Storytime

                                              These are moments I treasure...

...not just because they are in a contained space...

...but because Noel reads to Juliet...

                                             ...and they both end up laughing.

                                           

Finding the Helpers

We turned on the computer last night after dinner to find a job posting; two hours later, we still sat there, stunned. Not knowing the answer, or even the question to ask.  As we watched video after video, I wanted to see something of hope.  I've never been to the Boston Marathon, and I didn't know anyone running it this year--but I don't think you have to know someone to still feel the pain others are feeling.

Today, I continued to think and pray and feel empty inside.  I called my best friend Mary, and we talked about it.  She had heard a quote by Mr. Rogers on a news program that went like this:

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers.  You will always find people who are helping." 

It doesn't erase all the pain for the families, but it is a light in the middle of pain.  In the midst of people running away from the bomb blasts, others went to help.  They stayed.  They comforted.  They were the helpers.

I can't help but ask--if I was there, would I be one of the helpers?  And since I am here--will I be a helper where I can?

Support the Good

For the past few months, I've mulled over what role I play in society.  How active should I be in the community?  And--where can I find the time to actually be more active in the community?  In my job, I see many needs--students need tutoring in subjects, mentoring with service projects, and someone to point them in the right direction.  But what is my role?  Is it enough to help an individual student, or should I be doing something more?  Should I be part of a group that fights all the moral decay--or do I do something individually?

One day--I had an eye-opener.  I don't necessary have to fight evil to be doing good; I can actively support good.  I thought this when I was helping students raise funds to go to Girls State and Boys State.  Baking chocolate chip cookies by the dozen doesn't necessarily seem like a ground-shaking movement, but the reality is that one student wouldn't be able to attend without financial help.  A great kid that really loves history, wants to study law, but never had a chance before this year.   Somewhere between putting the chocolate chips in the KitchenAid and standing at a table asking people to buy the cookies--I realized that I need to do more to actively support good.  To help give kids great opportunities that will help them--rather than telling them all about the things they shouldn't do that will get them in trouble.

That's all.  Just a thought about supporting the good.

Goodbye, Snow!

Noel is sad that we finally have grass in our front yard, instead of the 2-feet snow cover we had for several months.  She was happy making snowballs all day long.

On the other hand, Juliet is elated.  Anytime we went outside, she insisted on sitting in a chair, where she couldn't fall into the "wet stuff".  

Scott is in denial--he keeps hoping for one last big snowstorm.  He loves winter more than anyone else I know.  And me?  I'm just excited that I don't have to bundle up the kids in polar snowsuits every time we go to the store.

Bob the Builder

It's funny how 90% of what I say to the girls gets lost in translation and 95% of what I do never gets noticed.  But once in awhile they pay attention, and that is why I'm still hearing "Bob the Builder" referred to as "Jesus".  The full story:

We had planned to go to Salt Lake for Christmas Eve, but a blizzard hit early afternoon.  Suddenly, I was in the middle of making Fettucine Alfredo and planning a nativity scene.  I had been counting on my sister for costumes, my mother as the director and pianist...my job was only to enjoy the production.  But here we were, and not wanting the night to end without reading the Christmas story, I snagged some toys from the girls' rooms and set up a kid-friendly version of Luke 2.  We had some farm animals and a little manger--but no baby, so we used the little "Bob the Builder" figure holding a shovel.  And that is the 5% they noticed.

It's March, and several times a week, they still set up a nativity, and make sure that "Bob the Builder-Jesus" is center stage.  I think I'll start planning for December now.

The "Half-Monte"

I waffled back and forth for the past month--should I sign up for this half-marathon?  Should I wait?  Am I going to regret it?  Am I going to have time to train?  And most importantly:  am I going to be able to eat chocolate while I'm training?  During all this questioning and wondering, Scott was ever-supportive.  He only said, "If you want to enter--go for it."  He's very smart with things like that--he knows to be supportive, without specific directions on what I should do.  On the other hand, if he is not excited a little bit, I'll wonder if I can really do it.  What can I say?  I have a tendency to over-analyze.  Just a bit.

But tonight, I only had 2 hours left before registration went up $10.00.  I'm too cheap to spend ten more dollars because I was slow to commit, so I finally did it.  I'm going to run the Huntsville Half-Marathon, known as the "Half-Monte" in September.  (The full marathon is the "Full Monte"...named for the beginning of the race:  Monte Cristo, not the film).  It's been YEARS since my last major race, and I feel like a beginner all over again.  Well, run or jog, I'm going to cross that finish line.  And that's the big news of my day.  :-)

A Day in the Life..

