on gratitude

We talk of "expressing gratitude." This Thanksgiving, I've had a difficult time doing it. Not because I don't feel gratitude, but because I feel so incredibly grateful and humble and blessed that I find no words do it justice. 

Saying "I am thankful for my home" feels so insufficient. I am grateful for my home. But it goes so much deeper than that. I feel incredibly humbled and thankful for where I live. My home, my neighborhood, my town, my state. Idaho is a beautiful, bounteous place. I love it so. And for the fact that I can be here. That we have means and opportunity and resources available to us.

I can say "I am grateful for my family" but it doesn't do it justice either. I cannot express the joy and happiness I felt this morning when Charlie came into my bedroom, where I was reading on my bed, and said, "Mommy, can you get me some break-frast?" in his little 2 year old voice. I cannot express in words how my heart burst when I dropped Ana off at a birthday party a few weeks ago and realized how beautiful her heart is. She was one of only two that showed up, and I stand amazed at her ability to see others, and be a friend to everyone. I cannot express my love for my husband when he works so hard, and is sometimes weighed down by his responsibilities, wondering if he is doing right by the little people that he is entrusted with each day. I cannot say even a part of what I feel when I think of my little family. 

Or my larger family. My siblings who are my best friends and my support system. We can laugh and cry together and are fiercely loyal to one another. My parents who raised me in light and truth. My gratitude for them goes beyond words. And for my friends who have been like family to me through the years and our journey. They still continue to buoy me up and help me along. I am so so grateful.

This year, as I have had a more focused scriptural study, I have learned so much about God. I have felt His love and His goodness. I cannot express my gratitude for His shining influence in my life. I have had moments of profound humility and gratitude. Moments that have rendered me (ME!) speechless. As much as I love to talk and think and write and read, sometimes there are just no words. 

In the Book of Mormon, Ammon meets his brethren along a road after their missions are complete. He expresses joy in their blessings. One of his brothers said to him, "I fear thy joy doth carry thee away unto boasting."  His response is one of my favorites in all of scripture: 

 "I do not boast in my own strength, nor in my own wisdom; but behold, my joy is full, yea, my heart is brim with joy, and I will rejoice in my God. Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things; ... for which we will praise his name forever." (See Alma 26:10-12)

There is so much to be thankful for. 

on reading

Most weeks Dave has a day during the week where he is home. Whether it is because he is post-call or working the evening clinic, or gets a weekday off because he is working the weekend, he is around a lot more while the kids are at school.

He doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Years of having NO time for yourself sometimes means you forget what to do with yourself when you have a chance.

I went to bed sick on Monday, and he was on call that night. He was up at 5 a.m. with a call and stayed awake. He let me sleep and got the kids up and going to school and took care of Charlie. After school I took the cub scouts on a field trip and Ana had activity days so he took the younger kids to the store for a bit. That night he said to me "I feel like I didn't get anything done today."

I knew what he meant. That is how I feel most days. All the things I do get undone by the end of the day or need to be done again the next day. Some days it feels like I don't actually do anything. Because the work of a housewife is so much easier than in the past, sometimes it feels like I'm doing nothing at all. I load a dishwasher, or a washing machine. But I don't mend clothes or make butter. I don't often have a "product" at the end of the day. And I certainly don't have any sort of expertise that people need.  It can be frustrating and lonely and depressing.

But, I have read 42 books so far in 2017. I've read non-fiction and fiction - religion, social sciences, young adult and children's lit and classics and poetry. Not all the books I read are great. (I call those my "treat" or "junk food" books. Books that are just fun and light and easy and enjoyable, but not really substantial.)

People ask me how I have time to read so much. Now, four of those books were audio books and another 12 I read out loud to Dave. (We started doing that about a year ago and have really enjoyed our reading time together.) So 26 I have actually sat down and read by myself. That averages to 2.5 per month. I don't think that is all that much truthfully. But even if it seems like it, I make time because I need to read.

