lately

I have had lots more (than usual) to do lately, and lots to contemplate as Phill's reserve unit gets their list soon of soldiers deploying to Afghanistan this year (woke up with my stomach in knots every morning the last few days, wondering if he will be going this time), so it follows that I have had some darker, heavier moments the last few days. Several times I simply shut down--or broke down. But through this somewhat rocky couple of weeks, I have been humbled to see the hand of the Lord in my life--through other people. One in particular, my dear friend Sarah, has been quietly sustaining me through these last few days that have really tested just how much I can do and how much faith I can develop (I'm getting there...slowly but surely). I want her to know how grateful I am that she allows herself to be directed towards those who need her strong spirit. I definitely do.

My beloved sisters and friends have surprised me with perfectly-timed phone calls or emailed words of encouragement or good humor, and have made daily life sweeter.

My precious children have behaved uncommonly well, and have gone the extra mile to do their part when there is lots to be done.

My willing husband laid his hands on my head last night to offer me words of comfort from our father in heaven, and soothed my troubled soul.

I do know that if Phill has to be deployed this time, I will not be lacking a strong support system. I am surrounded on every side.

Last, a quote from President Spencer W. Kimball--"God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other."

Source here

feeling the love

To Sarah, my wonderful friend and very-close-by neighbor:
You are a jewel. I love you. Thank you for bringing me that smoothie to soothe my horribly-sore throat.

To the random woman at Lin's who quietly insisted on paying for my $11 of groceries:
When you told me not to cry and hugged me, I felt like I had known you for ages. You are an angel in human clothing, and I will try to take what you've done for me today and pay it forward. I love you.

My heart is full to bursting; some really specific prayers of mine were answered today.

My boy Jaxon is four.

When I was 3 months pregnant, Phill left for several weeks of training to prepare him for his second deployment to Iraq. Reed (who was 2 at the time) and I spent our time quietly, going to the park to swing, staying in on the couch to cuddle, or sitting in the rocking chair reading.

As my belly grew bigger, my heart grew heavier. I wondered how this little baby would have a good relationship with his dad, who was so far away and would be for so long.

I grew more and more round; Reed would place his hands on me, put his mouth less than an inch away from my skin and say, "You okay, baby? You come out? You come out and have some chocolate milk?" He was eager. I was anxious.

I listened to my HypnoBirthing CD every night. Every night, I visualized a birth without my husband, a birth still sacred and sweet without the company of the one I wanted most. Every night, I prayed for strength, and I prayed for my little boys--my Reed and my Jaxon--prayed that this long absence from their father would not somehow scar them. Prayed that I would feel gratitude for the support around me, and not anger at this situation that couldn't be altered. I prayed, and I was blessed--both with priesthood-holder's hands on my head, and with blessings that were very personal and tailored absolutely to my own anxious mind.

On August 23rd, 3 days past my "due date" (ha...ha.), my mom and I drove with Reed up Cedar Mountain, thinking to pass some time while we timed my somewhat-iffy contractions that had been here and then gone for the last several days. They were mostly painless; I talked to my mom, she talked to me, and Reed slept peacefully as we made our way along the mountain road.

We came home that night, and Phill called--he was by this time in Iraq, done with training and a couple of months into his long absence. I said, "I've been having contractions for a few hours. Nothing too huge, but....they feel different." He said, "I think Jaxon is coming soon. I just have a feeling." I did, too. I fell asleep at ten. This was the first of many tender mercies, as I couldn't usually fall asleep before midnight.

I slept so solidly, and yet I was aware that as I slept, my body continued to work. I awoke at midnight and thought, Oh. They're still going. I smiled to myself, relieved that this was really happening. I fell back asleep for a couple of hours. At two, I awoke, fully aware that I was definitely laboring. Not unbearably, just obviously. I felt both tense with anticipation and happy with relief. I prayed, fervently, that I would be fearless, and that I would see the good things happening around me.

I slept on and off until about 4, when I needed to get in my bathtub. It was a need--I needed that hot water around my belly, my back. As I squatted there in the tub, the house was quiet. My mother slept downstairs, and my Reed was in the room next to the bathroom. I had been so afraid of feeling alone without Phill to help me through this labor. I had prayed so desperately to know that I wasn't. I knew, surrounded there in warm water, that I was being quietly supported. I knew that I was not the only one awake in my house. I cried some and stretched some; I talked to myself and to my belly. "Daddy is so excited. I am so excited. You just keep doing what you're doing, and I'll keep doing what I'm doing."

