pressed down and shaken together

After-school Dance Party

2012-01-27T15:30:00.000-06:00

He may not graduate from kindergarten...

...but I think he's ready for middle school.

(Notice Logan in the background pursuing his favorite pastime: hassling Mom.)

Researchers

2012-01-26T08:37:00.001-06:00

Two of my boys are showing the compulsion for research that drives their dad.

Levi has become a huge fan of Greek mythology, now branching into Egyptian as well. He checks out stacks and stacks of books and studies them carefully. For weeks he's been working on the computer writing his own book on gods, heroes, and their adventures. His plan is that he and I eventually collaborate to prepare it for publication.

His recent research interests have also included ankylosaurus and weather patterns. The other night at dinner Levi asked, "Mom, what's your favorite kind of rock?" I began thinking about alternative versus Southern 70s. Then Levi continued, "Igneous, metamorphic, or sedentary?"

Jesse comes to me every few days with a research question. One of his first was when he said kind of wistfully, "I've never seen a real platypus." I think he was thinking about Perry the Platypus on Phineas and Ferb. So we googled photos and videos of real platypuses. Platypi?

Since then we've learned how chickens hatch from eggs and how Sesame Street puppets work. (Jess had come to me with a theory that Sesame Street puppets were robots in costume.)

I, however, did not take the bait on the day Jesse said, "I still don't really understand how babies come out."

Making 'em fit

2012-01-22T13:24:00.000-06:00

Back when Mark and I were each growing up amongst five siblings, a family of eight was only mildly largish. I have nothing against families who opt for a a more streamlined headcount, but I do object to the misconception that you have to have a huge house with a spacious bedroom (plus expensive lessons and electronics) for each child.

Our house is not huge, and there are days when I wish for more elbow room. A bigger dining area, a basement rec room, bigger bedrooms, a writing shack... But I love our home and a part of me is grateful to live a bit more modestly. And generally, all it takes is a little creative thinking to make a small space work well to accommodate all the children you care to have.

Our upstairs bedrooms are very small. (So small, in fact, that we always had to kind of flub our foster care home inspections since the room don't quite have the square footage technically required to house two children.) Haley's bedroom has a set of big, study bunk beds--leaving no room for Betsy's crib. After a few sessions of strategizing, we finally hit on a solution. We took the doors off the closet, put them in the attic, and turned the closet into a nook for the crib.

When my mom came to help when Betsy was born, she helped paint the inside of the closet the same color as the rest of the room. This helps it looks more like a nook and less like a there's-a-baby-in-the-closet. She also sewed the yellow curtain along the top, which hides the boxes of outgrown clothes still stored on the high closet shelf. (More storage under the crib behind the dust ruffle.)

It's a very cute little solution, I think. In fact, once Betsy graduates to the bunk beds, I might install a table inside the closet and turn it into a craft desk for the girls.

Our dining area is probably the most crowded area of the house. We could really use a larger table, but the room is too small to accommodate one. Our table built for six must seat seven, and once Betsy's out of her highchair it'll need to seat eight. Haley and Jesse used to sit at two of these little toddler chairs on one of the short ends of the table. It was a great solution because the chairs were small enough to fit side by side. Now that those two are a bit bigger, the chairs were uncomfortable. So we came up with a new plan to seat eight at our table.

Mark and I bought two dining benches for about $30 each using a Groupon to a local discount furniture store. The benches were made for the long side of the table, so we cut the seat to size before assembling and attaching it to the apron and legs. I mixed white paint into some of the teal paint from my bedroom and painted the seat blue. We sanded the cut edge to match the other curved edges.

Now there's a short bench on each short end of the table. Haley and Jesse sit on one and we've got one slot to spare. Betsy also uses them as a snack table.

Turn on a Dime. Or a cookie.

2012-01-19T09:50:00.001-06:00

One, two, three, four, five, I sent people out into this dreary, grey day. Oh the luxury of getting to stay home on mornings like this. By 8:15 it was just Jesse, Betsy, and me in my jammies, finishing our breakfast in the kitchen. Jesse snacked on a little bag of cookies like the ones the kids packed in their lunches. He kept setting two cookies aside and promising to save them for later, but next thing we knew, those two cookies would be eaten and he'd have to get two more from his bag.

As I did some morning Internet surfing, Jesse came and climbed up onto my lap. In no time, Betsy was at my knee wanting to claim her spot. So we hauled her up, Jesse on my lap, Betsy on his. Jesse faked sneezed for Betsy's entertainment, and she tried to follow suit. I wrapped my arms around my two youngest.

It was one of those magical moments of domestic perfection.

Then Jesse realized that he had accidentally eaten the Very Last Cookie.

His dismay escalated into yelling. And threats. My efforts to distract or appease him failed. "YOU HAVE TO GIVE ME ANOTHER COOKIE!" Within moments, I was dragging him kicking and screaming up the stairs. "You don't want to do this," I told him. "You and I love each other." Just then, he landed a karate kick--his form well-honed after all that superhero practice--on my stomach. Now Jesse is locked in his bedroom, occasionally shouting, "ANGRY!" down the furnace vents for my benefit.

It was just like this Huff Post article. The majestic Mount Everest vista out of view for the moment. Back to the one-foot-in-front-of-the-other slog.

(And no, Jesse's behavior is not morally or developmentally acceptable. Our boy is struggling mightily. His behavior in many ways getting worse not better. I'm still holding out hope that he's in one of those awkward phases that precedes a big leap in maturity. While brainstorming Plan B should that big leap not arrive.)

Betsy, 9 and 10 months

2012-01-16T18:17:00.001-06:00

This month Betsy has blossomed. She used to be the silent baby whose chuckles were hard-won by dedicated siblings who tickled and danced mightily to pry them from her. Now she babbles and smiles and laughs all the time. She's a busy bee, always grabbing, holding, dropping , moving, crawling, standing. She has a little sense of humor and loves to tease and play. When Logan growls, "I'm gonna get you!" she squirms away in fear and joy.

(In fact, once he said, "I'm gonna get you" and she promptly threw herself over the edge of the couch.)

Just in time for her grandparents' arrival last weekend, she put her to-do list on hyperdrive and started learning a new trick each day.

She often sits with her knees tucked around her like this. Look at those toes!

Day 1: Crawl down stairs. Those of you with babies know that this is always a tricky one. To crawl down stairs, you have to turn your little self around and put your feet down first.

Day 2: Walking holding hands. One day her little feet just didn't have that stepping-out action. The next day she was chortling with pride as she pitter-patted herself across the room.

Those plumpy legs and ankles!

Day 3: Speech! She dropped something and said, "Uh-oh." Now she worries "Uh-oooh. Uh-oooh" all day long. Of course she loves to play the gravity game, where she drops something over and over. Fortunately for us, she's willing to do her own pick-up.

She's been working on standing unsupported and standing from the ground (as opposed to pulling herself up on something). I'm sure once she does these, she'll be walking in no time. Betsy is much more a toddler than an infant these days, and so she and I had a little heart to heart. I told her that she could grow up if she would promise that we would be friends forever. She agreed.

Double Header

2012-01-10T16:06:00.000-06:00

Saturday was an amazing day for our family. In the morning, Little Miss Haley was baptized.

More pictures to come--Jessica used her camera (and skillz!) for us at key moments and I'm awaiting the files from her--but here's Haley with two of the four grandparents who came to celebrate. Mom made this fantastically gorgeous dress.

Haley was luminous, as you can see. I've written--perhaps too much?--about my struggles as Haley's mother, but the flip side is that my joy over her accomplishments is even more poignant. I'm so grateful that she is living this life in this family, no matter our flaws. Watching her broken wings unfurl and fly makes me very happy indeed.

Later in the afternoon, Roscoe and several of his friends celebrated earning their Eagle Scout awards. Roscoe personifies Eagle Scout values in so many ways. He's handsome and talented, sure. But more important, he desires to do good, to be good, and to keep doing better.

We hired an Eagle show for the occasion.

The best part of the day was all the family members who attended. Here you see my mom, Joe and Jessica, Mark, Haley, Levi, and some of our ward family members. The Flemings, Ken and Vanessa, and the McGee grandparents were also there.

So many people help support and nurture our children. Thanks to you all.

New Year

2012-01-03T14:47:00.000-06:00

Oh my goodness this house was well used over the Christmas break. Huge quantities of food and guests and children and Target bags surged in and out. But it felt like a real holiday, with plenty of rest and festiveness. Today I'm recuperating. Slipcovers have been bleached and washed. Cobwebs knocked down. A million things scattered here relocated to there.

Last night for Family Home Evening, we used this printable--found on Pinterest, of course--to reflect on our year. For me, the most difficult challenge, the greatest accomplishment, and the dearest joy were all one and the same--Betsy. She's been out as long as she was in and if I had to pay one long, horrible day of pregnancy for each day with Betsy in arms, I would.

This year each of the kids needs to grow out of a few things and into a few more. But by the end of 2012 we'll be thisclose to Roscoe graduating from high school and flying the coop. My fondest wish for the year is more of the same.

Christmas

2011-12-26T15:28:00.000-06:00

Grumpy angel from our Nativity.

Dramatic wise man.

Holy family (Ken, Joshua, and Arianna) with visiting shepherds (Roscoe and Vanessa)

Mrs. and Mr. Claus have finished their work and can go to bed.

Miss Elizabeth's first candy cane.

She was a fan.

Detritus.

Sisters in matching dresses from Grandma.

Just Dance on wii.

Nineteen Years

2011-12-21T16:04:00.000-06:00

It was a bit of a night.

Poor Haley paid many visits to Dr. Ralph in the dramatic way that is her specialty. You see the obvious implications there. Miss Bits woke with a diaper load. By early morning, Jesse was snuggled up with the wet wipes package in Mark's vacated spot in the bed.

I shuffled downstairs with a squirming baby in one hand, a redhead trailing behind. And there on the counter was a CD from Mark. I grinned in recognition. Because it was our anniversary, and Mark--'80s boy as he is--is an aficionado of the commemorative mixed tape (or CD as they call them these days).

Our long row of stockings makes me feel proud of what we've built together.

I grinned all morning as I listened to each song. I've been the recipient of enough of these CDs to know that in Mark's highly ordered mind there's a reason for each song and its place in the playlist. I could identify the phrase, band back-story, or prior conversation that merited each song's inclusion. At one point--during The Smith's There Is a Light That Never Goes Out--Haley asked me, "What are you laughing about?" Morrissey wailed "Take me out, toniiight."

"Dad is sending me a secret message," I said.

So take him out that night I did. We saw the new Mission Impossible movie. (Our review: meh.) I love watching movies with Mark. We can make inside jokes to each other about improbable plot twists or gagworthy acting with just a glance or a hand squeeze.

When I was at BYU I took a New Testament class from Wilfred Griggs, the scriptorian and Egyptologist who says the GR notes with Greek translations in your LDS scriptures really stand for "Griggs." One day in class he hit a tangent and told us about driving to work that morning with his wife and having some conversation that involved perfect understanding and love. He told us that while he and wife thought they knew each other and loved each other as newlyweds, that was nothing compared with the understanding and resulting deeper love they enjoyed after years of marriage.

I agree. Mark and I loved each other deeply in those early days. But after nineteen years, I know Mark. I know his dreams and fears and inner workings. So even the parts that drive me batty--I see how those fit into the whole package of the man that I love, even more now than before.

Haley Turns 8

2011-12-12T22:26:00.000-06:00

Last week Little Miss Haley hosted a party to celebrate her eighth birthday. We made felt flower hair clips and beaded bracelets.

I wanted the girls to take their time and create pretty bracelets rather than just quickly stringing random beads together. My sister Nancy gave me this great idea to draw a little paper template to help each girl select her beads and plan how they'd look together. After they chose their main beads, I helped them choose spacers or tiny beads to flesh out their design.

There was cake with lavender frosting flowers, curled hair, jewelry, dolls, craft kits, wrapping paper, candles, singing, pink bows--the whole bit. But the hard-to-speak truth is this: When it was all over, Mark and I could remember only one real smile, one moment of genuine joy from Haley.

People never like it when I talk about the damage Haley sustained in her first few years of life. They are right to point out all the ways she is lovely, sweet, strong, thriving, and normal. And all of that is true. But it's also true that my love for Haley has never been the same easy-as-breathing variety I have for my other children. Not less, but certainly different. And her love for me is much more fraught as well.

I think every mother learns that the Hallmark version of love disintegrates in the face of real in-the-trenches parenting. True love isn't perfect. It includes anger, disappointment, frustration. Our children never are exactly as perfect as we'd like them to be, and we are never the ideal parents we would like them to have.

I feel I've learned a lot about true love from being Haley's mother. Our Haley is a holey bucket. The love and attention we pour into her often seems to flow right out the bottom, leaving her no more full than she was before.

But in some ways, the more imperfect is my relationship with Haley, the more dented our love, the more fiercely I love her. No matter if she idealizes her birth mother and fantasizes about her "real" home and remembers only my failings and rails against me as a mean mom. I will love her and try to fill her and teach her and throw her pretty parties over and over and over again. And I hope that one day she will see that the love we gave her was enough.

Little People Christmas

2011-12-06T13:53:00.001-06:00

Our Little People nativity is one of my favoritest things ever.

Every child of mine has enjoyed lining Little People in a row on the edge of a table.

One of Mark's colleagues once came up to me after Christmas and asked me if any of my kids got something from Fisher-Price for Christmas. "It's a sad day when no one gets something from Fisher-Price," he told me.

Sunday Evening

2011-11-20T20:31:00.000-06:00

Church, ward council, home teaching, dinner, cookies, the dishes, a backyard fire--all done. So they mound together on the couch to phone some uncles and grandmas.

Roscoe's production of Aida ended last night and it was glorious and his high school does the best off-Broadway productions you've ever seen1 and all that, but we're just happy to have him home.

1. Okay, an exaggeration. But barely.

Betsy, 7 and 8 months

2011-11-18T15:35:00.000-06:00

At seven months, Betsy worked diligently on learning to crawl.

Apparently crawling is harder than it looks. Trying to keep her balance and move an arm thisaway while a leg moves thataway--it reminds me of trying to get into a tricky yoga pose.

The moment she got crawling under control, she immediately began pulling up to stand, crawling up the stairs, and cruising. For several days, she fell constantly and was covered in little, black bruises. It was parenthood in microcosm: There was no way to both keep her safe and let her chase her dreams (of climbing up the stairs like everyone else in the family).

She wore these little pads to protect her knees. I think they make her look like a roller derby queen. We thought maybe "Thunder Thighs" could be her handle.

She's a little music lover. She squirms and bops when she hears a catchy tune and she's very diligent about her piano practice.

She still has a special place in her heart for Logan, who will stop at nothing to get a giggle from her.

She's settled into a pretty predictable sleep schedule, but she still frazzles by dinnertime.

Today she's a pro crawler. She easily crawls all the way up the stairs and rarely loses her balance. Her dandelion hair has settled down. She's the most scrumptiously chunkalicious thing we can imagine and we all think every Betsy day is a treat.

Inquirer

2011-11-04T14:01:00.000-05:00

Today Jesse went to school early to attend a special assembly and receive an award for being an example of the IB trait of Inquirer.

There are many things for which Jesse will not win an award this year. (Most Distractable? Least Likely to Know His Letters?) I'm so grateful he has a teacher who can recognize the strengths and talents he has.

He stood in the front of the gym looking bemused, confused, but proud.

I posed him next to this statue, but he was more interested in examining it.

As we walked to the car, a gust of wind blew his award certificate high into the sky. He walked the rest of the way discussing kites.

As I buckled Betsy into her seat, an updraft of wind blew my hair out of its bun and around my face. "Your hair looks like fire," Jesse commented. I caught a glimpse of my shadow and saw that sure enough, the blowing tendrils looked like flames.

We drove past a lighted construction signs flashing merge arrows. "How do they make the lights move?" Jesse wondered.

Inquirer indeed.

Unable to suppress of a moment of smarm, I said, "Jesse, have I ever told you that I love you?"

"Uh, one day you did."

"One day?"

"Well, maybe two."

Multitasking

2011-11-03T18:04:00.001-05:00

I am sewing dozens of tiny rings on the back of fabric panels to make roman blinds, while supervising the creation of a Jackie Chan biography poster.

I am spooning smooshed banana into Betsy's mouth, while correcting Haley's piano practice.

I am nursing Betsy, when the orbits of Levi and Jesse collide and from the playroom I hear escalating screams.

