next on my iPod?

Lady Madonna
The Beatles

Lady Madonna, children at your feet,
Wonder how you manage to make ends meet.
Who finds the money when you pay the rent?
Did you think that money was heaven-sent?

Friday night arrives without a suitcase,
Sunday morning creep in like a nun.
Monday's child has learned to tie his boot lace--
See how they run.

Lady Madonna, baby at your breast,
Wonder how you manage to feed the rest.

Lady Madonna, lying on the bed,
Listen to the music playing in your head.

Tuesday afternoon is never-ending.
Wednesday morning papers didn't come.
Thursday night your stockings needed mending.
See how they run!

Lady Madonna, children at your feet,
Wonder how you manage to make ends meet.

I know that this song illustrates circumstances much more dire than mine, but it was still hilariously apt and "spoke" to me in that funny moment. I ended my workout after 25 minutes, and made it count, too, with sweat disgustingly pouring down my face. But you would have thought I'd been out of the house for a few hours the way they welcomed me after my shower.

Oh, funny kiddos.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful....beautiful boy...."

We made it. Reed has officially had his first day of kindergarten! I was a hundred times more nervous than he was, and after telling him goodbye in a very falsely cheerful voice as he walked into class with hardly a backward glance (oh, his bravery), I put my head down on the steering wheel and cried like a baby for about five minutes. :) I watched the clock like a hawk the whole time he was gone, and left fifteen minutes early to pick him up.

As the children poured out of their classrooms, I momentarily mistook the fifth-graders for kindergarteners, and then realized that Reed (and most of the other kids his age) are smaller. Much smaller. He seems too small (too young) to be going to school (to be doing all this growing-up stuff). But only to me. He was very mature about the whole thing, wearing a rather seventeen-year-old expression of pride the whole time. On our way to his classroom, he was talking very animatedly about how if we found pirate treasure right now, it would probably be moldy and covered in cobwebs and spiders, and asking me if I think there might still be pirate treasure hidden somewhere (yes). (*Possible pirate treasure and the existence of aliens are two ongoing subjects at our house. I prefer to believe that there are aliens, but that they're not necessarily as TV portrays, and Reed prefers to think that they don't exist at all, or if they do exist, then they'd better have families and happy lives.) I remember I could hardly STAND to think of anything BUT what was ahead of me when it was my first day. He's just so brave. *sigh* I know. I'm awfully sentimental and moony right now. Haven't I every right to be, though? The ball has started rolling, and it just won't stop....elementary...junior high....high school....college....mission...and on and on.

But really, don't get me wrong--I'm so excited for him. I'm excited for his progress, I'm excited for him to have some outlet for his incredibly active mind, and I'm excited to see how he grows through this next year. I'm proud of him! Proud of the wonderful little person he is becoming, proud of his ability to adjust to all these various parts of growing up.

Sidenote: Jaxon missed Reed excrutiatingly. He was sobbing the entire way home, "I don't want to go home!!" and then cried in my arms for a few more minutes when we got home. When I brought out the Legos for him to play with--this was the first time he's played with them all by his lonesome--he was torn between loyalty to Reed and excitement for having it all to himself. He sort of wandered aimlessly with the Legos, brightening up to tell me a few "Guess what--chicken butt" jokes. I'm sure he'll grow to love these hours alone....eventually.

Reed said to me on the way out to the car when I picked him up, with some chagrin, "Mom, I didn't say anything the whole day. I didn't talk! Or play. I was very, very quiet." He seemed perplexed by himself. :) I said, "Well, were you doing that because you were supposed to be quiet? Or did you not know what to say?" And he answered, "I had no words." (Boy, do I know the feeling!) And later, more contemplatively, "Mom, we didn't play. It was sort of boring. We just ate cookies and didn't talk." And then about ten minutes later, it was like a floodgate was opened, and he regaled me with stories of how hilarious his teacher is, how he got to make a soup, how they talked about families, etc. All in all, he was happy about his day. Still feeling it out, though, this whole kindergarten process. His teacher's name is Mrs. Bryner. He refers to her--for now--as Mrs. Brainer. I can't bring myself to correct him yet. It's too funny. And kind of sweet. :)

The funny thing about these pictures is that although in some of them he looks unsure, he's actually quietly begging me to stop taking photos so we can go. After a while, he sighed and said, "Mom, I want to go to school. Can we be done?"

Mama's Day

I thought that after my Young Women lesson (that was on a subject really dear to me--preparing to enter the temple) and a very inspiring and uplifting temple recommend interview, I'd be all cried out today. Not so! My awesome friend Susan has once again stirred me to (happy) tears. I am just on a roll! But she is so good to me, and the post made me feel all warm-fuzzy happy. (Read it here, if you'd like). But I couldn't read it and not respond, because whether Susan realizes it or not, she was as much help to me (or more) as I was to her.

Phill was in Iraq, Reed was three, and Jaxon was still a little half-year-old baby. I was trying to forget how miserable I (often) was by finding friends who were 1) really fun to be around and 2) needed something that I could give, something that would help drive away my self-pity. So I prayed. And very shortly thereafter, Susan moved into our ward. I loved her at once! She told me stories about being a nanny in New York (how oddly glamorous and intriguing!), sat at my house with me while I cleaned and talked to her (because it is soooo much easier when you have someone to talk to), stayed with the boys while I took packages to the post office, accompanied me on trips to the grocery store (which seemed infinitely easier with her there), and had no problem with the fact that if she wanted to hang out with me, she would also be hanging out with my darling boys. (I trust people--and like them--more when they take me as I am, with all my babies in tow. After all, motherhood is pretty darn central to who I am!) So, my darling Susan, you were every bit the lifesaver that you say I was to you!! Happy Mother's Day to you!