At 4:30, I needed my mother. I went downstairs and walked into the room where she slept. All it took was a gentle touch to her shoulder, and her eyes opened; she looked at me and said, "Hi, sweetie." She lead me up the stairs and was right next to me as I had a contraction on all fours. My mother was so quiet as my body worked before her eyes, but I understood what she was saying. I could feel her saying, "I know....I know." Seven--seven is her number. She placed her hands on the small of my back, pressing, and asked, "Okay?" I nodded. She knew that less words were better. When I finished with that contraction, she said, "Would you like juice?" And I was astounded at how much I did want something sweet and cold in my mouth.

We called my doula: my pregnant (as pregnant as I was, in fact) friend, Camille, the daughter of a midwife, and my constant through that pregnancy. She came over, walked in quiet as a cat, and took her place on my other side, opposite my mom.

I was surrounded by good women.

I asked my mom to stay with Reed. After much thought, I decided I would rather have my mom at home with my little son whose life was changing so drastically, rather than at the hospital with me, where I was familiar with what was going on.

I didn't labor long. When I arrived at the hospital, I was so 'busy' with labor that I could hardly lay on the bed to be monitored. I spent plenty of my labor in a hot tub of water, sometimes moaning, and often just drifting, silent, in some other realm. Sometimes I felt carried away, grateful for the rest, grateful for a chance to refresh. Somewhere around 9 centimeters, my body paused.

For a bit of a stretch, I did not contract. I simply floated. And then I awoke, and felt that something was in my way. That I was waiting for something. And my midwife, angel that she is, said, "Rachel? Do you need to cry?" And I nodded, beginning to sob, saying, "I need Phill....I just need Phill....I want Phill." She asked with tears in her own eyes, "Do you feel like you can't do this without Phill? Are you afraid?" I nodded again, and she held me for a while. Then, when my emotions had run their course, she said, "Rachel, are you ready? Whenever you're ready, this will happen. You can do this." And I prayed, once again, for strength, for resolve, steeling myself. I had been told in a priesthood blessing that Phill would be there in spirit, and now I could feel his joy and his anticipation, and even his support. Further, I could feel my Savior's joy for me, His support, His influence in that room of women.

My legs shook mercilessly, and yet I couldn't bear to do anything but stand. I stood, leaning heavily against Camille, her own belly soft against mine, my arms around her neck. I marveled at her ability to hold me up! She stood so solidly, so calmly, just bathed in quiet and assurance. I breathed many thank-you's to her, and moaned--deep, low, moans that seemed completely involuntary. They simply rose up from the depths and carried me through each wave of my working body. They were the strange soundtrack to Jaxon's birth.

In only a few pushes, Jaxon emerged at 9:28 in the morning on August 24th, so quiet and awake, while I could not help but loudly sob his name over and over again. So soon he was at my breast, feeding eagerly and staring into my eyes, communicating in only a language mothers and their newborns know.

Tinged with the elation of this birth was some bittersweet aching for Phill. At some point afterwards, I wept and said to Jaxon, "I'm sorry he didn't get to see you come out. I'm sorry. But he was here." And later, when I looked at my phone, I saw and Missed Call: Unknown: 9:27A.M. Missed Call: Unknown: 9:29A.M. Phill had called. One minute before, and one minute after. He had been there.

"...I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up."

Phill was able to hold Jaxon six weeks later, and see the video of the birth. He was home for good nine months after that, and Jaxon kindly deferred learning to walk until a month afterwards, when only Phill was in the room.

Our Jaxon is four now, and I feel as if I've only just caught up. He is incredibly funny, with the timing of a true comedian, but he's also quite introspective and silent at times. He has a very special, very different bond with Phill, and for most of his second year of life hardly seemed to notice me (in favor of Phill). He seems to already be reading some, or at least memorizing very well the things I read for him. He is kind to Savvy and in awe of Reed, and loves to play with them both. I love you, my boy Jax.

Food, glorious food! (Name that musical....)

What to do when usual babysitters are busy, husband will be home in less than two days, and the grocery supply needs to be replenished TODAY?

Why, take the kids with you, of course.

sigh....