"Levi, be a peacemaker," I call.

"Whaat?"

"Be a peacemaker!"

"Whaaat?"

"BE. A. PEACEMAKER!!!"

"Sheesh, Mom."

I am wallowing in irony.

40

2011-11-01T21:25:00.001-05:00

I am now forty years old. It feels good. I have six children--one of whom is sixteen--I've been married for nineteen years, so it's time for me to be forty. In many ways, my thirties felt so much easier than my twenties. I don't miss all the looming major decisions and transitions of young adulthood. My thirties also really feels like a decade of growth--sometimes literally: our house got bigger, our family got bigger, our kids got bigger--and my capacity to deal with all that grew too. I'm planning on my forties being fabulous.

Several weeks ago, Mark announced he was throwing me a birthday party. "What kind of party?" I asked. "I was thinking chips and salsa," Mark replied. (He now says that was a joke.) I let Mark take the lead on invitations, but I took over as party planner, and we threw what I think was a delightful chocolate tasting party.

I strolled the chocolate aisle at Target and bought two of everything that looked yummy. I sliced them into small slivers and arranged them on little saucers I found at DI.

I made little spreadsheets for taking notes on the taste of each chocolate, and Haley sharpened ten new pencils for us. By the time you worked your way down the table, you'd know your favorite chocolate.

I put each chocolate wrapper in a numbered brown paper sack in the other room so partiers could identify the chocolates once they had finished the blind taste test. You voted for your favorite by writing your name on the bag.

It made for a great party. Should the conversation lull or strangers need an icebreaker, they could chat about chocolate for a minute.

The real crowd-pleasers of the night were:

Dove Silky Smooth Dark Chocolate. It really was smooth and dark but not too dark. I don't believe anyone disliked it.

Lindt Excellence Black Currant. Mmmm.

But the most wonderful part of my birthday was this:

I was standing in the kitchen during the party, when suddenly Mark rushed up to me. He led me around the corner, and there stood...my mother. From Dallas. With no warning to anyone, that crazy girl woke up on Saturday morning, bought herself a plane ticket, and showed up for the party. I burst into tears right in front of everybody. Not much better than seeing your mommy on your birthday.

Little Bit

2011-10-21T14:54:00.000-05:00

I end the day as I began it: by padding into Betsy’s room to retrieve her sleep-warmed self for a feeding. I hold her head against my cheek as I pad back to my bed. I put her in the warm spot and curl around her, tucking her body against mine, belly to belly. Her sweetness wafts up like steam off a cinnamon roll.

I’ve had my fair share of babies, and yet it feels like it’s all whooshed by leaving hardly a trace. My memories are so few. I know the drill—I’ve said it myself to other mothers—you’ve got to enjoy each day, they go by so fast. And I do! Every day there are moments when I’m bowled over by the sweetness and light of holding a baby. I’ve gazed into Betsy’s mystic blue eyes for hours. I carry her to my bedroom mirror; I want to remember not just her, but me with her. But still, it’s not working. Each day, yesterday’s Betsy has disappeared and already the memories are melting into goop.

This week someone sent me this article by a mother whose child has a rare disorder. Instead of growing and progressing each day, her baby regresses. He’ll eventually reach a “vegetative state” and doctors expect he’ll die before he turns three. Of course I can’t imagine the heartache of mothering a child who has no future. But this mother’s essay highlights a truth every mother faces. The truth is, every mother’s child is disappearing day by day.

My Deep, Dark Confession

2011-10-13T14:43:00.001-05:00

The year after Jesse was born, I seemed to go into a frenzy of scheming. I launched my business, put together a gift book, and developed a few product ideas that I still believe would make us millions if someone with a little business know-how ran with them. Oh, and started this blog. Now, even though I still have a baby who nurses frequently and sleeps irregularly, I’m again jonesing for new projects. I guess once the baby-cooking is over, I’m on the lookout for other ways to be creative.

I pretend to be a person who, given the opportunity, would keep a perfectly clean house and peaceful, orderly life. But the truth is that whenever the pressure lets up a bit I get antsy and go in search of something more. Foster kids or new jobs or, if all else fails, new slipcovers. Home and family remain my main gig--an engrossing, demanding, fulfilling one. And I'm a bit suspicious of women who constantly justify self-indulgences in the name of feeding their inner fire. But sometimes I feel the need to stretch my view beyond the front door.

So a few weeks ago I sent out a plea for friends to form a writer's group with me. And two smart, creative, empowered friends took the bait. Last night we met to describe the writing projects we'd each like to work on. We agreed to post progress updates on a google doc once a week and meet once a month to report and offer advice.

I’m really, really, really excited about this. I drove home last night whooping for joy. Saying that I want to be a writer feels lame, narcissitic, and immature on the level of saying I want to be a movie star. But I do want to be a writer. So this year, with the help of my writer’s group friends, I’m gonna do it. So there.

Chair

2011-10-10T16:02:00.000-05:00

Inspired, I think, by pinterest, my new online addiction, I'm in a little frenzy of home design projects. I'm about to freehand paint vines all over my laundry room walls--I think. And last week I sewed a slipcover for a chair that I found on the side of the road and then let sit in my garage for...possibly years.

Before: chair as barricade to keep Betsy from squirming through the middle of Levi and Haley's game of Sorry! It doesn't look that bad from a distance, but upon closer inspection...

I decided that even though my work wouldn't be perfect it would be good enough and I'd enjoy the pretty chair even if it had crooked seams or whatever. I totally scored on fabric in just the right colors and a sort of vintage throwback design for only $12/yard--a steal for good-quality decorator fabric.

With Betsy's help, I started draping and pinning the fabric into place, too lazy and/or unskilled to think through the whole pattern from start to finish.

Then I used a technique I learned on pinterest--to baste the pieces right sides together using black thread. Then I could remove the slipcover and machine sew along the basting.

A couple naptimes, an evening, lots of trips up and down the stairs, some emergency inserts from where I misjudged the curves and cut my pieces too small, and voila.

Levi volunteered to model the new chair.

It's not at all perfect, but the whole thing cost $15 and I like to see it each time I walk by.

In a Nutshell

2011-10-06T12:21:00.000-05:00

This morning I growled at my perennially tardy children on their way out the door to school. Thus sending my precious ones into the world with their mother's exasperation ringing in their ears.

Despite being strapped to my chest all morning like some kind of Tibetan princess whose dimpled feet must never touch the ground, the ever-lovely Betsy is screaming and squirming. And has opted out of her afternoon nap for the last two days.

One of my children has devoted an extraordinary amount of work, dedication, energy, and time to an extracurricular activity. And the coach who should be a dedicated mentor in return...is not. He's made it clear that he can't be bothered to think twice about this child.

To quote Despicable Me, "In terms of money...we have no money."

Yes, I still wear retainers. I keep them on a high shelf in the medicine cabinet. They have disappeared. Mark says he has a vague memory of some hooligan toting them around the house.

Busy Children

2011-09-27T23:42:00.000-05:00

While Roscoe was at theater rehearsal and Logan was at the temple with the young men, here's how the other Qshurst-McGee children filled their afternoon.

Haley...

...played piano. She is now the proud graduate of three lessons.

Betsy...

...worked on refining her army crawl. My attempts to document this were foiled by 1.) her trying to crawl to the camera rather than for the camera, and 2.) her helpful siblings, 3.) her failure to follow instructions.

Jesse...

...made final adjustments to his train track.

Levi...

...decorated his raingutter regatta boat.

Which went on to win second place at Cub Scout pack meeting. It was a momentous occasion for all of us since it marked the first time any Qshurst-McGee cub has won anything at any pinewood derby / raingutter regatta / space derby.

2011-09-17T19:56:00.000-05:00

When you were a teenage girl (if you ever were a teenage girl), did it ever seem to you that the boys your age weren't quite on the same page as you when it came to dating and relationships and all? Well, I just sent my teenage son out the door for his homecoming date, and I can tell you: Not on the same page at all.

He managed to pick up on the not-at-all subtle hints from the girl who wanted him to ask her to homecoming. He put together a clever way of asking her. But that was the end of his competence. He came home from school yesterday totally unclear on the details of the group date he was involved in. "Riley and her mom are, like, totally into this," he told me confusedly. Something about flowers and matching colors. It was all above him.

After bowling, before dinner, with corsage, practicing his suave moves.

This morning he went to theater rehearsal. As the afternoon wore on, we received increasingly frequent and frantic phone calls from his friends. Apparently Roscoe was late for bowling, the first phase of this all-day date. Finally he came home, made a call to the florist regarding a corsage, ate a sandwich, and headed to meet everyone at the bowling alley.

As he was about to head out the door, he stopped and said, "I think I'll go put on some deodorant."

And that, ladies, was the extent of his preparations. While you have been carefully planning your outfit, hair, and accessories, it barely occurs to the boys to put on an extra layer of Axe.

How a Housewife Earns Her Keep

2011-09-16T12:55:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm kidding. There are many ways I earn my keep. Including earning actual money. But I've found that with a bit of Internet surfing, phone schmoozing, and creativity, a savvy housewife can almost always get what she needs for less.

I'm only partly kidding when I tell the kids that my true partner in this family is our washing machine. We run a couple loads a day. I love fresh sheets and towels, and nothing takes the wind out of your sails like a paucity of clean undies. Our beloved washer broke down this week, was fixed, but survived only one load before needing a bigger fix. Our favorite repairman said he would order the necessary part, and it would arrive in ten days.

Ten. Days.

My mission: Find the part cheaper and faster.

1. I get online and find the part at Sears. Now I have the exact part number and a baseline price for comparison.

2. I start googling local parts stores. I'd be willing to drive an hour or two to any warehouse with just one of these things. When one person tells me they don't have it, I ask, "Do you have any ideas who else I could call?" I end up calling about five different places. I find it greases the wheels on these phone calls to sound friendly and a little bit hick. For example, I was about to say, "I'm trying to procure a part" but stopped myself and said, "I'm trying to get my hands on a part." It's also helpful to give an impression of knowledge and competence by knowing specifics like the model number, part name, etc.

3. I finally speak with someone who checks the inventory of "the largest distributor in the US and Canada" and on each of his 14 trucks. He not only fails to find my part locally, he tells me his price is $60 more than the price at Sears. Okay then, Sears it is.

4. Before I click "Place Order," I google "Sears discount code." It's a long shot, but hey, sometimes it works. The second code I try gets me $12.83 off my order.

5. I use my happy discount to justify paying a premium for expedited shipping. The part should arrive Monday.

Mark and I are going to try to install the part ourselves on Monday night. If that doesn't work, we have an appointment for our favorite repairman to come on Tuesday. I appears we'll be able to avoid a laundry-induced Lord of the Flies meltdown. Just don't spill juice on your favorite jeans.

Legos

2011-09-12T16:54:00.000-05:00

Jesse has entered a phase that, if he follows his brothers' footsteps, will bring him joy for years. Legos.

Most of the time he has in his hands a little spaceship or guy made of a few tiny pieces. Today at the checkout at Target we saw a little packet of bricks to make a flying ninja. For the first time ever, Jesse had his own set.

As soon as we walked in the door, he dumped out the pieces and followed the instructions to put it together.

I love the tidal wave sound of a boy raking his fingers through a pile of bricks, looking for just the right piece. I love the contented concentration as they work.

If I were stranded on a desert island with a boy, Legos would top my list of things to bring.

Followed perhaps by earplugs.

Betsy, 6 months

2011-09-06T15:29:00.000-05:00

The baby year of Elizabeth Gold Jubilee is half over.

We're tempering our grief by enjoying all the new things our girl can do. She scoots her toes and crawls arm over arm soldier-style. She holds a dolly when she falls asleep. She sleeps through the night. She no longer feels the need to scream whenever in the car. Her busy hands grab, grab, grab.

In addition, she plays a mean game of cards.

She eats from a spoon.

And, of course, she continues as our family mascot, getting passed from hand to hand.

Keepin it real

2011-08-31T13:56:00.001-05:00

Apparently the person handling the transition to the new school year with the least grace and enthusiasm is...me.

Yesterday Roscoe did his second theater audition of the year. He got a decent part in the first but didn't get called back to audition for a leading role for the second. He'll still be in the second production, with a potentially decent role. But not the one he wanted. I hate Roscoe's audition days. And the days the cast list is posted. My feelings about Roscoe have always been tied to such painfully deep heart strings. Maybe it's the intensity of my love for my first baby. Maybe it's his pure, guileless soul making its way through this guile-ful world. Maybe it's that he works so hard to be so good and I just feel luck should run more his way. Or all of the above.

As is apparently de rigueur for this time of year, Jesse's been a wreck. It's either baby talk or a screaming fit. And both have shredded down to my last nerve. Getting him dressed for school today required threats, removal of privileges, hog tying, and distraction with salacious details from the new Harry Potter movie.

My plans to get Betsy on a consistent nap schedule in which she sleeps the whole time Jesse is at school: not fully successful as yet.

My children seem to have some noxious little nubbin in their souls that makes them fight compliance. They know things like how to get clean laundry without trashing laundry room, how to move sandwich-making supplies from edge of counter to avoid dropping crumbs on the floor, how to take turns in the bathroom, how to come for dinner when summoned, how to get ready for school. But for some reason they prefer to be reminded (nagged) and given consequences. I've put everyone on a system of levels. The higher your level, the more privileges you get. And moving up a level requires nothing more than basic completion of your daily duties. Some people are choosing to learn the hard way. I don't see the appeal.

First Day of School (again)

2011-08-24T18:35:00.000-05:00

Today Jesse went to his first day of kindergarten. I've been saying it's soon, then I said it's tomorrow, and then all morning I told him it was today. When finally I had him change into his uniform and grab his backpack, he could hardly believe the moment had finally come.

I'm not quite as glib about Jesse's academic future as I once was. Yesterday I took him to "test" with his kindergarten teacher. I peeked through the window as she asked him questions like, "Can you count for me?" He began singing the ABCs. Badly. Then she prompted him, "1...2...3..." and I thought, "Oh no, stop counting before you say all the ones he knows!"

But all was rosy when, on our way out the door, Jesse's teacher handed him...his homework folder. A vinyl two-pocket folder for taking papers to and from school. Exactly like the ones he's seen the other kids toting for years. When she said, "Here is your homework folder" it was like she had said, "Here's your golden ticket for a lifetime of free rides at Disneyland." He lit up like Christmas morning.

I keep telling myself I should have practiced letters with him more, made him write his name more. And I keep telling myself it wouldn't have done any good anyway and he'll learn when he's ready. Let's hope I'm right.

Meanwhile, Roscoe started his junior year earlier this week. No cute picture of him on the doorstep--because he leaves at 5:45, when I really don't care about pictures or doorsteps. He has an incredibly challenging schedule and is already auditioning this afternoon for the Shakespeare troupe. In Mark's father's blessing last week, he blessed Roscoe with "wisdom" to see clearly how to prioritize his many responsibilities.

I feel like I shuttle kids to school and then rush home to pray, pray, pray them through their day.

Bit o' Betsy

2011-08-23T12:17:00.001-05:00

Sitting

Reaching

Rolling

Smiling

Let's take a closer look at that one.

A First Day of School Fable

2011-08-18T23:43:00.001-05:00

As I stood chatting with Levi's teacher on the morning of the first day of school, an adorable little girl approached us. She held aloft a perfect, new yellow pencil and asked, "Can I sharpen my pencil?"

"Oh sure, honey," I thought I might hear. "The pencil sharpener is right over there."

Instead the teacher arched an eyebrow and asked, "Do you have a personal pencil sharpener?"

The girl's pigtails quivered. "No," she answered.

"Then you'll have to borrow one," said the teacher, sweetly, but with unmistakable firmness.

That afternoon after school, Levi's first words to me were, "I need mechanical pencils!" Then he launched into a copiously detailed account of all the wonderful ways a mechanical pencil frees you from the need to sharpen a pencil. This then segued into, you guessed it, "And I need a personal pencil sharpener!"

At that moment I realized that his teacher was a girl after my own heart.

I can picture it now. Each day her twenty-three students each asked to sharpen their pencils twenty-three times, generating class-time interruptions and learning disruptions that equaled...well, the math was above anything attempted in the fourth grade. The sound of even the sweetest, "Can I sharpen..." sounded to her like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Finally, she realized it had to stop and devised a clever plan. Next year, she resolved, I will require all students to bring their own pencil sharpener! And I'll encourage them to bring mechanical pencils--they never need sharpening! In a culminating stroke of genius she disassembled the classroom pencil sharpener. As she dumped the offending appliance into the trash she felt a subtle shift in the universe, as if balance had been restored.