Once a month, I substitute for a teacher.  It's a win-win situation.  She doesn't have to plan lessons, I get to teach the students about college and scholarship preparation, and the students win more scholarships.  Everyone is happy.  But today, it's Juliet's birthday, and I wish I was with her.  She's turning 2 today, and I just want to snuggle with her and delight in her little laugh.  I want to read books to her and chase her around the house.  I do not want to tell another student to focus on the scholarship application that needs to be completed by next week; I want to sit with my little girls and sing songs.

Sometimes, I think that the work I do at home doesn't matter.  I think that a babysitter could watch my kids all day long, that the girls would actually listen to someone else.  I think about this when Noel yells at me that it is her turn, and it's difficult to see anything beyond the five seconds when I want to yell, too.  But today, I'm subbing, and I see the importance of all those moments with my children.

I have a lot of students that come from broken families.  Families with one parent or missing-in-action parents.  Sometimes the parents are there, but just don't take time to help their children.  One girl said to me today, "My parents told me I'm not college material, that I won't be able to do it."  And I realized that the work I am doing at home is important--because 100 times a day, I tell my kids "I love you.  I'm so glad you are part in our family.  You can do anything."  I say it out loud and I say it when I take time to read them a book.  I say it when I'm starting the laundry and let Noel push the button.  I say it when Juliet runs away from me and I need to change her diaper, and I make it a game of tag instead of a contest of wills.  I don't have 100 perfect moments as a mom, but I have 100 perfect opportunities to tell my kids, "I'm your fan.  I'm your cheerleader.  I think you are the greatest."  And you know something?  I really do.  I really think my kids are the greatest, funniest, smartest kids in the whole world.  And it's okay that I have a limited view in this respect, because my kids need to know that I think the world of them.

So even though I'm subbing on Juliet's birthday, I'll see her tonight and give her dozens of hugs.  I'll play with her tonight and tomorrow and everyday until I have to come in again next month.  And instead of making my job the priority in the family, I'll remember that it's a blessing to help our family pay the bills and gain a reality check of my real job:  being a mother. 

The Potty Training Saga

I envisioned cleaning up puddles on the kitchen floor and washing out poopy clothes by the hour...but it wasn't so bad.  I'm sorry to say that we didn't potty-train Noel because we were motivated, on-the-ball parents--we started because one night, I needed to get out of the house.  We had no plans, not a lot of money, and the girls' bedtime was in an hour.  Our solution?  We went to Wal-Mart and let Noel pick out "big-girl underwear".  And just like that, I was committed to potty-training the little munchkin.

We were stuck in the house because of a 3-day blizzard, so I made myself like the idea of having Noel sit on the potty every ten minutes.  I bribed her with chocolate chips and Hershey's kisses.  I put a sticker chart on the fridge and let her cover it in stars and rabbits.  We read books about Elmo using the potty, pretended the doll was using the potty, and watched Daniel the Tiger sing his "When you have to go...stop...and go right away!"  song.  We have immersed ourselves in the potty-training experience.  Just in time, too.  Noel turns 3 today, and I didn't want to have to face a lecture from the pediatrician about potty-training.  If only all trips to Wal-Mart could result in such life-changing decisions.

(This picture was taken February 12, 2012...just to show that we had good intentions for almost a year)

Easing back in...

I'm coming back to my blog, slowly, and not having enough connected thoughts to write a post.  So, for tonight, here's a beautiful video.  It made me smile, laugh, and realize all that Heavenly Father has blessed me with and placed within my reach, for my benefit.

Earthly Father, Heavenly Father

i'm (not really) lovin' it

I am sitting alone at McDonald's, having bought a cookie because I feel an intense guilt for using wi-fi without paying a token fee.  We still don't have internet hooked up at our new home, because it just doesn't seem to be a priority at 9:00 a.m. when I can't find a decent pair of jeans that aren't covered in paint  (the benefits of DIY projects on a new home).  I spend my morning rummaging through boxes in the basement, finding salad spinners and a campstove, but no jeans.  By 2:00 in the afternoon, the internet is a major priority as scholarship deadlines loom and I need to work.  So, I head to McDonald's instead of school because I am still wearing paint-covered jeans.  I spread out hundreds of applications and flyers on scholarships, and try to focus my mind while blocking the announcements that Order 39 is now done.  And this is why I hope that we don't move again for a very, very long time.

Bring back those lazy, hazy, crazy days of Summer

I miss the summer.  When it was here, I complained daily about the heat.  Now that it's gone, I'm complaining about the cold and having to bundle the girls up in eskimo suits for the trek to the car.  In the last week, we've painted the top floor of our new house.  We're moving in tomorrow, but this morning, I am yearning for the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer.                        