I admit I'm really spoiled by Phill. Our usual setup is that I go grocery shopping while he stays home, or we go together with the kids. Today, I had no such option. So I put some snacks in my purse, made my list as clear and succinct as possible, and called my sister for support. (That's right. I'm spoiled, and I call my sister to motivate and inspire me before I do something that's difficult.) She cheerfully told me I could do it, and that I wouldn't fall over and die when it was over. (I think the last time I've had to do the two-weeks-worth grocery shopping thing with the kids was.....two months ago? I'm rusty.)

First we stopped at Costco, which was relatively easy because I had two of the three strapped into the cart. Let me pause to say:

Dear Wal-mart,

Please make your shopping carts as big as Costco's, and your aisles as wide as Costco's, even if your food and supplies are not near as exciting as Costco's.

Thank you.

Tired Mom

Rae

When we got to Wal-mart, I tried to be speedy and efficient, which was not easy at all. Do you know my boys? Let me tell you something: They want to examine everything. Weigh everything. Sometimes taste-test things.....they are tactile explorers, which means that this refrain is heard as we make our way throughout the store:

"Put that down, please. No, we're not buying that. I said no. We have treats at home. You don't need shoes. Please follow me. Please stay close to me. Please stay close to me. PLEASE STAY CLOSE TO ME. No, not next to the cart, next to me....me. Me."

It's no wonder they stop listening--I get sick of hearing myself, too! I become this anxious, wild-eyed, frizzy-haired, sweaty version of myself. And I get weird looks from cantankerous old men who can't understand why I would bring my three young children with me to the store. Which makes my mental snarkiness really shine....."What? What's your problem? Stare at me some more!" Obviously, this is not a time when I'm at my best.

But today, I didn't want to feel sorry for myself, and so I said a prayer before I left and decided to note the things that went well. Here's what went well:

-Savvy had just woken up from a nap before we left. Cheery, quiet Savvy. Angel.
-The boys were just rambunctious--not screaming, not crying, and not making things fall off the shelves.
-I found a parking spot close to the front door.
-I found what I needed quickly, both at Wal-mart and Costco. Relatively no puzzled searching.
-I stayed within my food budget!
-The kids were quiet in the car on the way home, and gratefully accepted a McDonald's dinner. (Odd, you might say, that I buy fast food on the way home from just buying tons of-what?-FOOD. But in this case, it's a necessity. By the time I get home and get everything put away, it's 7:30. Hungry kids wailing in the kitchen while I try to simultaneously make dinner and put everything away? I don't think so. Oh--and although I could go earlier, it just didn't happen today. Between a grandma visit and a baby nap, I was impressed we got out the door at 4:30.)
-The confused stares and even annoyed glares were nonexistant today. Two moms were even sweetly sympathetic as our circus walked by.
-The kids are full-bellied and soundly in bed. And I am not dead.

I also have to say that for some reason today, I was overcome as I walked through the store, looking at all the food. Mostly the produce. I think it's an incredible blessing that my fridge has colorful produce and fresh cheese and protein-filled meat in it right now; a blessing to live in a country where food is available in such abundance and for a relatively reasonable price. It just struck me--for no apparent reason--that it is amazing to be able to walk into a store and have so many choices, and walk out with two weeks' worth of food.

Instead of feeling despondent and exhausted, I'm tiredly grateful.

Now if that isn't a miracle.....

Last night for Girls Night we:

....pushed a Mitsubishi Montero up my sloped driveway into the garage.

Not what you were expecting, eh?

Yesterday morning, a sweet old man came to my front door, wearing a jacket that said, "City of St.George". He asked if he could talk to me, so I stepped outside, wondering what this could possibly be about, but not really worried, as I believe I live quite peaceably and cleanly.

He was very, very kind. I could tell that he hated to have to say anything at all to me, but he said: "This truck you have out here? It's not registered, and that's kind of strike one....it's not licensed--which is [and he's trying so hard to be gentle and kind to me, so I smile and nod, fighting a surge of panic] strike two.....and it's been here longer than 48 hours? [My answer: "Oh goodness, yes. Much, much longer."] So....that's....strike three. It's not terribly urgent, but you do need to move it as soon as possible."

At this point, I was really trying not to cry--I didn't want to appear to manipulate or inadvertently manipulate by crying. He was so kind, very understanding, and I do tend to be a law-abiding citizen! But I couldn't help it. That dreaded lump grew in my throat and tears spilled over and I said with a warbly voice, "Um.....my.....um, my husband will be home on the 6th of March." And then realized that it was neither here nor there. The city official (or whatever they're called?) said it of course needed to be moved sooner than that--OF COURSE!--and I thanked him sincerely and walked into the house, trying not to cry anymore.