So tonight I went to Target and bought a jumbo pack of mechanical pencils--did you know that one mechanical pencil lasts as long as 2.5 old-fashioned wooden ones??--and a handful of personal pencil sharpeners.

Because a girl who devises a system that prevents children from senselessly draining her energy and sanity? I'm with you, sister.

(First) First Day of School

2011-08-17T18:02:00.000-05:00

This morning these three headed off for their first day of school.

It was a pretty jarring transition. Until yesterday afternoon, we thought Levi had ten more days of summer. (We haven't even finished our book, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane.) But at the last moment he was accepted into the charter school Logan, Haley, and Jesse attend. Meaning that we should never again have kids in four different schools at a time (like last year). Just the charter school and high school.

Since Levi wasn't yet officially registered, I walked him into the school to drop off paperwork and help him find his class. Haley was all dressed up in her cute little pleated skort and bouncy ponytail. We walked her to her classroom door and she strode confidently in. In Levi's classroom I stood chatting with the teacher while he circuited the room to assess the lay of the land. I confess, I choked up a little. I was sending these shining little stars out into the big, wide world! And the nerves the kids had been feeling all morning were rubbing off on me.

After the school drop-off, I took Roscoe (who doesn't start school until next week) to the DMV, where he got his driver's license. Meaning that this year I won't have to drive him to early-morning seminary or pick him up from late-night theater rehearsals.

So after months of the near-constant presence of six kids, today I was home by noon with just Jesse and Betsy.

Pros

A bit of peace and quiet.
The excitement of new uniforms, new pencils, new classes.
The alluring vistas of all the learning and growth that will happen this year.
The opportunity to give Jesse some extra attention.
No one to raise their eyebrows when I drive-thru for a Diet Coke.

Cons

Schlepping back and forth to the school morning, noon, and night.
Waking napping baby for said schlepping.
No extra hands to hold Betsy.
No built-in babysitters when I took Roscoe to the DMV.
Jesse getting progressively more restless as the afternoon sans siblings wears on. Good thing he's starting school this year. (Also doesn't start until next week.)
The chaotic after-school furor of eating snacks and doing homework and competing kids yelling, "And I need mechanical pencils!" and "Can you sign this?" and "Can I have a graham cracker?" and "Today was Chelsea's birthday!" and "Can I play wiiiiiii?" all at the same time.
Missing my kids.
Jigsaw-puzzling life around the school bell.

For Family Home Evening on Monday, Mark gave the kids father's blessings. In Haley's, he blessed her to know when to ask for help. I would never have thought to pray for that for her, but it's actually just what she needs to know as she tries to navigate the world. In Levi's, he listed a litany of "opportunities for bad" that Levi might face and admonished him to always choose the right. Again, I wouldn't have outlined the dichotomy that way, but I can see that it was wise and apt counsel for Levi.

In retrospect, I can hardly imagine how we made it through last year. I was so sore and tired so much of the time. And the kids' schedules were so crazy. I'm grateful for the opportunity for a more sane school year.

Knock on wood.

Last Day of Summer

2011-08-17T00:25:00.000-05:00

What did I see out my window this morning?

Let's take a street view:

I got this water slide rental for a song on CityDeals and decided it would be the perfect thing for our last summer playgroup. I won't post pictures of other people's kids, but by the end of the day no less than thirty-five kids had played on this thing. We blew it up at nine a.m. and I kicked the last kids off at five o'clock. Logan brought out his CD player and the driveway became a dance hall-slash-tanning beach.

Little did we know at the beginning of the day that this truly was our last day of summer. In the afternoon, I got a call that Levi had been accepted into the charter school that the other kids attend. So instead of having kids at four schools, like I did last year, they'll all be in just two. Praise be! And school starts tomorrow! Roscoe has tomorrow to take care of a few loose ends--like getting his driver's license--then he's off for a weekend Scout trip before he starts school on Monday.

This was a great summer. The summer Betsy and Roscoe were both with us. The summer we finally had time to relax and enjoy our complete family. I'm glad we ended with a bang.

Teens

2011-08-12T23:40:00.004-05:00

Things I rarely do now that I have teens

Vacuum.
Unload the dishwasher.
Mow the lawn.
Hire a babysitter.
Take more than a couple kids to the store.
Watch a show or movie I can't justify the moral soundness of.
Clock out at eight o'clock.

Things I do now that I have teens

Drive endless circles around the church parking lot giving driving lessons.
Stay up late waiting for someone to come home.
Parent when they'll accept it, which usually comes after nine o'clock.
Discuss gender roles, sex, intimacy, real men, atheism, choosing a career, religious doubt.
Buy shoes and clothing in sizes larger than my husband’s.
Monitor shaving and use of deodorant.
Call my children "dude." (Somehow it softens the blow to say, "Dude, do your chores" or "Dude, that was lame.")
Watch tasteless youtube clips.
Spend hundreds of dollars to register for school.
Spend hundreds of dollars on groceries--frequently.
Listen to rap and pop.
Worry more.

Summer Theater

2011-08-11T12:24:00.000-05:00

Summer’s winding down, and it just didn’t seem long and lazy enough. We’ve already been to Roscoe and Logan’s schools to fill out forms, pick up schedules, stand in lines, and hand over checks. Logan and Haley start school next week.

Last night we went, for the second time, to the Shakespeare-in-the-park performance of Coriolanus that Roscoe is in. Roscoe fills like four different roles as a soldier, citizen, and rebel. The production does a fantastic job of modernizing the story with costumes and blocking. The actors deliver their lines like real communication, not just iambic pentameter. Jesse, of course, lost interest long before the final scene, so sometimes behind the stage we could see him running through the grass wielding his light saber.

Theater in the round.

Roscoe as his doppelganger, the punk rebel he could be but isn't. The people oppose the war that Marcius (later known as Coriolanus) is mounting.

Roscoe (back) storms Rome.

That mask used to be my cami. And those are his suit pants!

The price of war. Marcius has triumphed!

The play is largely about the fickleness of mindless crowds. After his victory, Coriolanus' opponents become his groupies.

Roscoe as returning soldier greeting his wife.

a.m. / p.m.: Two Vignettes on Sloth, Entropy, and Industry

2011-08-06T22:01:00.000-05:00

a.m.
Mark and I are trying to usher the kids through their Saturday chores so we can get this place whipped into shape and get to Levi's soccer game. And because, good heavens, let's just get it done already. We cajole and remind and follow-up. The kids act like they have never before experienced this "cleaning of bedroom" of which we speak. They resist and complain and whine before ambling off to do what my mother would call "half-way jobs." (Mark's dad had a slightly more colorful term for it.)

I lose it when I walk into the laundry room. The floor is covered with what I presume is a mix of dirty and clean laundry. Yesterday's clean laundry is piled in a basket--wet. The contents of the dryer are also wet. It's been mildewing all night. The carelessness! The laziness! The slovenliness! The disrespect for clean laundry!

It's too much to bear.

p.m.
Somehow, finally, the kids have hit their stride. I look up to see Logan heading out the back door with a pair of hedge trimmers. Roscoe comes in the front door from having vacuumed out the car, a neatly coiled extension cord in hand. Even Jesse is sorting clean silverware from the dishwasher caddy into the drawer. Bedrooms have been dusted, sheets washed, the lawn mowed.

Once again the nefarious forces of entropy have been held at bay.

For now.

Heartbreaker

2011-08-04T23:14:00.000-05:00

First she was no longer a newborn, and now she's really no longer a little baby. She doesn't fold up in your arms like a hot potato. Her long legs trail down off my lap when I feed her. The little stinker has somehow become five months old!

How is it possible to feel that I've missed it when she's been in my arms most of the time?

Why does it take so long to make a baby and so little for them to grow up? (Feels like kind of the same ratio as time spent making dinner versus time spent enjoying it.)

She often has an amused but slightly skeptical expression as seen here...

Or maybe it's more shocked than amused...

Maybe because she's constantly being thronged like this:

I never really understood why people seemed to pity me for never having a baby daughter. I liked my family just fine, thank you very much. But now this girl feels like the cherry on top. Or the lemon drop.

Summer before its gone

2011-08-03T20:51:00.000-05:00

Signs of the new school year are creeping around us like the bogey man. I avert my eyes from the huge back-to-school displays at the store. But thick envelopes of registration paperwork are piling up in my mailbox, and I was lured in by Old Navy's school uniform sale. And I have to confess, now that I've thought about it, the idea of a few less kids around here has a certain appeal.

Before summer slips away entirely, here are a few of the summer systems we've been using:

Playgroup
I was trying to think of a way to fund the kids' inevitable desires for things like bounce house passes, movie tickets, pizza, and new wii games. So we made flyers inviting all neighborhood kids to a weekly playgroup. We charge $2 per kid. My kids plan the activities, supervise the kids, and clean up afterwards. Overall, it's been very fun. The kids have done a good job making sure the playgroup is fun for everyone and balancing structured activities with free time. They used their proceeds from the first half of the summer to buy a new car DVD player for our trip.

Random rewards
I'm always telling myself I need to give fewer negative consequences and more positive reinforcement. So I sometimes set up a system wherein behavior x earns reward y. And then I find the mandatory rewards annoying and counterproductive. Finally I came up with this system of random rewards, which I like much better.

On each square I've written something ranging from "thank you" to "Happy Meal for lunch." Any time I see someone do something good, I can tell them to choose a sticky to remove from the chart. But it's never linked with any specific behavior.

I stack it so that about half the time they'll just get a pat on the back ("You make our family great" or "Chuck Norris is impressed"). I also try to make the rewards strengthen my relationship with the kids, so some of them are things like "Hug Mom" or "Play wii tennis with Mom." I think the kids' all-time favorite is "Mom cleans your room."

Cups
I guess we're all still enamored with our new fridge and the water and ice in the door. The kids saunter into the kitchen for ice water about three thousand times a day. And had been using a new cup each time until I finally gave them each their assigned spot on the counter.

Intrepid Campers

2011-07-28T21:49:00.000-05:00

This week Logan is backpacking with the Scouts. Here he is all geared up on Monday morning.

We'll see if he's feeling quite so frisky when he returns on Saturday.

Meanwhile, the little kids are holding their own camp-out in the backyard.

How to Teach Your Baby to Sleep through the Night

2011-07-22T23:16:00.003-05:00

Last night I fed Betsy around 10:30 and put her to bed. Then we all slept until 7:00.

The first time I've had a full night's sleep since...last November?

This was the second night of our Ferber-esque quest to train her to sleep through the night. The first night she woke at her normal time and fussed for about 45 minutes before going back to sleep. I predict that tonight was somewhat of a fluke and a night or two of nighttime crying is still in our future. But I'm thrilled about the prospect of my new life as a person who rarely sees 3:00 a.m. face to face. (There's only a teensy slice of me who will miss snuggling up to a nursing baby in the quiet wee hours.)

With some of our babies, we've done brutal, cold-turkey cry-it-out routines. With others we've endured years of nighttime awakenings and bedtime battles. I'm a believer that it's well worth it to teach your baby to sleep through the night. Our babies that we've sleep trained have maintained healthy, well regulated sleep patterns for the rest of their childhoods. Mothers may give (nearly) all their waking hours to their children, but they need their own sleep at night in order to be happy and healthy themselves.

Here's the somewhat gentler version that Mark and I are using on Betsy:

Wait for the right time.

We've done it with a baby as young as three months, and I think that's the absolute earliest. Betsy is four months old, and that's probably more reasonable. By that time, babies don't physically night feedings, they're just in a bad habit. Don't do it with a baby who's underweight, sick, traumatized, undergoing some transition, or about to go on vacation.

Lay the foundation.
In my book, babies under three months get whatever they want, whenever they want it. That includes co-sleeping, round-the-clock feedings, and hours and hours in mother's arms. Even so, you can start gently nudging even a newborn toward good sleep habits. Give baby a bit of blanket time by lying her down during a happy, well-fed time each day. Sometimes put her into bed just before she's fully asleep and let her finish the job on her own. Try to put her to sleep at the same time in the same way each day.

Enlist Daddy.
Especially if you're nursing, you'll need Dad's help with this one. When baby sees you in the night, she thinks snack time. Sit this one out and let Dad handle it.

Strategize.
I am stupid in the night. I can't tell you how many times I've sat in bed furiously thinking, "So the baby last ate at two, and now it's three...so does that mean she's hungry?" And a crying baby further diminishes mental capacity. Before you begin your sleep training system, map it out step by step. Make sure you and Daddy agree on exactly what you will do under any contingency.

Commit.

There's nothing worse than starting to Ferberize a baby and then chickening out. You must commit. All the way. You must resolve that even if this baby chooses to scream until your heart and ears break, you will hold your course. There will surely come a time when you are tempted to swoop in and rescue your miserable baby. When that happens, tell yourself that your baby can learn to sleep through the night and that your whole family will be blessed when she does so. You're not traumatizing your baby, you're giving her the gift of self-regulation, sound nighttime sleep, and a well-rested mother.

Execute.

Mark and I handle it thus: We choose a night when everything is typical--no big event day of, no big event the day after. Even if baby went to bed earlier in the evening, give her a nice big feeding right before you go to bed. When she cries in the night, wait a few minutes. If she's still crying after 3-5 minutes, send Dad in to pat her on the back and say, "Go to sleep baby." Dad shouldn't stay in the room for more than a minute or two.

If she's still crying after another 5 minutes or so, Dad makes another brief visit. Don't turn on the lights, don't pick her up, don't do anything stimulating at all. Your visits are to soothe her just a bit and let her know that you are around. But the whole point is that baby is the one who must put herself back to sleep.

As long as baby continues to cry--and it could be hours--send Dad in every 10 minutes or so to give her a brief pat on the back. It's grueling. It's painful. If Dad begins losing his mind, Mom can take a turn. If you're both seriously approaching meltdown, put in earplugs and sleep for a half hour.

After about three nights, you'll wake up one morning feeling strangely light and beneficent. You'll say, "Did you get up with the baby last night?" And he'll say, "No, did you get up with the baby last night?"

And life will have gotten a whole lot brighter.

Chimborazo

2011-07-21T13:22:00.001-05:00

For years, Mark's imagination has been captured by Mount Chimborazo in Ecuador. As the earth spins, it bulges a bit around the middle. Meaning that sea level near the equator is further from the center of the earth than sea level elsewhere. So although it's not the tallest mountain in the world, Mount Chimborazo's summit is the furthest point from the center of the earth.

A few years ago when Mark finished his Ph.D. dissertation, he won a chunk of prize money. We decided that as a post-dissertation reward, this money would finally fund his Ecuador trip. In the years since, we've spent that money several times over, to buy new cars, pay debts, and other unsexy things. Finally this year, we replenished the money, and Mark convinced his mountain-man brother Bruce to join him. Everything from plane tickets to mountain guides to gear cost more than forecast--surprise!--and our year filled with baby expenses and orthodontic bills. But we decided this was the year. If we waited for a time when we had plenty of extra cash and few responsibilities, Mark would never climb his mountain.

While the kids and I played at my parent's house in Dallas, Mark and Bruce flew to Ecuador, where they climbed several peaks and took a jaunt to the Amazon rainforest. Mark was able to shoot a few emails along the way. I love how they capture his breathless enthusiasm as he soaks it all up. He keeps trying to reassure us that he's not going to kill himself--watch for the part in which Mark is literally crackling with electricity but still reaches out to grab a metal pole on the summit of a mountain. Also, you can hear that the man is thinking in Spanish.

Thursday, July 7 | Day 2 (morning)

Dear Angela and kids,

Bruce and I are safely in Ecuador at the hotel catedral internacional. We had a good flight. Tell levi that i had a window seat and a great view of downtown miami when we flew out of the miami airport. it truly was amazing. also, the ocean (and land) is so shallow there that from the air you can see underwater land formations for some distance from the peninsula. Very beautiful. We flew directly over cuba, but it was cloudy. we also flew over jamaica. i was able to see that contry or some other island out my window. We arrived safely. Between Bruce´s fluent portuguess and my get'by'able spangilsh, it is pretty cool, we can actually get by quite well between the two of us ' lot´s of fun. we are in a beautiful old hotel in the colonial district. the architecture is amazing and the sun is shining today. we are out on the town today to the military geograpic institute for maps ' awesome! and some outfitting places to arrange jeeps for next two days. We are having a great time. it is very comforting to be with bruce. there is nothing like a brother or a sister in teh world. [Then Mark remembers who he is writing to] except a spouse. i love you.