And to all you other moms, sisters, wives out there, I'm so happy to call you my friends. I love being able to inspire and lift up one another through this infectious thing called blogging. I love that here I can be proud to be just who I am, and I especially love that motherhood is wholeheartedly commended in this particular network of friends/family I have. Here, I don't feel lonely, just supported.

Happy Mother's Day!

The end/beginning of an era

Today I went to pick up Reed from preschool. Since today is their last day of preschool, they were allowed to play outside for almost the entire day. He was on the swing, going extremely high and pumping his legs. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright, and I stood there trying not to cry. At the beginning of the year, he was afraid to swing. I would push him ever so slightly and he would scream. He didn't know how to pump his legs and do it himself yet. And now, at the end of his preschool year, he is perfectly proficient at this wonderful art. He has overcome a fear and replaced it with progress and bravery. So I waited for a while, just trying to memorize the way he looked, perfectly happy in his hilarious pajama ensemble, blazingly proud of his ability to swing high with bravery and ease.

And all I can think is this: now that the ball has been pushed, it will keep rolling. Next year is kindergarten. Then first grade, and so on and on until he is eighteen and leaving home to go to college and go on a mission and get married and/or whatever else his brave heart will lead him to do. Although I'm more than happy for the progress of my children, all I wanted to do while watching him go higher and higher was stand there and keep watching. Stand there, keep watching, keep smiling at him smiling at me, and never have to say, "Okay! Time to go home." But eventually we did have to go home, and I walked him to the car while he pointed out all the interesting things he sees outside. "Look, Mom! A bird! It's singing!" When he looked at me in concern because my reply was muffled and heavy, I said, "I just have a little frog in my throat." And then I cried and smiled quietly all the five minutes home.

Oh, Reed. You are brave and smart and funny and kind! I'm so proud of you, so proud to call you mine, so honored to have the responsibility of being your mother.

Phill got these socks at the Bodies exhibit in Las Vegas. Reed took a liking to them and hasn't taken them off for longer than a night. He calls them "the bone socks". I think Phill has worn them a total of ten minutes.

This is what Reed wore to school today. You can't see his pants because he's sitting down and his pants are tucked into the bone socks. His shirt says "Got Brett?" which is a reference to Brett Favre of the Green Bay Packers. Obviously Phill doesn't really fit into that shirt anymore--it was my Christmas present to him--because it shrunk so much with the first wash. So it has become some of Reed's favorite pajamas.

Reed and his sweet teachers, Jocelyn Arave and Beth Snoddy. My camera-savvy photo-accustomed child was struck with sudden shyness the moment I asked him to stand with his teachers for a photo.

Get ready....staggeringly happy blog ahead!

Today is November 20th, one day before my oldest baby will turn 5 years old, and he will be not-so-much a baby anymore. It's also two days before Thanksgiving, which might have prompted my thankful mood this afternoon.

I dropped Reed off at preschool, and had to drag a screaming Jaxon from the classroom (He desperately wishes it were his school, too). Then I noticed that my runny-nosed Savanna was eagerly stuffing the paper flier I held into her mouth, smearing it with the contents of her poor, red, little nose. And Jaxon pulled his hand from my grasp, crying harder when I said, "No, I have to hold your hand. We're in the parking lot." Eventually he calmed down and asked me for Daddy, to which I replied that Daddy would have insistently held his hand in the parking lot, too. For some reason, though, none of this really phased me this afternoon. Instead, it made me smile, and made me feel happy to be a mother. Why? Because I feel a strange sense of satisfaction when I have to do something for the safety of my child, even when they don't like it. It makes me feel like this:

If I never take an award-winning, groundbreaking, earth-shaking photograph, that's okay. If I never write something that broadens the mind, draws upon the emotions, and clarifies the senses of the thousands who read it, that's okay. If there is nothing to my name except "Wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend", that's perfect. That's fine. Why? Because I'm a mother. I'm doing the hardest job I could possibly do--and "job" is really not accurate. I--those of us who mother--do something that requires all my energy, time, passion, and effort. There is no break! And I am nurturing those who will forge paths and brave trials of which I never would have dreamed. My family is my legacy, my family is my honor, my family is me.

We wear our labors like medals of honor. Adopted or biological, C-section or otherwise, natural or medicated, short or long, complicated or smooth, home or hospital: Our labors, our efforts to bring these children here, are the beautiful medals we wear. Our children are our beauty, our accomplishment, our evidence of our willingness to sacrifice.

Now, of course I have difficult months, difficult weeks, difficult days, difficult moments. I would never claim that it's all smooth sailing. But the rewards are so great, and they more than make up for the times I don't know if I can keep going. Sometimes I watch my children in their sleep, their faces so relaxed and open, and I feel so close to where we come from, and I feel a mixture of homesickness and love--I think that's what it means when you say "I love them so much it hurts". I feel blessed by the experience, and humbled to have to work so hard every day to give yet more of myself. I'm happy to be a mother. I love being a mother. If all I ever do is be a dedicated mother and devoted companion to Phill, it will be the very best I could have given in this life.

Baby Rae

In looking at some baby pictures of myself, the resemblance of the baby-me to my babies was really fun to see! I still think that they all look so much more like Phill (whose kid-picture I've included....simply because it's sooooo cute!!). But it's fun to see my features on their little faces. (Note that Reed and I share a similar fashion sense....)