I'm Lost (Really)

We closed on the house last Tuesday, and my mind stopped working.  Here's the best of many moments when I lost it, or was lost, as the case may be: 

~~~~~I went jogging towards Ben Lomond.  Suddenly I was out of neighborhoods and in a new development.  I tried to keep track of where I turned, but every road started to look the same.  The entire development is roads; a total of 5 houses in the 4-miles of cul-de-sacs, dead-ends, and sagebrush.  After going down one very long dead-end that I had to run back up, I called Scottie.  (Yes, I remembered to take my cell phone this time). 

"Come pick me up," I moaned, "I'm lost." 

I waited, and waited, and got a call back after 20 minutes.  

"Where are you?"   He lamented. 

He had gotten lost in the same neighborhood, driving the car to find me.  I won't be running there again.

~~~~~Driving home on the freeway one night, the car stopped.  I kept pressing the gas pedal, but it wouldn't work.  I made it to the sidelane before the car lurched to a stop.  Looking at the backseat, I breathed in relief:  both girls were sound asleep.  Looking outside, my chest tightened again:  semis seemed to be careening towards our little Honda Accord, then swerving to the left at the last moment.  My solution?  Call Scott.  

"The car stopped--I'm stuck on the freeway."  I started retelling the events, when he broke in. 

"Start the car."  He said, "Now, go get gas." 

Yup--the car started, I made it to a gas station, and we haven't had another problem.  It turns out that the line going below "empty" is more reliable than the neon green light that shouts "empty".  Who knew?

Happy Halloween!! (courtesy of two little flowers)

Yesterday, I was one year late; today, I am one day early.  Thanks to my friend Annie for taking such adorable pictures.  We love our little flowers! 

 

 

Happy Halloween!!

I usually do things after the fact, which is why I'm posting last year's Halloween pics.  I just barely found some costumes for this Halloween--and need to find a way to get pictures done this week--or at least before it snows again!

Here they are--my little bee and flower! 

(pictures taken by my amazing friend, Sierra of Sierra Rose Photography)

Good things come to those who wait

It finally came:  the call.  We are getting the house.  Our house. 

We're excited, nervous, and talking about the house every second we can.  We're discussing paint colors, furniture options, and the biggest change:  Scott and I finally get our own room.  Yes, that's right, we've been sharing a room with either Noel or Juliet for the past 2 1/2 years (due to sleep problems of our toddler--future blog coming on that lovely topic).  And as much as we love our little girls, we're excited to have our own space. 

We made the offer seven months ago.  Seven months!  Most of our belongings are in storage, and we only kept out summer clothes, thinking we would close by August, or September at the latest.  Last week, we had to unload half the storage unit to find warm pants and coats for our family.  And somewhere in that storage unit are two giraffe costumes the girls should be wearing on Halloween.  I packed them because I was sure we would be in the house for Halloween.   Obviously, I shouldn't have had a predetermined timeline about a shortsale. 

We close on Tuesday, and we'll be painting and getting the house ready to move in.  It's a great house, but the wallpaper in the bathroom needs changing...

Besides that, we love the house!  (I'm sure we'll be loving Lowe's as well!)

There are some amazing things about the house.  The house sits up on a bluff, and we'll never have anyone blocking our view to Antelope Island.  The back of the yard borders a park, and I already know we'll be spending many, many days there.  And for all those reasons--and a bunch more--we didn't give up on this short sale.  (If you are thinking about moving next summer, you may want to start looking at short sales now!)

(pictures of the house AFTER the paint jobs to be posted soon!)

The Tragedy of Batman

Scott tells a story every birthday that goes something like this:

When he was turning 10 years old and his sister was turning 2 years old, his mom asked him what sort of a cake he wanted.  His reply?  A Batman Cake.  Their birthdays are four days apart, and his mom didn't want to make two cakes, so she opted to make a Barbie Cake.  For the next 22 years, Scott has told this story on his birthday, and has refused to have cake.  Instead, he opts to have cookies and sherbet, and there is still a tone of resentment that a 2-year old got placed before him in terms of a birthday cake.

This year, his mom decided to put an end to this story, and bought him the Batman cake.  It was incredibly sweet, and Scott seemed ready to put the story to rest.  Until I stepped in.

The cake had been on the counter, and the girls kept asking for some during breakfast, lunch, and every time in between.  I got tired of saying no, so I just stashed the cake in the oven and didn't think about it again.  I started to cook dinner and turned on the oven.  Five minutes went by, ten minutes went by, and suddenly, the kitchen had an odd smell.  I couldn't place it-was trying to reach a casserole dish on the top level of the cabinet when suddenly it clicked.  Scott's birthday cake was being melted in the oven.  I jumped down from the counter, opened the door, and there was the previous cake, melted and morphed into an unrecognizable shape of black plastic and melted icing.  Batman was gone.

When Scott entered the kitchen, his face was void of emotion, but somewhere deep inside, I think his thoughts read like this:  I've waited 22 years for this Batman Cake, and you just destroyed it.  I will never have a Batman Cake for my birthday.