I make time to read because I love it. I make time to read because it uses my brain in a meaningful way.  I read to be entertained, to escape, to explore, and to learn. I read to know I am not alone,* to know that I am connected to a larger, intricate world. In reading I understand myself better, I find compassion for others, and I learn about God.

I read because it accomplishes something. It cannot be undone. At the end of the day, when there are dishes in the sink, and laundry in the baskets and toys on the floor, (even though I washed dishes and folded laundry and picked up toys), I finished something. Or at least got closer to finishing something.  I learned. I grew. My understanding of the world expanded just a bit. That's worth it to me. That's why I read.


*this idea is based off of a quote from the movie "Shadowlands" about CS Lewis. "We read to know we are not alone." I watched that movie years ago and I think about that idea often.

catapults and privileges

Jack has a school project due tomorrow. They were supposed to build something using simple machines. He designed a catapult, and he and Dave built it. It works fabulously.  He is so proud of it.

Jack and his awesome catapult!

I guess some kids brought their project today. At dinner time Jack was telling us about how some other kids also did a catapult. "I liked their designs, but they didn't work as well." He then told us all about the other kids' catapults and what their designs were like and what he liked about them and what went wrong. He wasn't insulting them, just being honest. He was generous in his praise of their designs and structure.

I thought about how Dave was there to coach Jack on his design, to help him buy wood, to call our neighbor to cut the wood, and then to work side-by-side as they built it together. I thought about what would have happened if the project was due a few months ago when Dave was working so much we were all exhausted and what it would have been like if I would have had to do it with Jack. I thought about other kids whose parents maybe didn't have the time or inclination or skill to help them with each step. It made me grateful that my kids have such a great dad. Part of me felt guilty - that maybe he should have done it all on his own. But then I realized how much he learned by having his dad help him. Dave has a gift of perfection and precision (one that I lack) and Jack learned a lot about how to help it be more stable, and how to drill a little hole so that the screw goes in better and how to measure it just right. Those are all things he needed, and truthfully, I could not have provided it for him. In that moment I realized just how lucky we are.

And then we talked about it as a family. We talked about how so many people don't have the opportunities we have and I asked the kids what they think our responsibility is to those who are less fortunate. Jack's first thought was "don't brag." A valid point, for sure. We should be humble and realize that what we have isn't just because of our hard work, but of so many circumstances that we lucked into.

We talked about how we have an obligation to help lift and bless those around us. It is our responsibility.  Dave read from the Book of Mormon when Moroni wrote to Pahoran, scolding him for not taking better care of the people. "And now, my beloved brethren - for ye ought to be beloved; yea and ye ought to have stirred yourselves more diligently for the welfare and freedom of this people. ...  Behold, could ye supposed that ye could sit upon your thrones, and because of the exceeding goodness of God ye could do nothing and he would deliver you?" (Alma 60:10-11)  We are privileged and blessed, and "Because I have been given much, I too must give."

I don't know if the kids were paying attention or not, but it struck a chord with me. I hope to do a better job at teaching them how to be a influence for good in the lives of others.

empty/full

I have been running on empty.

Completely depleted. It has been a long, lonely few months. I have felt tired, inadequate and depressed. But mostly lonely and isolated. I prayed more for strength in the last few months than I ever have before.

One week ago I found out I was having a miscarriage. This my fourth, my last one being over 6 years ago.

Though there have been tears and pain and heartache, I have been amazed and overwhelmed at the love and support that has come to me. A couple of my sisters have shown up to clean my kitchen, buy me lunch and vacuum my living room. Other siblings have sent flowers and texts and made phone calls. Friends and neighbors have surrounded me with love and support and help. One came and picked up my kids for the day. We have had dinner provided, and hugs given. I am overcome with gratitude for the love I have felt from my people and my God. I don't always understand why things happen the way they do.

I do know this,  I have felt God's love for me through the love of those around me. I have heard words of encouragement and compassion. I have seen goodness. I have been reached out to and sought out and surrounded with kindness.

And for the first time in months, I feel full.

when i grow up

I've been reading a lot lately. So far this year I have read 10 books (and 2 half-books.) I keep track on my phone of books I want to read and books I have read. It makes me feel like I'm accomplishing something instead of wasting time.