For a moment I just quietly panicked. And had silly visions of myself trying to push this Montero--which will not even start, not even turn over--up my driveway. I decided to call my home teachers--banking on the call-me-if-you-need-anything promise--and told them my plight. They said they might be able to be there that night to help me move it.

I knew that was the best I could hope for, and just prayed that it would happen sooner, rather than later.....not after a fine or citation. I made myself calm down. I took the 8 loads of laundry from my pantry and finally folded them and put them away. I cleaned the kitchen table and counters. I vacuumed meticulously. I cleaned the master bedroom, the master bathroom, and did four more loads of laundry. I dropped Reed off at school, I picked Reed up from school, we had a neighbor over, I vacuumed corners some more.

I filled up my day, so that there would be no room to worry about that big fat truck parked outside, apparently offending the city. (Now that they are trying to sell the house next door.)

After the kids were in bed, I had two friends over, with whom I chatted until my home teacher called and said he would indeed be there that night. Hallelujah!

For some reason, I didn't put shoes on when we went out to push this beast up the driveway. I had socks on. When we first started pushing it from the street to the driveway, I thought, "Well, the level road makes this easy....but holy cow, my driveway." [For the record, I am glad I didn't have to push it up my neighbor Sarah's driveway. I would be a pancake. Hers is infinitely more sloped.] So we get to the driveway and we are pushing, and it is much, much harder. In planting my feet on the ground for traction and using my legs for pushing, I begin to slide out of my socks. My socks stayed there, and my feet went backwards. So I abandoned the socks, and pushed barefoot. (I think if I had put my running shoes on, the tread is so worn-down that I would have slid right down the driveway anyway.)

At some point while we were pushing, it seemed near-improbable that we would actually make it. We were almost halfway up when my horribly over-active imagination conjured an image of all four of us in back giving out, falling to the side, perhaps being run over by the Montero as it zoomed back down the driveway, across the street, smashing into Sarah's side yard and through her house. (Over-active imagination is an understatement, isn't it?) My moment of panic seemed to give me some strength, as my friend Kelly was saying next to me, "Push! Push! Push!", calling childbirth to mind. Somehow (as in: Me, two girlfriends, and two men) we got it into the garage without dying or wrecking Sarah's house. And I can still pull my van in next to it. It's a tricky fit, but at least now people will buy the house next door, because they're happy to live in a neighborhood where cars aren't parked on the street.

Heaven forbid.

Fixed and Flourishing

If you love me as much as I on-my-good-days assume, then you may have wondered where I have been the last, oh, two weeks.

Or you might have said, "Oh, she's probably cranky. Rae gets quiet and snappy when she's cranky."

OR if you have a tiny window into my life, you might have said:

"Maybe her computer finally died."

Which would be halfway true.

It is a law of life here in the DeVault home: When Phill leaves, things break. Our hearts (okay, they just fracture a little bit, and then sew right back up when he's home again), our patience, and of course: something in the house.

The day after he left, I noted that the computer was not on. This was a little strange, because it's usually on, but not that strange, because we have a 20-month-old in the house.

So I turned it on. First, "COMPAQ" came on the screen, and I thought, hm, that's not what usually happens when I turn this on. Then a message in white letters appeared on a black screen, a message that laughed and mocked me: Keyboard error something-something-something. OR: Your computer is dying and your husband isn't home to fix it. Ha...ha....HA. (insert evil robotic laughter)

So I said to the computer's face: I don't care. Fine. You just be that way! I'll show you! I'll show you I don't need you! Go ahead. Be that way. Jerk.

And I only tried six more times that day to get it to turn on and do something more than tell me that an error was happening. After the first week, I was really starting to believe I could be okay without a computer. By the middle of the second week, I was shooting glances in its direction, thinking mean thoughts at it and then running over to apologize and try to start it up. Once, it actually booted up properly, stayed on for an hour, and then froze.

By today, I was sick to death of my computer's temper tantrum, and I resolutely told it that I am the boss and I am going to fix it. After calling The Smartest Computer Guy in the World (it's a good thing we're best friends with him and his family, because I think he's given us $5,000 worth of free computer help), it booted up--with no sign of the internet. None whatsoever.