Thursday, July 7 | Day 2 (evening)

Dear family, here is an update on our day. in the morning we went to the iGM and got some sweet maps! then we went to an outfitting store to see if we could find a good jeep rental. long story short, we eneded up with a really cool guy, fabian, who is a guide and has a 4x4 jeep and is going to do all our stuff with us today and tomorrow--las pichinchas and illiniza norte and drive us down to riobamba. this should make everyone feel much safer about our trekking (including us). everything seems right about it, including the price. it was sunny all day, with a few clouds. We walked all over the downtown market area and the historica -colonial district. a great day. Tomorrow morning we are driving up to 14,000 feet, as high as the highest peaks in america´s lower 48. and then climbing three 15k peaks. Wow!! if the weather tomorrow is anything like today, it will be fantastic. i love you all and am thinking of you. Bruce and i talked much today of our families.

Angela, PS, i forgot to tell you that yesterdayin the miami airport I got a virgin mojito for $4. i just had to get it. Good thing - It was muy sabrosa!

[Mark and I always laugh about Sam Ax and his mojitos in the show Burn Notice.]

Saturday, July 9 | Day 4

hello my love. We are safe. it has been amazing. we are beat.

yesterday we hiked over 10 miles and summitted three (3), yes, that is correct, three peaks that were over 15,000 feet above sea level. one was 15,700! it turned out that we contracted a very good guide--i´m thinking now that this was the result of many prayers on our behalf. The guide´s father has a Land Cruiser (mark and joe will appreciate this). The guide (Fabian), his father, and his mother, drove us through south quito, around the back through the picaresque town of lloa, and then up the Guagua Pichincha volacano to above 14,000 feet (higher than i have ever climbed). i spotted a fox on the way up. For a second, I wondered if it were a Coyote or a dog, but it was red and looked just like a fox. i pointed it out, and the whole family cried out El Zorro! El Zorro!

From the trailhead, we hiked up to the rim. The sun was out, but it was windy, the ascent was steep, and the air was thin. At the rim, the wind was about 40 mph. As we looked down the cliffs into the volcano crater, with its fumarolas, the wind was blowing volcanic pumice dust, sand, and pebbles into our faces. A few times, i had to hold on to my glasses to keep them from blowing off of my face into the crater. of course i was not standing on the edge, no te preocupes, i was standing just below, and if the wind knocked me over i would have fallen into the rim, but my glasses would have gone over the edge.

From there we started traversing the Paramo (high mountain lands) to padre Encantado (the bewitched padre) and summitted there as well. The wind was gone. The sun was out, and we had tremendous views all around. There were many clouds individuals. The wind above was very fast, so the clouds were moving very quickly. Sometimes, when we were on ridges, they would hit the mountain below and then come zooming up the mountain to us. it was exhilarating to be up there. I have seldom felt so alive and free. i don´t know what it is about the high country that makes you feel that way. perhaps a delusion caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain¿ i did get a headache at the first peak, so i took an escedrin.

The third peak we climbed was the Rucu Pichincha. The approach was very beautiful! it is a majestic peak. then, when we started the real ascent, by this time of the day, at this elevation, it was brutal. The peak, however, was very rewarding.

From there, we hiked 3 more miles down to El Teleferico, a gondola that goes down to Quito (like the Tramway in Albuquerq). By the end of the hike, we were exhausted. We went home, ate at a fast food chiken place (with a good manzana drink), showered, packed, and got a full night of sleep. This morning we got up at 5:30 pick up at 6, and drive down the panAmerican highway to machachi, then off and over to El Chaupi. Bruce wanted to get horses for the first several miles of trail to los illinizas. We went to a rancho and contracted for three horses. Then drove up to the trailhead and got ready. The horses arrived and we started climbing up through the Eduadorian campo toward the mountains. Wow, how beautiful it was! The country was already high, and you could really feel as you climbed higher that we were entering a different realm.

We rode the horses up to about 15,000 feet, a little below the saddle between illiniza norte and Illiniza Sur. We started our ascent to norte. it was very steep and the air very thin. it was very cloudy and began to hail. i began thinking about my training and grateful for every mile I had run. Before long, Bruce had to turn back. This was a poignant moment I can tell you. he told me later that he was thinking about advice from Dad and Grandma McGee and turned back to keep me safe. It is not good to be on the mountain in the afternoon, which is the stormy part of the day. Fabian and i climbed and climbed.

We were about 3 fourths up surrounded in fog, when we heard thunder. it´s okay, he said, it is in another valley. We climbed more. Then thunder sounder nearer. 20 meters! he said. We dropped our packs and trekking poles and scrambled up the rocks to the summit. On the summit, there is a metal cross. the peak is very steep, so the cross only came into view in the last few feet of the ascent. i approached the very summit, which was now about three feet away, when all of a sudden my hair stood up inside of my balaclava and rainjacket hood and my scalp tingled all over and i could hear buzzing and crackling. i yelled to the guide that i felt static electricity on my head.! he said !we have to get down right now! later he told me htat he could hear buzzing from the hood of my rainjacket. This is stupid, but i reached out and touched the summit (in a split second) and then we started as quick a descent as possible given the steepness and the hail. Soon i felt we were safe. Still, the lower we got down the mountain the better i felt.

We came down a different side of the mountain that was very steep but very smooth and sandy, so it was just plunge stepping and sand skiiing. A very rapid descent. Then a beautiful hike through the paramo, and i felt that the holy Spirit was with me. Then we met Bruce and the horses and rode down. The hail turned to rain, but after a while it stopped and then the beautiful sun came out. We got to the jeep, drove back down to El Chaupi, out to the panAm highway, and down to Riobamba.

We just ate a hot meal. hot chocolate, chicken soup, a local churrasco, and strawberry soda. now we are going to take baths and go to bed. Today i summited a peak 16,800 feet above sea level and i feel grateful to be alive. i feel like we have already succeeded. if the weather is bad on Chimborazo or it gets too steep in the snow, i think i will just turn around. i will not push it more than wisdom. Also, we have the best guides in the world for this mountain, so do not worry about us. We will be out of contact for four days. i will write again when we get back to Riobamba. i love you and think of you every day. happy birthday to Roscoe! Send this to Mark and give him my congratulations for a new member of the family! i love you dearly.

[Roscoe had his sixteenth birthday while Mark was gone, and my brother Mark and his wife had their second son.]

Thursday, July 12 | Day 7

We are back safely from Chimborazo. We did not summit, as it was just too windy, which is dangerous when the glacier gets steep. We only made it 1-4th of the way (17,000 ft).

We are back early, as no summit, so Bruce wants to go down into the Amazon. Love you got to go. Ride here. love you

We're Back

2011-07-19T16:16:00.001-05:00

We did lots of this:

Saw lots of this:

We spent Fourth of July weekend with the McGees at their beloved cabin above Durango,Colorado. Every one of Mark's parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews were there. Then we drove to my parents house, where my sister Nancy and her four children were also visiting. From there, Mark flew to Ecuador. More on his adventures later. On our way home, we visited the McGee home in Albuquerque and stopped at the McGee ranch in La Plata, New Mexico, where we visited Mark's grandma and a passel o cousins. In all, we saw dozens of beloved from four generations on both sides of our family tree.

No way to do a full travelogue, but here's a shot of each of the kids enjoying the McGee cabin. (Beautiful pics thanks to my talented BIL Alberto.)

Betsy on the deck Grandpa built.

His hair matches the red dirt.

Haley with her lookalike cousin Sarah.

Intense card games.

Logan (back of canoe) almost never came up from the waterfront.

And who is this handsome man? I really don't know.

And my mom doing what she loves best--holding bushels of babies.

Vacation

2011-06-28T08:55:00.000-05:00

I'm still loving our (mostly) schedule-free summer. But this week we're taking a break from library days, playgroups, and loafing to pack up for a major summer roadtrip.

Drive to the McGee cabin above Durango, Colorado, for Fourth of July weekend with Mark's entire family--happily, all his siblings will be there.
The morning after Fourth of July, drive all the way to my parent's house in Plano, Texas. That's a sixteen-hour drive. We've never before tried to go so far in one day with kids. (Mark and I once drove straight from Provo to Chicago, but that was pre-Roscoe.) It's gonna be brutal. Mark and I have it plotted into four four-hour legs, with stops to gas up and feed Betsy.
The very next morning, Mark flies to Ecuador. He and his brother are hiking Mount Chimborazo, which is the furthest point from the center of earth. (Though not the highest point above sea level, this due to the bulging of the earth around the equator. Ask Mark.)
With luck, Mark will fly back to us in Texas ten days later.
Then we'll all drive home together.

Summer roadtrips are one of our strongest family traditions. Mark and I love to swill Cokes and listen to 70s Southern rock as the road rolls under our wheels. We've crisscrossed Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas more times than we could count, and we've made it out to Washington, California, Michigan, and even Virginia, too. This will be our virgin voyage with six kids, though. Wish us luck.

Our Hero

2011-06-19T23:31:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Roscoe came home from a three-day youth conference. The kids greeted his return with the same enthusiasm they give Mark. They all crowded around him, eagerly talking over each other to tell him what they'd been up to.

In another two or three years, he'll move out. Right now the thought makes me literally sick to my stomach. I recently heard a mother of a new missionary say that the worst thing about her son leaving wasn't how much she missed him, but how much it hurt her to watch her children miss him. That's how we'll be. The kids look up to Roscoe on so many levels. Today Levi folded up the game board from Roscoe's Lord of the Rings Monopoly game the wrong way and sort of tore it in the process. Roscoe, who likes to keep his things in impeccable condition, had to struggle a moment to not say something rude about it. But his silent disappointment crushed poor, careless Levi, who I think will now work to be even more careful.

Roscoe has many wonderful qualities, but I think my favorite is his enduring airheadedness. For example:

"Mom, do you think I'm old enough to know what a tableau is? A tabloo? A tampoo?"

Turns out the young women at youth conference had tp'ed and, ahem, tamponed the young men's tent.

~~~~~~~~~~

In other news, I have shingles. Which has been lame, but not as horrible as people's horror stories had led me to believe. Also, Logan fell from our willow tree on Friday night. We think he fell about twelve feet and landed on his tailbone and hip. Nothing appears to be broken, but the ER doc put him on crutches for three days to let everything heal. So it was kind of a rough week medically.

Custodian of the Chocolate

2011-06-17T12:48:00.000-05:00

One of the most handy and loving things Mark does for me is fill the role of Custodian of the Chocolate. We buy a whole bag of, say, Lindor Truffles. We eat a precious few as a date-night snack. Then Mark hides the remainder somewhere. This way, I don't eat them all the next morning as soon as he leaves for work, and the next time we have a moment for a bit of shared indulgence, he pulls them out. If I'm truly desperate I can call him at work to divulge the location, or just root around our closet until I find them. Available but hidden. It's wonderful.

Yesterday, however, our elegant system was disrupted when I found a bag of hazelnut truffles on a shoe shelf in my closet. My shoe shelf is actually a much cleverer hiding place than it may first seem. I think that bag had been there for weeks. As you know, I have issues with putting away shoes. At this moment, there are no less than six pairs of my shoes in corners of this room. Which is strange since I've worn the same pair every day this week. (And stranger still since the occasion of my finding the truffles was me putting shoes away. Seriously, where did all these shoes come from?)

When Mark came home last night, I notified him of my find in the closet. I proudly told him that the truffles remained in place--I hadn't even touched them. He said, "I don't believe it."

Well, it was true. But that lackadaisical Custodian of Chocolate did not take the opportunity to re-hide the cache.

And now the truffles are all gone.

* This post brought to you by Betsy's morning nap.

Economics of Scale

2011-06-14T09:06:00.000-05:00

Okay, I admit, I was kind of freaked out about summer vacation starting. I never want to be a mom who complains when her children are home--I mean, isn't having children around kind of the point of having children? And yet...my life was feeling so overwhelmingly full already. How could I carry on without any breaks at all?

Turns out, what I had been underestimating was the tyranny of the clock. This school year had five kids, one pregnancy/newborn, and four different school systems/districts, each with their own schedule and calendar. And no driver but me. Never again. By the time school starts again, Roscoe will at least be able to drive himself, and I'll never have four different schools again. With all the end-of-year parties and school activities, I was driving someone somewhere about every ninety minutes. Meaning that either I'm piling everyone into the car or leaving kids home unattended.

As soon as school stuff ended, our lives became infinitely more peaceful. We have time to do what we choose to do, rather than always squishing life into the cracks between scheduled activities.

Meanwhile, the economics of scale are killing me in the kitchen. We're going through a gallon of milk and a couple loaves of bread a day. The dishwasher is running twice a day. We demolish Costco-sized containers of produce in one lunch. I use serving bowls the size of jacuzzis. I serve what I think will be a ridiculous amount of food, and in minutes the kids are complaining of hunger.

My grocery budget has been about $130 per week, but now that's becoming more like $150-160 per week. (That's not including a biweekly Target run for household miscellany like toothpaste and printer paper and cleaning supplies.) I try to alternate weekly trips to Costco and our local warehouse-type grocery store. I don't do store-hopping for deals because I don't have the time or mental energy, but we do have a mostly from-scratch, mostly vegetarian menu.

So I'd love to know: What is your grocery budget?

Betsy, 3 months

2011-06-08T19:58:00.000-05:00

Speaking of my constant state of mourning, Betsy is three months old. I'm sort of heartbroken that her newborn life is officially over. But also I love three-month-olds. They are so dang cute!

Happy to her toes.

I think Betsy has the most beautiful eyes in the world.

The Buddha of Prosperity

So alert and engaged!

And because she has brothers...

School Year Recap

2011-06-05T22:31:00.000-05:00

The tragedy of motherhood is that you’re in a constant state of mourning. Each stage of childhood is so fleeting, and the child you love today quickly turns into someone else entirely. Exhibit A: The six-foot-two baritone in my kitchen; five minutes ago he was a little blonde toddler.

On the other hand, the great joy of motherhood is watching each child grow and learn and develop. You can almost see their wet wings unfurl and spread. To celebrate the start of summer, here’s a recap of what everyone accomplished this school year.

Roscoe – 10^th grade

Roscoe triumphed in his first year at what to me seems like a huge high school. He had a challenging course load, including Chemistry, Spanish 4, and AP Language Arts. Last time I saw a progress report he had not just As, but like 97% in each class.

He has found a real passion for theater. In the fall he was in his school’s uber-competitive Shakespeare team, which went on to win about every award there was at the Cedar City Shakespeare festival. Roscoe totes around my huge Complete Works of Shakespeare from college as he sings songs from musicals.

In addition, his drive to do good and be good remains absolutely stunning. He is a fantastically pleasant, engaged, and service-minded person.

Logan – 7^th grade

Logan also started a new school this year. He moved from elementary school to middle school at Hawthorn Academy, a new charter school in our area. He though he’d hate the school, but decided he loved it within a week or two. Then he went through a rough period of adolescent angst. He became a rude and uncooperative person who did basically zero schoolwork. Our super social young man spent hours alone in a darkened bedroom. This mama shed many tears on his behalf. I used every shred of energy and patience my pregnant self could muster to hold the line on expectations and consequences. It was really all a mess.

Then sometime after Christmas, his mind and heart clicked up a gear. Suddenly homework happened, arguing diminished, he came out of his room. He was so much more pleasant, earned so much more trust and privileges, and was such a happier person.

By the end of the year, the teacher with whom he had kind of had a relationship of mutual frustration, was lauding him in front of the school as a stellar example of the results of a positive attitude.

I’m so grateful that Logan had these experiences this year. Really. He learned some valuable lessons about who he is, who he wants to be, and the happy consequences of decent behavior. I love the young man he’s becoming.

Levi - 3^rd grade

They say third grade is a big milestone because it’s the year they stop teaching you how to read and how to do school and start just teaching you. It’s the first of the big-kid grades. Levi remains a strong student and a pleasant, cooperative class member. Last week he won the “Leadership” award for his class for his all-around good citizenship.

To me the most exciting thing Levi did this year was read the entire Harry Potter series. Like Roscoe and Logan in their day, Levi began the series when its reading level was still a bit above his head. But the story is so gripping, that the kids read and read and read. And their reading level keeps up with the advancing complexity of the books. Harry Potter and co. are part of our daily family discourse.

Levi also deepened his love of sports this year. He wore his two Jazz jerseys to tatters and insisted on donning thin athletic shorts throughout our snowy winter. He played fall and spring soccer as well as winter basketball. He also took his first year of piano lessons.

Haley – 1^st grade

First grade is a bit of mini-adolescence as kids transition from little preschooler/kindergarteners to full-blown school kids. Haley learned to keep up with the big kids by going to school all day, riding to the school with the scooter pack, reading chapter books, and playing her own season of soccer. Don’t tell Levi, but her reading level is just a step or two behind his.

Just between you and me, Haley’s rough start in life presents her with challenges to this day. And will, perhaps, forever. I’m so grateful that academics have come so easily to her. At school she is in her element, doing things she knows she’s good at and that she enjoys.

Jesse – second year of preschool

Oh, Jesse. You know I love him. But letters and numbers he still does not know. Fits he still throws. Cooperation is not among his skills. The boy acts like a three-year-old most of the time. My current plan is to enroll him in kindergarten next year. And the year after. Jesse’s charm, energy, and creativity know no bounds. But I think he’ll benefit from the gift of an extra year of maturity and development.

Betsy - zero

This is perhaps the biggest year of Betsy’s life. At the end of last school year she was nothing more than a twinkle in her mother’s eye. Throughout the year she piled on neurons and organs and eyelashes. She is now a whopping three months old, with rolls of chub and bright eyes that testify to her bright future.

Little Hacks

2011-05-31T14:42:00.000-05:00

After the coldest, rainiest spring in years, today is sunny and mild. The perfect setting to show off my much-needed new sofa. *squeal!*

Of course, Betsy remains the loveliest thing in the house.

A design blog I read described how to make your own version of something pricey from the Pottery Barn catalog, so I thought I'd share some of my own cheapo hacks. I snapped the pictures without fluffing pillows or picking up the random detritus. Think of it as a game: Can you find the wet wipes, a work glove, a John Deere quillow, a Croatian Power button?

This magnetic memento board is copied straight from an old PB catalog. I asked Mark to make it for me as a present. He built a wooden frame with furring strips and L joints, then Gorilla-glued a sheet of metal over the top. We wrapped the whole thing in a piece of linen from my fabric stash and staple-gunned it to the back.

I use it to display old family photos, inspirational messages, and anything else cute.

Right now it's a newborn gallery so the kids can try to guess who was who. (Levi top right, Betsy on bottom.)

Recently I devised this cheap way to fill another big open wall. I bought a world map from amazon for something like $8. I knew the kids would poke at it, so I wanted to make it indestructible. We glued the map to a thin sheet of plywood, mod-podged the whole thing, then screwed it straight into the wall.

This one was my solution to fill this awkward piece of wall between two levels of the house. I bought 12x12 stretched canvases from a craft store and used spray adhesive to cover them with 12x12 pieces of scrapbook paper. I've done similar things using wallpaper samples instead of scrapbook paper.

This one might be my favorite. I devised this method for hanging jewelry, and convinced Mark to make it for me as a Christmas present. It's another sheet of plywood with that same linen stapled around it (and a thin layer of quilt batting underneath for body). Mark screwed teacup hooks into a grid.

What are you favorite little hacks?

A lame post is better than nothing

2011-05-27T14:16:00.000-05:00

Goodness, I'm behind on blogging. Here's Levi at his end-of-year piano recital. He played "Indian Song," which you may have played at your first piano recital too.

My brother Josh came to visit. He's a very handsome fellow under that hair. I love my baby bro. And now he loves my baby Betsy.

Aunt Ruth came to visit and ran the school Fun Run 5K with Levi.

Actually, he left her in the dust and won first place for his grade.

And a bit o Betsy:

Contaminated

2011-05-17T22:37:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Jesse came home from preschool with a note from his teacher on cheery yellow paper. A note telling us about a man seen lurking in our neighborhood, peeping in windows, and even entering a home. I forwarded the message around the neighborhood yesterday afternoon and brushed up on safety protocols with the kids at Family Home Evening, but didn't feel too concerned until today.

Suddenly my quiet morning at home with two little children felt kind of menacing. I was literally looking over my shoulder and walking around with the phone in my pocket. I've always been cavalier about things like locking doors. I figure I don't want to live in a world where we give in to the few bad apples by barricading ourselves behind safety measures. I refuse to recognize that evil has any power over me. But you better believe my doors were locked today. I was grateful when the kids came home from school to break the ominous silence and fill the empty hallways.

Then tonight my email account was hacked. The email account I've used almost daily since something like 1997. (Shouldn't there be an award for longest-standing email account?) The tide of filth of the modern world has encroached on my life of willful naivete. I've been sullied. So sorry to all you who received my spam. Don't open it.