Next year, I'll make chocolate-chip cookies and buy lime sherbet, but I know what's coming.  Instead of the story about his mom, it will be the story about me, and how I destroyed the Batman Cake.  This story is going to live for at least another 30 years. 

Can you guess which one is mine?

This Week's Nemesis: Sticker Weeds

Last Saturday, I had a brief window without any responsibilites.  Scott and Juliet were napping, Noel was on an outting with Aunt Barbara, and I had a couple hours before the afternoon session of General Conference.  I grabbed a small water bottle, jumped on my bike, and started on the trail that connects North Ogden to Brigham City. The first five miles were wonderful--I got past the neighborhood, and was soon going past farms and irrigation ditches.  The path turned north around the mountain, and the breeze was just enough to make me think, this day is perfect. 

Somtime during the next few miles, I went through a patch of sticker weeds and my front tire was covered.  At this point, I made the colossal error.  The mistake that changed the bikeride to a hike in three seconds flat.  I got off my bike and pulled the sticker weeds out of my tire.  If I had been thinking logically, I would have realized they were acting as plugs, but I'm not much of a logical person.  And I'm definitely not logical when I'm out on a bikeride enjoying nature.  I'm most vulnerable at that moment, thinking that the world is perfect for me, and nothing will disrupt my own little utopia.  As if we can ever be that lucky...

I unplugged several sticker weeds, not connecting the dots until it was too late.  I also happened to be in a spot that was close to nothing, and had no options but to turn around and begin walking back.  Suddenly, that beautiful scenery that had whirled past while I had been on my bike was unbelievably boring on the walk home. 

For the next several hours, I alternated between walking and jogging with my bike.  I alternated between telling jokes inside my head and telling jokes out loud to myself.  I alternated between the pros of taking a bikeride alone (solitude), and the cons of taking a bikeride alone (extended solitude).  Several hours later, I finally arrived home.  Scott and Juliet were still asleep, Noel was still on her outting, and I walked into the house without anyone concerned for my safety.  Five minutes later--Juliet woke up, Noel arrived home--and I suddenly saw the benefits of extended solitude, albeit too late.   I'll have to be thankful for the sticker weeds next time I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere. 

 

We finally said goodbye...

to Noel's bottle.  We prepped her all day that it was coming to an end - time to move on to big girl cups, throw the bottle into the trash.  And tonight, we did it.

Of course, she is 2 1/2 years old so we really should have done this a long time ago, but there always seemed to be some reason not to give up the bottle.  The biggest  one was Juliet being born eight days after Noel turned 1, and we couldn't give a bottle to one child only.  (Alright, maybe if I was incredibly motivated with discipline issues I could, but you should know from my last points that I really am lost with many parenting skills). 

Tonight, some of the cousins were over, and they helped with the anti-bottle propaganda.  Chloe told Noel that bottles were gross, disgusting, and only for babies.  Owen clapped when Noel put the bottle into the trash.  The great thing?  Noel believed them and pronounced, "I'm big girl - bottle in the garbage!" 

Hopefully she remembers this tomorrow morning when the cousins are not here, and she begins searching for her morning bottle. 

Confession: I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing

I'm not one of those moms that intuitively knows what to pack for a 3-hour outting, or what quiet games to play during church.  One Sunday, I kept feeding Juliet cheese sticks because it seemed to make her happy.  The problem came after she shoved the second stick into her mouth, tried to swallow it whole, and threw up all over me.  I whisked her out of the chapel, and left Scottie to clean up the mess.  Obviously, I have no idea what I'm doing.

I listen to other moms, and sometimes wonder, "What class did I miss out on in school?"  While I was studying Modern Literature and the Great War, my friends were majoring in Family Studies.  It turns out the joke is on me, because I'm scrambling to find answers now.  As luck would have it, my sister recently visited and watched me deal with one of my daughter's tantrums.

"Have you ever heard of the book How to Raise a Spirited Child?" She asked in a kind voice, obviously seeing my lack of skill.

No response from me.  I was trying to stop little legs from kicking me in the face.

"You might want to try it."  She commented. 

And I did.

I've been reading this book for the past few weeks, and it's helping me know that I am lost.  But it's also helped me realize that other parents are lost, too.  And we're lost because raising a spirited child is raising a kid that is simply more:  more intense, sensitive, perceptive, persistent, and energetic.  I am at least starting to find some answers, and I am applying little bits of what I am learning each day.  The days I read the book, I'm patient with Noel.  The days I don't read the book, she screams "WHY?" as I roll her off Juliet.  Her own version of steamroller. 

I'll keep reading Raising Your Spirited Child because it's the first time in Noel's short 2 1/2 year life that I'm understanding how to deal with tantrums, sleeptime, and every time in between.  And I'm trying other tactics for control besides cheese sticks.