Heh....I exhaust myself: Long story short: After my obliging friends let me use their internet to download a pesky necessity called a driver, and after setting it up, turning things off, fiddling, turning things on, and repeating said process again, all while on the phone with that marvelous computer friend of ours, hallelujah. I'm back! (for now!)

Our motherboard is seven years old and our computer is five years old, and it's always been cantankerous. A new one is definitely in order. Thank goodness it's tax return time. *sigh*

As for my reading and commenting on your blogs, oh, be patient with me, please. I know you're not waiting on pins and needles--but I am. Google Reader said 255 when I at last opened it up today, and in an hour I only culled it back to 154.

In the realization that being without a computer for the first three weeks of Phill's absence forced me to be more present here at home, and provided me with a good solid start to these six weeks he's in San Antonio, I have made a prayer-clad vow to not be on the computer unless A)I have to google something, B)someone calls me to tell me to check something, C) Reed is at school & Savvy is napping & Jax is happy or D)the kids are in bed.

If you've wondered how I have handled the last couple of weeks, know this: We are being blessed! Our ward has risen up to help and I am feeling able, happy, and comfortable. The kids are happy and active and dealing very well with daily everything. Sometimes I even feel like I might be getting good at this stuff. I sure hope so. But oh, I miss my Phill. I just want to sit on the couch next to him doing nothing. Just sitting and being.

Overflowing

I have so so SO much running through my mind right now, I don't know where to start. My grandma died on the 18th, just three days after 58 years of marriage to my grandpa. I am happy that she will feel no more pain; I am resting in the knowledge that she is at peace. I'm grieving, but gently. I'm sad and I miss her, but I have faith and hope that I will see her again. The thing that is hardest for me is thinking of her children and her husband--my grandpa, my aunts and my uncle, my mother--who are left to mourn. Of course I mourn, but I know that my mother's mourning, and the mourning of grandma's other children and husband, is so deep.

I'm still trying to process all that happened last week. Amongst any sadness, there was peace, and there were little reunions happening throughout. (Just the way my grandma would like it, I think. All of us together for Christmas!) I have been thoroughly and tenderly blessed to have seen all my sisters and my brother--my brother I saw four and a half years ago! While in the midst of something that can seem insurmountable, I have been lifted up and nurtured. Phill demonstrated throughout the last week how selfless he is, how protective and how helpful he is. I am blazingly proud to call him my husband. (Seven years yesterday!)

I am grateful, so grateful, to have felt personally the love of a Savior who sees fit to meet my needs through those around me. To Phill, I don't know how to thank you enough for the man you are. To Cara and Jenn, who sent me a sweet and hilarious video to make me laugh away the heaviness. To you blogging friends of mine who frequently email or comment to give support or encouragement, I hope you know how much that means to me. To my neighbors and dear friends Sarah and Merilee, you are angels in human disguise. To my sweet sisters, my tender & wise parents, my gentle cheerful brother--I am honored to be yours. My heart is full to overflowing.

True Colors

Once in a blue moon, I get in a Martha Stewart mood. This usually means that I A) do something involving lots of attention to detail -OR- B) make something pretty, but ultimately useless. Today I made this really yummy Pumpkin Spice Bread, and then was in the mood to do a little bit of cleaning. That rarely happens--that is, it rarely happens that I'm cleaning and wanting to clean at the same time. :) Usually I'm grumbling the whole time and cursing my mess-making & procrastinating tendencies. Today, though, for some reason, I decided to tackle the grout in between our floor tiles. The grout has been dark and dirty since we moved in, and since I have not paid any special attention to it other than the (very) occasional mopping, it was begging for a good thorough cleaning. I heard from Awesome Sarah that baking soda would work, but then I also heard (on HGTV, Phill's most hated of channels....) that baking soda mixed with hydrogen peroxide was good, too. So this morning, In an effort to justify my procrastinating my workout, I tackled the floor with a toothbrush and my peroxide-soda mixture. (See how that works? I tell myself it's okay if I don't work out today because oh-look-how-clean-the-house-is....after three months of regular working out--that's right, I did it!--I'm having to muster lots of motivation.) The results were too great to pass up for a Before & After picture. And besides, I love a good Before & After picture.
Oh hi, Grout! At last your true colors are discovered..... After my puny only-doing-this-because-I-should workout, and after taking Reed to school, the Martha Stewart craze returned and I decided to make peppermint bark (this may be the fifth time I've done it this month) to bring to Reed's class, to whom I read Polar Express today. And I actually took pictures this time! And I'm posting the recipe! Aren't you just fall-off-your-chair excited? Heh.