~~~~~~~~~

On a happier note, Levi just came into my room and threw a copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe at me. "Done," he said, and walked back to bed. This is his kind of charming, kind of destructive, kind of get-your-bootie-back-to-bed way of bragging about his mad reading skillz.

Yoga Reflections

2011-05-14T12:32:00.000-05:00

I was lucky enough to make it to my Saturday morning yoga class today. After abdicating my body to Betsy for so long, it feels so good to be reclaiming it for my own purposes. I can feel muscles, organs, and ribs pulling back into their proper locations.

But for the most part, what I reclaim a healthy body for is to better serve my family. Adding Betsy to the mix of resumes, callings, carpools, housework, and behavior modification makes things full indeed. My nights could be a whole lot worse—but they could also be a whole lot better. The waves of demands on me overlap. I need to work, but Betsy is crying. Someone needs to be picked up or dropped off, but dinner is on the stove. Three people have a question at the same time. I need to eat dinner, but Betsy needs to eat as well. People need printer cartridges, snacks, socks, shin guards, baths, diapers, counsel, discipline, dinner.

In yoga, the teacher introduces a pose and your first reaction is, “My body can’t do that!” But you engage your core, focus on a still point, and next thing you know, you've floated into position. You find that, yes, your body can. You hold a pose and your muscles rebel and you think, “I cannot hold this any longer.” But you pull in your core, breathe deep, and find that, yes, you can go on. Your pose may not be as deep as your teacher’s or as graceful as your neighbor’s, but you let go of competition, judgment, and expectation and accept that all you can do is sufficient.

Yesterday afternoon I was so tired I felt dizzy. Betsy skipped her morning nap, putting me even further behind schedule in getting clients’ resumes to them. Jesse threw fits all afternoon. Logan argued about homework. A quick trip to Target got hung up at the pharmacy. The house began to look like a tornado aftermath as packs of kids blew in one way and out the other.

And it’ll get worse before it gets better. In a few weeks, everyone will be on summer break, eliminating all hope of any kid-free time to run my business, get my housework done, or even shave my legs. My first reaction is, “I can’t do that!” But I’m scheming to renew my spiritual devotions and devise some schedules and systems--and I believe I’ll find that I can.

There will be rough edges. My house won’t be as graceful as my neighbor’s. I’ll feel frenzied and frazzled sometimes. I’ll let go of the expectation of a peaceful, smooth ride. I’ll excuse myself from competition and judgment.

When we look back, we’ll forget or laugh about the quarrels and messes. We’ll remember Betsy’s first summer and how wonderful it was that all six kids were home.

2 Months

2011-05-06T17:38:00.000-05:00

This week Miss Elizabeth turns 2 months old. She has lost that mystical newborn aura in favor of a much more engaged demeanor. She loves to look at faces, and if you're lucky you'll get a smile and a coo.

Late one night, Mark and I sat on the couch gazing at her. "Is she our sweetest baby ever?" Mark asked. I had been thinking just the same thing.

We're trying to savor every moment. But it's all kind of a blur of feedings and awakenings and carpools.

Mark and I agree that heaven only makes sense if it includes the opportunity to watch home videos of every good, sweet moment.

This week I taught Logan this trick for helping a baby who wants to go to sleep but can't quite manage it. Stroke down from their forehead to the tip of their nose, like you're petting a horse. It makes their eyes naturally close long enough for them to settle to sleep.

Neighborhood

2011-05-04T15:04:00.001-05:00

Kneading tonight's dinner rolls, I look out my back window and see one of Logan's friends across the empty lot over our back fence. He's whacking weeds aimlessly. Sometimes as I wait to pick up Logan from school, this boy hops in my car, unannounced, for a ride home. Later, he comes by the jump on the tramp. Jesse joins in.

A map of yesterday's neighborhood flow.

After dropping a neighborhood boy off from afternoon carpool, I went inside to talk to his dad about his new Primary calling. On the way back home I stopped the car to chat with another neighbor on the curb. I watched my kids, and hers, and another neighbors' run back and forth from house to house as they figured out who was done with homework and who would will play where.

Depending on the ebb and flow, it's not uncommon for me to be left with only a kid or two at home. Or for there to be 10 kids here.

In our neighborhood, friends know no age discrimination. The rule is that if you come to my house, you're here to play with all the kids. Jesse and his little buddy often seek out one of Logan's friends. That same buddy sometimes shows up on our doorstep to ask Levi to "wrestle." If I stand on my front steps, and his mom stands on her back steps, we can watch our little boys' safe progress from house to house.

Betsy and Her Siblings

2011-04-27T13:56:00.000-05:00

Betsy is happy when the kids come home from school to snuggle her. Logan walks in the door and says, "How's my girl?" Which is a sweet thing to hear from his mouth.

(Last night Logan told me, "You're a hard-core mom," after watching me make dinner while nursing.)

I agreed to take this picture of Roscoe doing a Mufasa-Simba, but then forbade him from ever doing it again.

Do you see Betsy joining in this game of Monopoly?

Now do you see her?

Roscoe and Mark protect Betsy from a curious triceratops at the dinosaur museum.

Levi enjoying a slow start with Betsy on a spring break morning.

The tape indicates that Betsy needs a break.

But usually she's quite happy with her troupe of adoring fans.

Shuck it and smile

2011-04-20T13:24:00.000-05:00

At church on Sunday, a (very) young woman came up to me to tell me the happy news that she is expecting. She asked me my advice on morning sickness.

"It's been really bad," she told me.

I'm never quite sure how to respond to situations like this. I do have opinions and experience to share, but I don't want to cross the line from helpful to bossy. Plus, who wants to be the snarky, know-it-all old bag?

I mentioned sipping Diet Coke, taking half a Unisom before bed, and eating things like rice. But I couldn't find a gracious way to give my real advice about managing morning sickness, which would be something like: Just shuck it. Suffer through. And be happy about it.

In fact, that's really my advice about motherhood in general. And perhaps life in general. Some parts stink. They just do. Not too much you can do about it. But, you know, that's life. Just keep on moving. It's fine. A bit of pain/discomfort/exhaustion/frustration won't kill you. In fact, it's good for you. In this life, love, sacrifice, pain, and growth are all mixed up together.

"Eating toast has been working for me," the young woman told me. She concluded, "The morning sickness started yesterday."

Yesterday?

"Oh honey, things are gonna get a lot worse," thought the snarky old bag.

The Dentist Saga

2011-04-18T16:00:00.002-05:00

Dentist 1
Somewhere circa 1995, Mark and I go to a dentist who tells us that we each have something like a dozen cavities. He recommends a daily fluoride regimen. Because we are starving students he offers to put us on a generous payment plan. We are horrified, but since neither of us has been to a dentist for a few years, we believe it all.

Dentist 2
Fortunately, we move to a new city before acting on Dentist 1's plan. With fear and trembling we go to Dentist 2, who says that neither of us had any cavities at all.

And we never have since.

Dentist 3
Until last year, when my long-time dentist tells me I had a cavity. In my front tooth--an unlikely location for my first cavity in twenty-odd years. Remembering Dentist 1, I decide to get a second opinion.

Dentist 4
Six months later, I go to a new dentist. Who tells me I had no cavities. But I hate everything about that office, so I decide to try another office for my next six-month check.

Dentist 5
Today I went to a new dentist. I liked the front-office staff, the hygienist, and the dentist. But he told me I have two cavities--neither one of them in the place identified by Dentist 3.

In short: There is no consensus. No two dentists have seen the same cavities.

So should I let Dentist 5 fill those "cavities"? Is the entire dental professional a sham?

Where's Betsy?

2011-04-15T15:44:00.000-05:00

Well, she's been in temporary retirement from publicity due to a case of baby acne.

Also she's had her pretty little nose buried in her mother's...bosom. (Just call us Bitsy and Busty.) Seriously, I've been feeding her probably nine or ten times a day (several of those clustered in the evening). If it takes about a half-hour a pop, that's five solid hours a day of nursing. Lovely for Betsy; becoming tiresome for me.

Last night, however, Betsy woke only once. It's a sunny day. I got some sleep. I'm wearing a pair of pre-pregnancy jeans. It's Friday with a chance of chocolate.

Some moments from our week:

"Snack time cancelled today due to ongoing slovenliness. Try again tomorrow. :( "

Homework Time

2011-04-13T08:52:00.000-05:00

Logan: I have to read this poem, and then write it in prose. [pause] Do you know what that is?

Roscoe [discussing paperwork he filled out today to take an AP test]: Is our zip code 84088? Good, because that's what I wrote. Why do they think I would know something like that?

Jesse: May I please have milk with my sandwich?
Me: Are you saying you'd like a sandwich?
Jesse: Yes, and I'm saying it in English. Because that's the only language I speak.

Spring ???

2011-04-03T20:27:00.000-05:00

Today we snacked on chocolate Easter eggs while watching General Conference...

...then drank hot cocoa after building snowmen.

Jaunty, Messy, Rose

2011-04-01T18:08:00.000-05:00

Jaunty

Last night my two big boys were playing wii when I noticed it was past bedtime. (Actually, it's more go to your room so I can pretend I'm alone time.)

"It's past nine o'clock," I called over my shoulder.

Now for one of my boys, such a comment would generally elicit any number of responses--as long as it was argumentative, contrary, combative, resistant in some manner. Seriously, he can whip up contention in response to a compliment. ("Why do you sound so surprised?" or "Are you saying I've never done it before?") This boy is just emerging from several months of acute adolescent angst that has made him (and us!) pretty unhappy and unpleasant.

But this time I heard him say, "I was just explaining to my colleague here that we should go to bed."

A comment so clever, so pleasant, so cooperative it epitomizes all the ways he is different from the person he's been in the recent past. Oh thank the stars above for growing up. It does wonders.

Messy

I was busy feeding Betsy, so industrious Jesse made himself lunch.

Complete with a play-dough rest for his knife.

Rose by Any Other Name

Apparently the first endearment out of my mouth when a baby is born is the one that sticks. For some reason when Levi was born I said, "Hey, sweet potato." And Sweet Potato he remained. Betsy has been Honey Buns since her first minutes. Mark thinks Mustard Buns would be more appropriate given the usual state of her diaper.

The hospital picture, taken just hours after she was born. Hospital pictures have come a long way, no?

Also, she is Itsy Bitsy Betsy. Or sometimes just Bitsy.

Blessing

2011-03-30T22:24:00.000-05:00

Betsy was blessed in church on Sunday. She was radiant in her pearls and beautiful dress. Baby blessings are always such a sweet day for me. I feel such gratitude and relief when a baby is born safely. And it's so beautiful to listen to Mark welcome them into the church and into our family.

My handsome daddy came to help bless Betsy.

When Mark and I were newlyweds, I remember looking around and thinking, "This is it? Where is everybody?" We've been waiting all these years for our family to arrive, and now we think they all have. Each of our children has arrived in the time and manner that Heavenly Father has wanted. Including Betsy.

I'm grateful to my body for making these healthy babies. I'm grateful to Mark for being my partner and support in building this family. I'm grateful to each of the kids for who they are. I'm grateful for Betsy and the person she will unfold to be. I think she and I will be great friends.

Baby Days

2011-03-23T17:32:00.001-05:00

I wake to the sound of Betsy grunting and squirming. I've learned that these are like a ticking time bomb. If she isn't fed soon, she'll explode into squawks, then red-faced screams.

I lift Betsy from her cradle in the corner and carry her back to bed with me. She's wrapped like a burrito, and we're both a bit milky and damp. Crawling back into bed is just exactly what I want each morning, and now a hungry baby gives me good reason. We snuggle down together, and I watch Betsy's sincere, intent face as she has her breakfast, her cheeks chugging away.

After breakfast, Betsy gets a fresh diaper and outfit. Which she probably poops on immediately. I change her. If she's fussy, I hold her. If she's hungry again, I feed her. If she becomes calm and opens her eyes, I am distracted by her. Soon it's noon and I've barely gotten my teeth brushed.

By the time the kids come home from school, Betsy's becoming a bit grumpy. The world she now lives in is a big, overwhelming place. Actually, she and I both tend to frazzle by the end of the day. I hold and jiggle her as I supervise homework and play dates. The kids, some of whom have become skilled swaddlers and jigglers, take turns holding the baby. But a truly incensed baby is beyond their skill, and after a few minutes I have to step in. I soothe and bounce Betsy back to sleep. As soon as I set her down, another kid snatches her up and then she's fussing again. I'd love to close out the whole world and just hold my baby all afternoon. I'd also love to set her down for more than ten minutes at a time.

Until today, I've had the luxury of doing all this while Grandma makes dinner and gives the other kids attention. Mark's mom flew home this morning after a whole week of spoiling the kids with eclairs, ambrosia, and cheesecake--actually those were all in one day. The newborn visits from our moms always make for sweet memories. And they remind me how lucky Mark and I are. Our mothers each had six children and taught us to love, nurture, and enjoy each new life in our family.

Today I decided to make rolls for dinner. I thought I was so smart by starting them in the early afternoon before the kids got home and while Betsy was relaxing in her swing. Moments after I began the rolls, she started to cry. I wrapped myself in the Sleepy Wrap I borrowed from a friend and inserted Betsy. In my haste, I had wrapped the whole thing a bit too high and tight. No matter, I thought. Until Betsy leaned back her head to scream and we ended up face to face. And that's how I made the rolls. With a tiny banshee screaming in my face.

Slices

2011-03-21T14:46:00.000-05:00

Last week for Family Home Evening we had a lesson on how to soothe Betsy by swaddling her tight and jiggling her. A few days later, I found Betsy thus.