Peppermint Bark
(Rae's way.....of sorts)

I searched online for a recipe, then just used what I found to do my own thing. As is often the case. There could be a better way to do this, a yummier way, an easier way, a prettier way--but ANYWAY, this is my way. :) This makes two to three batches--as in two or three cookie sheets full.

~Melt a block of chocolate-flavored almond bark*. (I don't know how much one block weighs--two pounds?) It works to microwave or to melt it in a double-boiler. I just nuke it.

~While the chocolate melts, crush three candy canes to powder, or to chunk-size of your preference.

~Cover a cookie sheet with parchment paper or wax paper.

~Once the chocolate is melted, pour it onto the covered cookie sheet, spreading the chocolate to the size of the sheet. Sprinkle the top with crushed candy canes. Set in fridge, freezer, or outside to harden. (Outside is fastest.) Once it's hardened, just break it into nice big 3-inch triangles.

*I've tried this same method/recipe with one layer dark and one layer milk, one layer milk and one layer white, one layer milk with vanilla drizzles, one layer dark one layer milk and vanilla swirls, and as of today, a vanilla layer with the crushed peppermint and mini chocolate chips. I can't name a favorite. It's all good. One layer, two layers, dark-milk-white-vanilla--it's all good. Just play around. (I did dark with Hershey's special dark chocolate, milk with the almond bark, vanilla with vanilla-flavored almond bark, and white chocolate with white chocolate chips.)

And lastly. Owing to the fact that my grandmother took a dramatic turn for the worse, my mom and youngest sister arrived from Japan on American soil last Friday. All of us thinking a good-bye to my grandma was imminent or about to be missed, Phill practically sent me to Provo (by myself) to be with everyone. I went expecting to give support and comfort, expecting it to be a somewhat somber reunion of sorts, and mostly unsure of what I would find when I got there. But from a deep coma, my grandmother awoke, ensuring us a few more days of loving words and reverent remembering. As I write, she is still alive. She said things to me that fed my soul, said things that answered prayers only the Lord has heard. Being with my mother, sister, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousin was balm to my soul. I went to Provo expecting to give, and received more than I can begin to tally.

That isn't all. On my way home Monday, I found myself in swirling, blinding snow the last hour of the trip. The moment I hit that wall of white, I began to shake from head to toe, and started to pray. I'm not at all confident when driving in the snow, and frequently ascend to a barely-managed hysteria when it even begins to snow as I'm on the road. This wasn't the worst I've ever been in, but it was awful.

Well, I wasn't left to assume the difficult last hour and thirty minutes by myself. I was absolutely not alone. I felt very tangibly protected. And a very heavy vehicle in front of me--what were you, Nevada license-plate number 35035T? A tow truck? A plow?--just happened to be going the perfect speed for me to follow, as if it were my guide. Well, it was, really. I could see where patches of ice were, because he went before me, sliding only a little here and there, which acted as a warning to me when I needed to be especially mindful of the ice. He carved out a path for me to follow. His lights were my reference point, the sentinel for my tear-filled eyes. Later on, a semi ambled along behind me, providing yet another way for me to measure the distance and eye the road, making me feel less lost in all the white. I'm certain that the truck in front of me realized that he was helping me, and I'm so grateful that he didn't mind. As I took my exit, trembling with relief, I saw him change lanes as if to say goodbye, my job is done.

There are so many more things I could say, more miraculous blessings I could write about--but so many of them are too sacred and too dear to me to write here. And somehow when I try to put words to it, to tell Phill or Abby, the words pale in comparison to the actual happenings.

I happened upon this scripture yesterday, and it made me laugh out loud because it is so appropriate to how I'm feeling as of late, and it is the appropriate ending to this post:

Alma 26:16
Therefore, let us glory, yea, we will glory in the Lord; yea, we will rejoice, for our joy is full; yea, we will praise our God forever. Behold, who can glory too much in the Lord? Yea, who can say too much of his great power, and of his mercy, and of his long-suffering towards the children of men? Behold, I say unto you, I cannot say the smallest part which I feel.

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!