Roscoe had swaddled her, then bound her with masking tape. She actually seemed to like it quite well and had a long, peaceful nap.
~~~~~~~~~~~
A neighbor dropped this by this morning.

Isn't it funny? It almost looks like it could belong here. But we're going to love eating it, and I appreciate the neighbors' concern. Poor Levi did get a pretty serious bite...from a golden doodle. So now he's scared of dogs. In the spirit of getting back on the horse that bucked you, I'm planning on making him go visit the offending dog (who the neighbors say is usually good with kids) this evening. What do you think?

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jesse wanted to hold Betsy, who was napping. So I sat next to them to protect her. And fell asleep. And then Jesse fell asleep. And so we became a domino trail of nappers.

Good times.

Playing Dress-up

2011-03-15T23:47:00.000-05:00

After staying with us for ten whole days, my mother left. The nerve! But first we spent a morning playing dress-up with our favorite baby. (Well, Mom's favorite baby in the intermountain west.)

This delicate yellow suit was a gift to Mom from her Grandma Wilson before I was born. "But Grandma," Mom says she protested. "What if it's not a girl?"

"Don't worry," Josie replied. "It will be."

And I was. So this outfit is from Betsy's great-great-grandmother.

This is the gorgeous dress Mom made for Betsy's blessing. (So stay tuned for more pics.) The necklace and bracelet are made from tiny pearls from my Grandma's jewelry.

And this is the frou-frou dress I bought for Betsy because it was so girlie I couldn't resist. I took her to church in it on Sunday for her public debut. She was like a cloud of tulle confection. I think I will one day outgrow this current all-pink all-the-time obsession. But not today.

Betsy in a red rage cracks me up every time. It's just so unladylike! Pretty is as pretty does, honey.

Elizabeth Gold

2011-03-11T17:50:00.001-06:00

Today is Betsy's one-week birthday. After today her age can no longer be described only in days; she'll have to up her unit of measurement to weeks.

I love the first week. When each day is a whole new adventure in feeding, waking, opening eyes. When each day the baby seems to more fully engage with this new world. I always try to savor each fleeting moment, but it never works. When the week is over it feels like I've squandered it somehow.

On a happier note, I now have this:

After the long and tortured road of this pregnancy, Betsy gave me the best labor and delivery EVER! I still can't get over it. My mom arrived last Thursday night, so on the afternoon of Betsy's birthday we were out shopping. Later in the afternoon, Mom said, "Why don't you start timing those contractions?"

Betsy and her namesake, Grandma Elizabeth

"Why should I?" I thought. They'd been going on for so long they were just part of the (painful) background noise of my pregnant life. But I took her suggestion and found that they were consistently every five minutes. From that point on, things quickly turned from "maybe this is the night but I'm not counting on it" to "I think I'll go to the hospital in a few hours" to "We're going now!"

Haley is a pro holding Betsy from the first moments.

When I got to the hospital I told the nurses at the desk that I thought this labor would progress quickly and thank heavens they believed me. They hopped to, and the stars aligned so that anesthesiologist, doctor, and everyone else arrived in my room at the moment they were needed. One hour after we walked in the hospital doors, Betsy had arrived.

Actually, she only weighed 8 pounds and 15.4 ounces

The first time I held Betsy.

(I've done three labors without epidurals and one with an epidural that I now know didn't take. This one was divine. This fast labor would have been horrific without it.)

Jesse adores Betsy.

Levi and Logan meet Betsy.

I told Betsy a few weeks ago that it was time for her to come out. She didn't listen. And instead grew to nine pounds. Silly girl! Her double chin is unbelievable and she's got rubber bands all the way up her arms.

Rolls and rolls

Despite her naughtiness, we are in love. Betsy is much more serene than I would have anticipated given her in-belly highjinks. She has made the wise choice to peacefully endure her siblings' enthusiastic doting. Every day her rosy complexion becomes more beautiful, and I have to admit to having way too much fun keeping her swathed in pink, pink, pink.

Still here

2011-03-03T09:12:00.000-06:00

Nine months. 39 weeks. 274 days. I never thought I'd make it this long in this pregnancy.

But here I still sit. Even after the other night when I sat in bed clocking strong contractions every 7 minutes for more than an hour. In a normal world, that would be what we in the business call going into labor. But not for me. I was stunned when I woke up the next morning, still pregnant after a sound night's sleep.

I've had 9- and 10-pound babies and it's not something I'd like to repeat. This girl is plenty big and it's time for her to come out.

Fortunately, I now have an escape plan. Tonight, my mother arrives. When I told Mark she had bought her plane tickets, he literally jumped with joy. He made bugling noises and cried "The cavalry's coming!" I think he's worn out from doing double duty around here. So no more contingency plans for which kids will do what and go where if we go to the hospital when.

We've been discussing contingency plans for so long that now the kids look at me in the morning and say, "You're still pregnant?" When I say, "See you after school!" they say, "If you're still here." They make it sound like there's an imminent coup against a dictatorial leader. I guess compared to my haphazard performance of late, putting the household in my mother's capable and loving hands will feel to them like the fresh breeze of democracy.

If I don't go into labor over the weekend, I'm scheduled to be induced on Monday. I don't really want to be induced. I don't believe in inducing and I know inducing leads to more painful labors and a greater chance of a c-section. But my doctor has three related concerns that an induction would address, and she seems to have a relatively low-intervention plan in mind. And, if I haven't already mentioned, this baby needs to be born!

Bottle of Rain

2011-02-25T12:33:00.002-06:00

My husband is an absent-minded professor whose mind is often more engaged in Joseph Smith’s world of the 1830s and 40s than ours. His body comes home from work, but as he sits quietly at the dinner table, oblivious to the kids’ banter, I can see he’s not truly with us.

This focus is what makes him great at work and one of the things I’ve loved about him from the beginning. “Mark,” I’ll call softly. His eyes take a moment to focus; he’s coming back from a far distance.

“Welcome,” I say.

These days, the tables are turned. Each day I retreat a little further into the universe expanding within me. I think this is as big as my belly has ever been. Betsy is growing bigger and stronger while I become slower and weaker. More and more, I take second place in my own body. Now it’s me who sits quietly at the dinner table. I’m listening to an orchestra of seismic shifts; Betsy spins back-to-front, another contraction washes over me.

Now it’s Mark tethering me to this world.

Last night he walked in the door with eyes sparkling. He walked straight to me and put his hands around my waist (I use that term advisedly). “Are you ready?” he asked. “Are you excited?” This time, Joseph Smith was not on his mind at all. He ran to karate, read bedtime stories, and cleaned the kitchen. I took a bath and sat on the couch.

Later he--the man who drove to early-morning seminary while I slept--made a late-night grocery run for milk, bread, fruit, and yes, chocolate. I sat quietly at the kitchen table from the time he left until he returned. I sat while he put the groceries away and placed the chocolate in front of me. He turned on this song:

Who else is gonna bring you a broken arrow?
Who else is gonna bring you a bottle of rain?

Do you feel what I feel
Can we make it so that's part of the deal

I gotta hold you in these arms of steel

Lay your heart on the line this time

I want to come when you call

I'll get to you if I have to crawl

They can't hold me with these iron walls

We got mountains to climb, to climb

Robbie Robertson, “Broken Arrow,” listen here

Maximum Holding Capacity

2011-02-21T16:55:00.002-06:00

Same outfit, same pose, 2 1/2 weeks later. Two days short of 38 weeks.

Up until now I've still been doing laundry, cleaning house, writing resumes, monitoring homework, organizing belongings, running Primary, and driving carpools. Which I think has been one of those tender mercies. Because with moving at half-speed and napping (or trying to) at all hours, it really doesn't add up for me to have been keeping my head above water at all.

Which may now be ending, or at least tamping down.

Last night I dropped a piece of paper onto the floor and moaned, "Now what am I gonna do?" in an inappropriately pitiful way. I actually considered calling Mark from the next room to pick it up or trying to retrieve it with my toes.
I've been emptying the hot water tank two or three times a day, just because a shower or bath feels so good on my huge, sore self.
By far the easiest way for me to roll over in bed is to slide out of bed to the floor, turn around, then roll into bed from the opposite direction.
I watch TV almost every night. Not my normal M.O. But these days it feels so good to stretch out, be still, and let Betsy and my body do their thing.
I don't even notice things like a thumping baby, contracting belly, or jumpy legs. That's just how I roll.
Last night I made mac and cheese for Sunday dinner. "Okay," Mark said when he got home from meetings, "But I'll have what you ate." Sorry, babe, no adults-only fare up my sleeve. I ate the macaroni.

At most, there are two more weeks of this. I'll be watching them inch on by from my easy chair. Or the tub.

Our Valentines

2011-02-14T18:41:00.000-06:00

Mark and I have a Valentine's Day tradition of mixed CDs by day and locking ourselves into our room with DVDs and Archer Farms treats by night. We're doing that today. But mostly, we felt we wanted to focus this Valentine's Day on our children. The last few months have been a bit rough around the edges around here. For many of the last eight months, Mom has not been in top form. And a good three or four of our children have been going through some rough developmental phases. Today we're plying everyone with treats and heartfelt words of love.

Big Roscoe is so handy. I can say something like, "Hang this centered between the bookcases," and he does it! Which is a good thing, because I think I was physically incapable of reaching up there.

Logan is in the phase when photographing him must be done in stealth mode.

He looks like such a typical 13yo. And also, don't you think he looks a lot like me. Weird.

Levi has become a dedicated artist and works in this sketchbook for long stretches every day.

Haley doing homework and eating Valentine's treats. We think she becomes more self-assured and lovely all the time.

Toothless Buddy

2011-02-10T22:20:00.000-06:00

Jesse woke up the other morning saying he had a "bent tooth."

Sure enough, it was dangling by a thread. The dentist proclaimed it a garden-variety loose baby tooth and pulled it out.

Now Jesse looks like this.

Little Buddy

2011-02-08T11:42:00.000-06:00

This year was something that hasn't occurred since Logan was in preschool lo these many years gone by: I was home with just one preschooler. Jesse has been my buddy, sidekick, and jabbering companion all year. I've been his costume manager, sounding board, and translator to the wider world. ("He's telling you that Batman drives the Batmobile," I explain to the grocery bagger.)

We run errands together, eat lunch together, drive carpools together. And Jesse follows me along, chatting as I shuffle laundry, clean house, and take my morning shower (from the other side of the curtain).

It always feels like a different world when everyone leaves for work and school. The neighborhood becomes the domain of women and small children, and life centers on smaller, more domestic concerns. Like lunchtime and laundry and playdates. You might see a woman padding across the street to a neighbor's in yoga pants and wet hair. Mark and the kids can't really imagine how I spend my daytime hours, and I rarely have anything exciting to report. Each day I basically loop through rounds of the same things I did yesterday, with only small variations. (It's not exactly the same clothing I put in the washer yesterday. Not the precisely same array of dirty dishes. A different corner of the house I attempt to tame.)

This is Elvin, who joins us some evenings.

Soon Betsy will join Jesse and I in our daily cocoon of domesticity. Next year, Jesse will join the ranks of those who foray out into the public world each day. I predict that never again will Jesse and I have another season of such companionship. It was fun while it lasted. We're ready for him to stretch his wings a little wider.

(Jesse "watching" Power Rangers.)

Showered

2011-02-04T16:46:00.000-06:00

Here's me at 35 weeks, 8 months to the day. Do I look like there's room to grow for 5 more weeks? I don't think so either.

Last night a friend in the ward threw a baby shower for me. My first since my good BYU friend and I had a joint shower in, ahem, 1995. The women in my ward were very sweet and generous, and I now have piles and piles of adorable baby girl clothes. Several women made hand-crocheted blankets too. I feel unworthy of it all.

Does it seem like I've forgotten all my other children in the midst of all this baby mania? Well, I haven't. They're getting ready for Betsy too. For example, this morning in Betsy's cradle I found this:

We've been playing Betsy with this little dollie for the last few days, and this morning someone decked her out with slippers and binkies from the baby shower.

Our chore board as two new additions:

This is the kids' plan for what to do if they wake up with no parents. They're supposed to help each other get ready for school and call some trusty neighbors. Last time, Mark and I left in the night, Jesse was born right away, and Mark was home before any kids woke up. We'll see if we can pull that off again.

For the last several months we've been working on this getting-ready-for-Betsy list. I always feel a new baby is a good time to raise the overall family dynamics. I've explained to the kids (repeatedly) that every time I have nag, remind, ask a second time, etc. it saps energy and fun from our family. So they might as well just do it the first time.

I'm sad to say we still have a ways to go here. I'm sure it has something to do with Mom's overall lack of pep and follow-through.

Baby Cradle

2011-02-01T22:00:00.000-06:00

Today was a very pregnant day. Betsy seemed to ride low and heavy, and it felt like I drifted through doing nothing at all. But now as I look back, I took a meal to a friend with a new baby, finished a resume, and went grocery shopping. And you know, the whole carpool, homework supervision, dinner, basketball, Scouts thing.

Also, I did this.

I made this pretty new slipcover for the baby cradle to replace the one I made for Roscoe probably 16 years ago now.

My bedroom is my business office, sewing room, and library. And now this corner is the newborn nursing and snuggling station.

nook

2011-01-26T18:13:00.000-06:00

Look what I got for Christmas:

It's the Barnes & Noble ereader, the nook.

I bought it envisioning all the hours I'd spend this year feeding the baby. And how you try to hold the book in one hand, but then there's no way to turn the page, and it's all so awkward you just put the book down. (I'm all for gazing lovingly into baby's eyes, but there are hours and hours and hours of feeding time and I plan to read for some of them.) Sure enough, this is so light and small that it's easy to hold in one hand. You turn pages by pressing buttons on the sides where your thumb naturally rests anyway.

I've loved it for whipping out of my purse in carpool lines or doctor's appointments. I've especially loved it for reading in bed. You can scrunch yourself down into any position and still read the nook comfortably. You know how when you're lying on your side with a book, one page is comfortable to read and the facing page isn't? No problem with the nook.

According to my research, the Kindle is the iphone of ereaders--coolest, highest rated, but most exclusive. Meaning you can't download library books onto the Kindle (unless you have hacking skills). So I went with the nook. I download library ebooks onto my laptop, the transfer them to the nook. So maybe the nook is the droid of ereaders. I'm a bit disappointed with my library's paucity of ebooks, but I'm thinking that's a problem that will resolve itself over time.

The first book I read on my nook was The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova. I knew nothing about it, just happened upon it in my library's limited e-holdings. It's a strange novel, with three strange, criss-crossing plot lines that drag you around and around Eastern Europe. And it's about Dracula. I felt even more disoriented by the book because I was reading without benefit of all the cues you get from a book's size, texture, cover illustrations, jacket blurbs, author photo, etc. The book felt like an enigma all the way through its 700 pages.

I've since learned that other ebooks are formatted much better than that first one. But I still miss the actual book. Knowing the heft and size of it. How you gaze at the cover for a moment each time you close the book.

On the other hand, I'm currently reading a real library book (that wasn't available as an ebook) and missing the comfort of my nook as I try to slant it into a comfortable reading position in bed.

Drama

2011-01-21T10:31:00.000-06:00

I've become one of those annoying people who is always having drama.

Sunday night I woke up with non-stop contractions. And from then on, they have never really stopped.My doctor's advice was to "take it way easy," "stay super hydrated," and "keep your bladder empty." You ladies see the built-in contradictions there. So I've been spending the days trying not to get out of my chair and the nights soaking in the tub to stop contractions. Because little Betsy needs to stay in the oven for at least a few more weeks.

Finally last night, when I couldn't get the contractions to ease at all, Mark and I went to the hospital. I wasn't in full-on labor, but the whole point was that I didn't want to be in full-on labor and wanted to get some help before I reached the point of no return.

Turns out there's a magical test that tells you with 95+% accuracy if you'll be delivering in the next two weeks. My first thought was, "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT THIS BEFORE?" You know, like before I spent a week counting and monitoring and worrying over every contraction and trying to run my household from an easy chair. My second thought was, "How can that possibly work?"

But work it apparently does, and my test was negative. Betsy's firmly ensconced for a good two weeks. Which puts all this in a whole new light. I can tolerate contractions just fine--as long as I'm not worrying that they'll lead to the premature birth of my girl.

I left the hospital after a few hours--but not before being totally violated in ways I shudder to remember. Seriously. I hate getting sucked into the chomping maws of the medical machine.* Turns out the most invasive and horrific test** they did was to check for--of all things--a urinary tract infection. When the test didn't take the first time and they threatened to do it again, I finally said, "I'm pretty sure I'd know if I had a urinary tract infection, so can we just skip this? What needs to happen so I can go home?" The nurse said, "Oh! Well, how about you just pee in a cup while I fill out your discharge papers?" There you go.

Anyway, once again, I return to the land of the living. How long do you think I can make it til the next round of drama?

* In defense of the medical establishment, the point of all the tests was to determine if I had some infection that was prompting my body to protect the baby by ejecting it.

** This assessment from a woman who gave birth to a 10-pound baby with no medication.

Betsy, 32 weeks

2011-01-13T14:53:00.000-06:00

If November was the Introduction of Maladies, December was Attack of the Maladies. Sleep deprivation turned me into (cue Nacho Libre accent) a crazy lady. After staging three birthdays and packing for our Mexico trip, I got hit with the worst cold I've ever had. After about ten days, the cold suddenly became much, much worse. I went to the urgent in Phoenix on our way home from Mexico only to be told to rinse my nose with saline. After several more days in bed, my OB finally gave me antibiotics and I started to get better. But the horrific coughing left me with super sore ribs on one side. For a while I thought they must be broken. Then my OB said I was anemic and was testing positive for gestational diabetes.

In short, it appeared that while Betsy thrived, I would be a wreck for the rest of the pregnancy.

But miracle of miracles, here at 7+ months pregnant, I'm finding a little sweet spot (or maybe the eye of the storm). The coughing is gone, the ribs are healing, my legs aren't jumpy, I sleep at night, and I'm not diabetic after all. After all that madness, your garden-variety pregnancy issues feel like a dream.

Rest for the labor, Light for the way

2011-01-10T13:17:00.000-06:00

I'm back from a weekend in Dallas for Grandma's funeral. Four of my siblings were there, along with almost all of my 25+ cousins. We spent the first day at the funeral and cemetery, reflecting on the meaning and message of Grandma's life.

The next day, my mother and her siblings worked to clean out Grandma's apartment and fairly divide her valuable and sentimental belongings. I was tasked with going through Grandma's desk and files. A doer to the end, Grandma had print-outs and instructions on new embroidery patterns, family history research strategies, speaking Spanish, and launching a new business. I found thank-you notes from friends, love notes from Grandpa, and dozens of cards from her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I went through files of notes, journal entries, church talks, and half-written poems from the last 60 years.

One of my favorite gems was this:

A slip of onionskin paper on which someone typed this little poem. Grandma apparently felt it worth keeping for many years.

Because here's the truth: Grandma's life was not a bed of roses. Her marriage began with a husband at war. Her oldest daughter fell seriously ill. Her infant daughter died after just three hours of life, more because of an administrative snafu than real medical need, and misguided hospital staff never allowed Grandma or Grandpa to ever see that baby. Then Grandma herself fell ill. Doctors said she may never walk again, and for years her children had to do for each other what their mother couldn't. Her oldest son went through a challenging period of rebellion.

This was the family's state when the missionaries first knocked on her door. She followed the gospel not with a naive belief that it would make life perfect, but with first-hand knowledge of the illness, disappointment, and grief of mortal life--all of which can be truly mediated only through knowledge of Jesus Christ, and the rest, light, and grace he offers.

Grandma's funeral program included this scripture:

Come unto me,

all ye that labour and are heavy laden,

and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you,

and learn of me...

and ye shall find rest unto your souls.

For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Grandma Benac

2011-01-02T21:59:00.000-06:00

My Grandma Benac loves to tell me the story of how after I was born she came to my parents' San Diego apartment to help. She says she held me in the night trying to compose a poem about how I (her first grandchild) was an extension of her and my Grandpa's love. She says I could recognize the sound of her footsteps and would quiet when I heard her coming.

All my life, Grandma's love for me has been a constant buoy, and it hasn't been hard to love my devoted, spunky granny in return.

Grandma and newborn me.

Yesterday I sat in the hospital and watched her body slowly, quietly stop. By the time the numbers on the monitor were zeros, it was clear that she was long gone, her body just a shell of the woman.

Grandma was famous for her doll cakes. This one was for my first birthday.

Grandma was an energetic, enthusiastic, busy person who never hesitated to let you know what she thought. She may have been a suburban housewife in the 1950s, but that never stopped her from telling it like it is, sometimes in colorful terms. Also, you were her best friend. Whether you were in line at the store or sitting next to her on a plane, it took her only moments to find a point of connection.

Look at that figure! We Benac girls come by our hips honestly.

Once when I was about seven, my Grandma suddenly snapped at my Mom and me, "Oh, you two girls will never get along! You're too close in age!" It was a mind-blowing experience to hear her berate us both in the same breath. The Grandmother indeed!

Snuggle buddies when I was two or so.

When I was in college--in the days before cell phones--Grandma would supply me with phone cards or set up her own 1-800 number. I was expected to call frequently. Any time she called me was an indictment of my laxity. She visited me at several crazy student apartments and made it clear that just because I was away from home, I certainly was not beyond her purview.

She had expectations for righteous living. It was clear that any poor choice of mine would be a disappointment to her, and I'm grateful for constant, gentle prodding to keep me on the strait and narrow. At the same time, her love was unquestionable. To this day, when things look bleak and hopeless, I hear in my mind, "At least Grandma loves me!"

In 2003, just weeks before my Grandpa died.

Here's some of my Grandma's sage advice:*

"If you're intimidated by someone, just picture them with their pants down and sitting on the toilet." I think I found this one more disturbing than helpful. But she always delivered this advice so earnestly!

Full circle: Grandma watching Roscoe eat his first-birthday cake.

"A little butt-patting is good for a marriage." She and my Grandpa were ga-ga in love for over 50 years, so she is a highly reliable source for marital advice. And I've found a few friendly butt-pats in passing certainly don't hurt anything.

Summer 2008, playing Hand & Foot, the crazy card game Grandma taught everyone to play. She hated to lose, but she hated unworthy competition even worse. The ideal was to give her a run for her money but for her to prevail nonetheless. From the looks of the cards on the table, I'm about to get a sound beating.

"Keep prayed up." I think this one is her classic. Grandma opened the door to Mormon missionaries, advocated for them to my Grandpa, and devoted the rest of her life to shepherding her now-100 posterity along the gospel path. Of all the love, support, and guidance I've received from my Grandma, I am most grateful for the strong gospel legacy she gave us. She didn't just grow a big family--she built it consciously, purposefully on the foundation of Jesus Christ.

This last May. Haley and I flew to Dallas for a weekend just with Grandma.

Grandma was a lonely widow for seven years. A series of tiny strokes impaired her trademark outgoing personality, and her body's capacity ticked gradually downward. When I saw her in the hospital a few days ago, it was clear that it was time for her to go. Because of the gospel she brought to our family, I share her knowledge that her husband, her parents, the her daughter that was born alive but whom she never saw all were awaiting her. I'm sad for me that my Grandma is gone. But for her, I have nothing but happiness and joy.

*Sibs and cousins: I'd love to hear your favorite Grandma-isms.

Gray Lining

2010-12-28T17:46:00.001-06:00

This is where we spent last week:

That's Mark in the orange shorts with Roscoe next to him. Haley's in the pink shirt on the middle right.

When we stepped off our back porch, we were literally in the sand, on the beach. And no one was on the beach but me and my extended family.

Too bad I was sick the whole time.

I tried to be a good sport, but I coughed constantly, was in bed every night by ten, and was in an impaired fog the whole time. It's pretty tragic because I think family reunions are the highlights of life, and I more or less missed this one.

More pics from my sister Nancy here.

Feliz Navidad

2010-12-18T18:59:00.000-06:00

In a few hours we're supposed to drive off, trailer packed with clean clothes, Christmas gifts, sand toys, and board games, for a week in Puerto Penasco, Mexico. It's a family reunion, and for months I've been dreaming of lounging on the beach with my fam.

But now, I'm sick as a dog and can't rally to do my usual pack-the-car routine.

Will we have sandwiches and baggies of treats? Will I remember all phones and cords and chargers? Will the laundry ever get finished so we can pack some clothes? Will I be a fun and gracious Mom as we drive for 13 hours?

Oh dear.

Careful what you wish for

2010-12-15T16:59:00.000-06:00

I stood at the top of the stairs listening as Roscoe came in the door from school this afternoon. The door slammed opened and I listened to an amazing array of thumps and crashes before he came into view. How is it even possible to make that much noise walking through a doorway? Part of me expected to see him carrying some kind of metal scaffolding.

Sometimes it feels like my kids' exuberance is the bane of my existence. They grab a gallon of milk with a gusto that sends milk sloshing. They send papers skittering to the floor as they speed past my desk. Many times I wish they could just walk through a room without stomping and spilling and crashing.

But then, on a day like today, I repent of all that. Jess woke up with a fever and all day our little superhero has been quiet and subdued. He has walked softly, moved slowly, spoken quietly. He hasn't made any meses at all.

It's been a peaceful day, but no, it's not what I want.

A Sad Tale

2010-12-13T16:47:00.000-06:00

Friday morning I stood in the bathroom, filling the sink with my tears. All week long--despite ear plugs, Tylenol PM, and extra pillows propped around my body--I was kept from a good night's sleep by a combination of jumpy legs, sore hips, and overly active family members.

After my worst night yet, I faced Friday morning filled with exhaustion- and hormone-fueled despair. After I got the kids off to school, I pep-talked myself into just taking the first step of putting my contacts in--then at least the world wouldn't be vague and blurry. I got one contact in before I had to stop to weep some more. Pitiful.

And that, my friends, was when I realized I was really not okay. But what could I do? I was too sore and jumpy and uncomfortable to even take a nap. There was nothing doing but to keep on keepin' on. So that's what I tried to do.

The day was not a great success.

Friday night we got out the air mattress. Everything you normally hate about an air mattress, how it hammocks your hips, was great for me. I lay there and realized that for the first time in recent memory I actually felt comfortable. After a decent night's sleep, I tell you I was a different woman. Not superwoman, not ready for a jog. But functional. Competent.

I didn't cry once all day.

On Mark's Birthday

2010-12-10T11:32:00.000-06:00

Reason 7,842 to Love Mark McGee:

He is the Good Samaritan of public transportation

Mark has ridden trains and busses to work and school for years. He’s passed out Book of Mormons. He’s given rides from the train station to various people in need. Once he made an alliance with a fellow passenger to come to the aid of a young woman being harassed by punks. Once he gave a car to someone he met on the road. (It wasn’t much of a car, but still.)

A few weeks ago, Mark was riding the train to work in the morning and couldn’t help but overhear the phone conversation of the man sitting across the aisle. The man was recounting how he and his family had recently moved to Utah only to find that the apartment they had rented and been sublet to someone else. They checked into a hotel until they could find another apartment. But in the meantime, one of the man’s children was hospitalized with RSV and his wallet was stolen. The child was to be released from the hospital today, and the new apartment would be available tomorrow, but with no wallet, the man had no way to pay the $60 he needed for one more night at the hotel. “I think we’re going to have to sleep in the car tonight,” Mark heard him say.

When the man got off the phone, Mark leaned over and said, “If you’ll ride the train downtown with me, I’ll take you to an ATM and give you $60.” Mark watched the man’s face work through shock and relief. “You will?” he asked.

The pair rode downtown and Mark gave the man far more than $60. When he arrived at his office he called me and said, “I have good news and bad news.” The bad news being that our budget for weekend festivities was gone. The good news being that my husband is a true disciple, a true gem.

Happy birthday, Mark. You’re my favorite.

You know, stuff

2010-12-09T12:55:00.000-06:00

Little Miss Haley turned 7 yesterday. She shared her birthday party with Mark, whose birthday is tomorrow. I wish I had been there on the day Haley was born.

The first time this year we've had this:

Poor sick Levi started out draped over the heater vent, and then segued into a two-hour nap with the front door mat as his pillow.

I love, love when kids play like this. Jesse made a careful selection of guys and creatures and lined them all up along the toy cubbies.

Who remembers getting horsie rides from their Daddy? Our intrepid horsie carries children to bed after family prayer. He even goes up stairs! Trying to stay in the saddle is part of the fun.

Sister Weekend

2010-12-06T15:18:00.000-06:00

I have six fantastic sister-in-laws. But that doesn't mean I didn't love my weekend away with the two sisters I've loved since they were born. Plus our mommy!

We spent plenty of time gazing at Nancy's new baby and playing with her three other children. The highlight was our trip to the National Cathedral to hear Handel's Messiah.

It was beautiful and amazing. For me it was a meditation on my faith and I felt sorry for anyone who was just a spectator at a Christmas tradition.

After the performance, we went to this tapas restaurant. Don't worry, Ruth had to explain to concept of tapas to us as well. We ordered 10 little dishes of all kinds of Spanish treats. The favorites were the bacon-wrapped dates, salad with fennel and pomegranate, and lamb chops with rosemary.

We four love our home families and day jobs, but it was such a wonderful treat to get away from it all and just be together.

Loose Ends

2010-12-02T10:41:00.000-06:00

Yesterday morning at 8:30 everyone but Jesse was off to school and we had an hour before Jesse needed to be at preschool. I agreed he could watch a show on PBS, thinking that would leave us a half hour for the both of us to get dressed and out the door. I turned on the TV for Jesse, went upstairs to lie down for a moment...and woke from a deep sleep a full hour later. If Jesse hadn't come to wake me, who knows how long I would have been there.

Which is related to the post I've been meaning to get to all week--the one cataloging the fruits of my Season of Projects (which I announced in August but didn't really get rolling until October). And the clear fact that said season has now ended. I made a goal to feel energetic until Thanksgiving and I (pretty much) achieved that goal. But clearly I'm now slowing down and turning inward.

Which may be related to how many of my projects are dangling loose ends. *sigh* Nevertheless, here are some of the things ticked off the list:

New Front Room Curtains

These are made from tablecloths from Target and clearance bedsheets from WalMart.

Dresser and Chair

You've already seen these dressers. But here's the finishing touch of a reupholstered desk chair. (Mom, remember when you bought this fabric for a wall hanging? It finally has a home!)

White Trim and Doors

I've painted trim and interior doors both upstairs and down. I think it makes everything look shiny and bright. This is a tricky job just because it must be done when no one is home--can't have kids brushing through wet doorways. There are still three more doors I'd love to do. Let's see if the opportunity ever arises.

Laundry Room

This is way more than a loose end. Over Thanksgiving Mark and I painted the walls sunrise yellow and he installed a big countertop to go over the top of the washer and dryer--thus preventing stray socks and Spray'n Wash bottles from falling behind. (If there had been any doubt of the need for this, it was all erased once Mark moved the appliances and we saw the shocking accumulation back there.) Now I have this lovely surface for sorting and folding.

Next steps: New shelves on the facing wall and a new system of 10 clean laundry buckets and 6 dirty laundry bins.

Outside Hardware

Our outside carriage lights and porch railings were a classy combination of shiny gold, white, and rust (the corrosion, not the color.) Mark and I painted it all with a fancy spray paint that gives it a lovely matte sheen and mottled texture. (Carriage lights still not reinstalled.)

This afternoon I'm off for a weekend visit to my sister in Virginia. My mom and other sister will also be there--along with 4 nephews and nieces. But at this point what I'm really looking forward to is sitting quietly, alone on the plane. When I get back, we have a week of birthdays, a week to pack and organize, and then we're off to a Mexico beach for Christmas!!

Betsy, 24 weeks

2010-11-23T12:22:00.000-06:00

Here's the current belly shot:

Don't I look great for someone who's seven months pregnant?

Too bad I'm actually a week shy of six months.

Last week was Betsy's 24-week appointment. I never actually saw the doctor but heard Betsy's vibrant little heart chugging along, which was all I needed to happily sign on for another month. I love that sound. It's so energetic and sincere.

Every week in my body makes Betsy a happier, healthier girl. So I'll chug along too.

Infrastructure

2010-11-17T13:43:00.000-06:00

This week I stopped by Home Depot and casually bought myself one of these:

I cannot tell you how excited I am about this fridge. Our current fridge is a horror we inherited when we bought this house. Some kind of oily goo seeps from the pores on the door handle, so it's always black and sticky. The shelves are held on with packing tape. The tiny freezer is largely occupied by an ice maker that doesn't work. So I've been recreationally fridge shopping for years and finally found a deal we couldn't refuse.

This year has been the year of capital spending on large-family infrastructure. A new (to us) car, AC, furnace, fridge, and sod. (Not to mention the two sets of braces.) On Thanksgiving weekend, Mark and I are going to upgrade our laundry room, with new paint and additional shelving. This is becoming a house that serves eight people--and many of those are big people, with big laundry and food needs. I'm grateful to Mark for recognizing how a well-organized system of laundry bins and a freezer that actually accomodates a week's worth of food is such a blessing and help to me.

Enter the Maladies

2010-11-15T14:41:00.001-06:00

The history of my pregnancy so far:

June: Waiting for news
July: Slog of Nausea
August: Aaah, better.
September: Soporific
October: Fantastic!
November: Enter Maladies (cue ominous music)

The last couple weeks have been a bit dicey. Last week I wrote but did not publish (largely due to the scorn it would receive from my brother Joe) a post introducing the Cast of Characters of the maladies that have beset me: Swollen ankles, jumpy legs that keep me awake all night, itchy skin, false contractions. You girls know the drill. (Except maybe the always-itchy skin on my neck. Anyone ever had that one?) And to be honest, I ought to add hormone-induced emotions to the list, because every setback seems to feel a bit more ominous, difficult, and bleak than it ought. These maladies seem more than a girl only 5-1/2 months pregnant should endure, and March seems very far away.

This week, I have decreed, will be better.

The Joy of Marriage

2010-11-10T15:59:00.000-06:00

Me: Are you awake?
Mark: I'm Mark. No, I'm Mike.

Later I'm still awake when Mark gets up for a potty break. "Did you know you just told me you're Mike?" I ask. Turns out he heard the conversation like this:

Me: Hey Mike.
Mark: I'm Mark. Not Mike.

Since me calling out another man's name in bed at night elicited no more response than a tired correction, I'm thinking he was indeed more or less asleep.

Still later, I'm still not asleep. Sometime after midnight I go down to the kitchen and do some computer work. By the time I tiptoe back upstairs, Mark is awake for another potty break. (He's always had a strangely porous relationship with sleep.) As I join him in the darkened bathroom, I give him a friendly, "Hey Mike."

And that, my friends, is the joy of marriage. Good times.

Almost as good as the time when, returning to the husband who had been lying in bed listening to me puke in the bathroom, I asked, "You wanna make out?"

He declined.

Teenagers

2010-11-09T09:18:00.000-06:00

For some reason, it’s now, with a 15 1/2-year-old and an almost 13-year-old, that we’re finally feeling that the teens have hit us. We’re definitely in a whole new ballgame and needing to develop whole new skills.

Mark and I working on seeing our teens' issues as teaching moments. Here are some of the lessons we've been working on:

We are part of your life. One of our children is feeling that since he’s now a big teenager, his life should not concern us. He feels he should be on his own and that we should just stay out of his way. We agree that teens should receive more independence and less micro-management. But we’re teaching that 1.) Privileges and freedom are contingent on trust, which you must earn through trustworthy behavior, and 2.) As your parents, we are engaged, interested, relevant, and involved. And will be for years to come, even as your independence grows.

You live your consequences. Mark’s dad says that when you putt cattle in a new field they walk the fence, checking where the boundaries are. We’ve had a lot of walking the fence here, where Mark and I establish a rule, and a teen chooses to violate it. We’d like to grab them by the shoulders and scream, “That is stupid! You’ll regret it later! Listen to me and stop it now!” (And of course, if we were talking about recreational drug use or launching a new career as cult follower, that’s exactly what we’d do.) Instead we watch the stupid choice unfold, then deliver the appropriate consequence. Trying to do so with a mix of compassion and dispassion. Our lesson is that Mom and Dad’s standards, limits, and boundaries stand, even if you don’t like them.

We communicate. Sometimes your parents ask you questions or tell you stuff. That’s our job. It’s your job to listen and respond respectfully, even if you don’t want to. We listen and respond respectfully to you as well. No matter how teenagery you may be feeling, we are always here, ready to listen, support, and help.

We are honest, consistent, and value-driven. There’s no fit you can throw that knocks us off track. We’ll do what we said we’d do. Our family standards will stand. We love you and respect you, and we believe you'll grow into a fantastic man.

We have the big talks. Oh thank the stars above for husbands on this one. Poor Mark actually calendars time to take the boys aside for private chats about all those crazy boy pubescent things. Things with words I don’t even want to write. He is awesome. He starts from the beginning and tells the boys what those big, bad words really mean and how if the boys handle themselves correctly, those scary crazy things will later become the foundation of their love of a lifetime. These talks happen every few months, because even if Mark has covered the topic before, the boy has changed, and things that weren’t an issue may now have become so. I am very, very grateful for these talks. They let Mark teach our values on important topics, they give him a chance to build relationship with the boys through his honesty and engagement, they help the boys establish their goals and standards proactively.

Jesse

2010-11-05T09:22:00.002-05:00

I know you've seen plenty of pictures of Jesse in his crazy get-ups. But here are some more from the past few weeks.

Because here's the thing: One day Jesse won't spend his days in full superhero regalia, with "weapons" bristling from his "utility belt."

As predicted, the horrible season of whining, clinging, and screaming as the school year started has given way to a Jesse who is much more cooperative, pleasant, and independent. He does things like eat meals, sleep in his bed at the required hour, and leave his mother alone for minutes at a time.

This week I got Jesse's preschool "report card." On paper, he's not much of a genius. He's recorded as being able to count only to two. But what's really going on is that Jesse feels that things like "What comes after two?" and "What shape is this?" are boring questions. So he answers that a triangle is a tent and a rectangle is a bounce house. When asked how old he is, he says, "grown up." At this point, Jesse doesn't see much value or interest in rote learning; it's all about imagination.

I predict that in some ways Jesse will always march to the beat of his own drum. He'll toe the line when necessary, but always value imagination over convention. And maybe he'll be like his Uncle Mark and turn his current flair for costume into a lifelong adoration of gear. But still, the days will come when he wears a predictable combination of shirt and pants every day. When he'll tell people his real name (as opposed to a superhero one) and his real age (as opposed to that of one of his older siblings). When he and I won't chat our way through the day on topics such as the relative sizes of snails and whether the skeletons inside of us are alive or dead or how Batman would handle a burning house.

Those days may be more peaceful, but not necessarily better.

* Am I worried about Jesse's near-total lack of academic knowledge? Not at all. See here. It's certainly possible that Jesse will turn out to have a learning disability. In which case, we'll handle it. It's much more likely that one day he'll decide he's ready to learn to read and will do so in about ten minutes flat.

Weekend Pics

2010-11-02T11:32:00.000-05:00

Logan the zombie performs in the percussion section. You know, at the back of the room where the cool guys hang.

You can see that Jesse has the perfect BFF.

Note from Levi on his birthday present to me. What a charmer.

The elementary schoolers ready for school.

Jesse ready for his preschool party. What Halloween meant for him was that he didn't have to change clothes to go to school--he just went as he was. Also I gave him a fancy hair-do.

Milestone

2010-10-28T13:57:00.000-05:00

This weekend I turn 39. In the fine tradition of my Grandpa Benac, I've managed to arrange for birthday festivities to last at least three days. (Who can tell me where Grandpa's birthday issues began? Something about different dates recorded on church/state/immigration documents?) The real day is Saturday, but we'll be trick-or-treating that night so we'll have cake with the kids, but Mark and I have moved our birthday date to Friday. And then Mark came home from with tickets for the Jazz home opener tonight. (Whoo!) So of course that's now part of the birthday fete.

But here's an even bigger milestone: I have now lived with Mark longer than I lived with my parents. (I went to BYU two months shy of my 18th birthday, and Mark and I are less than two months from our 18th anniversary.) We like this fact. I loved living with my parents, but it feels right that the scale has shifted and now the bulk of my life has been here, raising up this family with Mark.

Hot Cocoa & Tuna Sandwiches

2010-10-25T11:09:00.002-05:00

Yesterday we came out of church to find a dreary, wet day with gusty winds and gray skies. In my family, that's the perfect time to make hot cocoa and tuna salad sandwiches.

You may think this sounds like an unlikely combination, but think again. I believe even my last hold-out SIL has finally been converted. Make the tuna salad kind of like potato salad with finely diced onions and celery and mayo, mustard, and a bit of pickle relish. Make the cocoa in a big pot on the stove, with 1 tablespoon of cocoa and 1 tablespoon of sugar for each cup of milk. Mmmm. Dip the crusty corner of your sandwich into the cocoa*. For us, this is the ultimate comfort food.

Happily, the perfect person was here to enjoy our Sunday lunch with us: My dad. Turns out tuna and cocoa is a three-generation Ashurst tradition. Dad remembers his mother making it almost every Sunday for dinner. Dad showed us some pictures of his childhood in Fillmore, Utah, where he grew up surrounded by four brothers and three sisters.

Earl and Jim with bows they got for Christmas; baby Barb in front. In the Ashurst family, it's all about the weapons.

The pictures show groups of adorable, fat-cheeked kids and a mother who looks like she's enjoying the show. In one, my Dad is a baby sitting on his mother's lap, with a brother in jeans but no shirt sitting on either side. In another, little Dad stands beaming next to his baby sister's crib.

Dad on lap, with John on left, Jim on right.

I'm grateful that Mark and I, and our parents, all come from (literally) big, happy families. Each family has had its own brand of challenges and set-backs. But I believe each generation has felt that their large family was a joy, a blessing, and a strength. Mark and I are so happy to be plowing our way down the same row.

Playing in lake mud on vacation.

*Just realized I typed this entire thing with coca instead of cocoa. Which is an entirely different family tradition.

Betsy, 20 weeks

2010-10-22T13:45:00.000-05:00

I saw more of Betsy today than I may ever again. Measured her kidneys and ventricles and blood vessels. Made sure her spine tapers to a tailbone, made sure no fluids leaked where they shouldn't. All in all, she's perfect and healthy. Also cute.

Foster parents no more

2010-10-21T17:51:00.000-05:00

Next week our foster parent license will expire and we will not renew it. We've been foster parents for seven years, although we weren't accepting new placements for all that time. In all, we had four foster children, who stayed with us from six days to forever.

We didn't foster very many children for very long. We never fostered a child with severe issues. There are families who foster dozens of children, many with mind-numbingly difficult challenges. Compared to them, what we contributed is less than peanuts.

Really we gained much more from being foster parents than we gave. For one thing, the intensive training we completed to earn our initial license, and the ongoing training we've done every year since, taught us a higher level of parenting overall. The skills we began to learn for dealing with damaged and traumatized children have helped us be more conscientious, aware parents. It's hard for me to describe the huge paradigm shift Mark and I experienced in our understanding of what it means to parent a child.

Also, our children have changed in some essential ways from being foster siblings. We always told the kids that the best thing our family has to offer a foster child is healthy, supportive siblings. The kids really internalized their role in loving and helping our foster children. On occasion they may have groused a little about the chaos and stress of a hypothetical foster child, but when the real child arrived their hearts opened wide. They've grown up feeling that if any child in the world is in trouble, they should just come to our house.

Other awesome things about being a foster parent: We saw the much-maligned "system" and the good people who work within it do amazing things for families with children in foster care. Our parents and extended families opened up to all our foster children with as much love and support as any of our other children. We got go to Boondocks for free one day every year. God definitely guided us to become foster parents (story here), and we felt buoyed and supported each time we had a placement. On a selfish note, I enjoyed feeling that no matter what bad things the world might contain, we were contributing a little something for the good side.

Though I'm grateful for our family's new direction, I'm sad to see all that go. It was great. It was kinda cosmic. Maybe you should try it. We're very glad we did.

Seasons and tipping points

2010-10-19T19:47:00.002-05:00

Autumn in Salt Lake is bittersweet. Almost everyone agrees it's our best season of the year. The sun shines and the temperature hovers right around 70. The air is clean and clear (unlike our summers and winters). The colored leaves make the world look alight.

But the joy is always tinged with doom. Fall means winter is right around the corner, and our winters are gray, polluted, and loooong. One of these days a storm will blow in and that'll be the end of sunshine and balmy breezes. A few more weeks, and everything from earth to sky will be a uniform gray, the ground covered with piles of dirty slush. All the way til March.

That ebullience tinged with doom is kind of how I feel about my life right now. I'm not tired, not nauseous, not sore, not bloated, not having contractions. It's so great! I'm working my way through all sorts of deep-clean tasks, like touch-up painting all the bedrooms and hallways, organizing closets, canning fruit, making new drapes, dusting all the bookcases, cleaning the oven...I'm leaving all these little nooks of beauty and order so that in a few months when I'm too [fill in the blank from the list above] to be productive I can rest on my laurels in a well-organized home.

Hence the doom. One of these days, my hormones and body mass will hit a tipping point, and everything will change. Tired, bloated, and gray. All the way til March.

Toy Story

2010-10-16T16:02:00.001-05:00

The first Toy Story movie came out the year Roscoe was born. I remember taking baby Logan and toddler Roscoe to see Toy Story 2 in the little theater in downtown Logan. First we had a lame, soft-body Buzz. Then Levi was lucky enough to get an awesome new Woody and a Buzz whose buttons really worked. Each boy has gone through a long phase of watching (parts of) Toy Story every day and holding Buzz and Woody as their very favorite toys. Unlike all other toys in our household, Buzz and Woody never go out of rotation in the closet or furnace room. Buzz and Woody do not have to be shared.

Last night I took the kids to see Toy Story 3, including a big Roscoe who looks a lot like the grown-up Andy in the movie. Little Jess was enraptured. I kept poking Logan in the side so he'd turn and see Jesse with his smiling face turned up to the screen. Whenever someone in the movie would disparage the toys, Jesse would say, "My toys are not junk!" "Don't call my toys trash!" and (my favorite) "My toys are not plastic!"

I realize it's just a movie, but Pixar so gets what toys mean to children, and what childhood means to children and adults. Childhood doesn't last. Neither--no matter how hard they try--do the toys of childhood. We honor it and serve it while it lasts, then we put away the toys and let the children go.

Dressers!

2010-10-12T17:23:00.000-05:00

Remember these dressers I thrifted for Levi and Jesse's room way back in August? They're finally installed.

The cabinets seemed sturdy but were a terrible shiny laminate. I primed them with Zinsser primer, which is touted to stick to even glossy surfaces without sanding.

It totally worked. Rolled on thick and covered with no problems at all. I had Home Depot tint the white primer to a medium gray so the primer would already be giving color coverage and hopefully save on paint.

I sprayed the shiny gold pulls with this in "oil rubbed bronze."

Mark screwed the bookshelves to the bottom dressers, then bolted the whole thing to the wall for security. (Cuz have you heard about Jesse?)

The boys are already creating their own little tableaux of treasured objects.