Here are the books I have read/listened to so far this year:

Man's Search for Meaning
Carry-On Warrior
What's Math Got to Do With It?
Freakenomics
It's Just My Nature and The Child Whisperer
The Selection Series
Rising Strong
Better Than Before (Currently reading)
Global Mom (I read half of it)
A Walk in the Woods (also half)


I'm noticing a theme. With the exception of The Selection Series, it is all non-fiction. Specifically its kind of research-based/self-improvement type. (Early last year I was on a books about racism streak: Boys in the Boat, The Help, Go Set a Watchman, The Invention of Wings, March - all fabulous.)  This I can't seem to get into a novel. Even by the end of last year I started into it with Simplicity Parenting and David and Goliath.

Over the last couple years I have been exploring the question "what do I want to do when I grow up?" I have thought about going back to school for Public Health or Sociology and Economics. I really want to go back to school, I just don't know what I want to study. Last night, while listening to Better Than Before, it hit me what I really want to do: I want to write.

This makes perfect sense of course. I have been writing my whole life. I have written regularly in my journal starting at age 8. I still have old "manuscripts" of stories that I started writing. (One about a set of twins named Vikki and Nikki.) I wrote poetry and song lyrics. Letters to friends and missionaries. I was on my high-school newspaper and loved writing papers in college.  I would practice my handwriting just so I could write something. Anything.

 Yet lately, I don't write much. Its been months since I wrote in my journal. I don't write much here, anymore either. But they say that you can hardly claim that you are a writer if you don't write. So, I am back here again, hoping for some accountability to begin writing again.

If I could do anything, it would be to write a book. I'm not interested in being a novelist, though I do love novels.  I love books about observation and data. The interesting thing is about the authors that wrote these books is that the majority studied something else in college.  Law, social work, psychology, economics, mathematics, etc. (And in Malcolm Gladwell's case, journalism).  But they all wrote eventually. I guess I don't have a good answer still to what I want to study in college at some elusive future date, but at least I know what I want to do.

And I can do that write now.

(See what I did there? Winky-face emoticon)

*post-script: while I wrote this, Katie covered herself her marker.

energy

Sun. Warmth, joy, light.

Stormy clouds move in, and swift

the wind whips. Rain beats fast,

then slower until the storm lifts.

What is the sky but a mirror?

The clouds circling, full of energy,

or a clear blue and calm.

From cold torrent to dog days lethargy

We expect sunshine, shame the storm.

Yet both are needed for growth in truth.

I see my soul in the darkened clouds.

Today's storm with yield summer's fruit.

I was obsessed with the sky on Thursday. I love the view of the valley as I drive Katie to school and the effect the sky had on the entire valley had me entranced. It was cloudy on the east side, but the mountains on the west were all aglow in the sunshine. My view of downtown also had it lit up. When I went back to get Katie the sun was trying to force its way through the clouds and I put on my sunglasses. But as I turned around and headed back home, the buildings of downtown were shrouded in darkness from ominous storm clouds above. Next thing I knew, the lights flickered on and off in our house, thunder and lightening began, and we got a downpour of snow. We got about 3 fresh inches. The sun struggled with the clouds all afternoon and it finally won just in time for sunset. The sky was a lovely pink and all was calm.

Dave says I have a "swirly brain." Boy, is it ever swirly lately. I can't concentrate on mundane tasks, so I fill my time with things that mimic the thrill of mental and social engagement, without the actual satisfaction - word games, social media, dollar bin shopping at Target, looking at house plans or houses for sale in random locations, etc.  I finish feeling just as empty. What I need is an Endeavor. A quantifiable goal that engages and satisfies my mind. Something that uses all this pent up energy and channels it into something worthwhile. I am like a fidgety child who needs to run wild a little bit every day so that I can return to my tasks with renewed focus and energy.

The sky reminded me of that this week.

baby steps

It started out as a normal Monday morning.

Okay, that's not quite true. Katie kept coming into our bed last night because she was cold, and Ana woke up at 6:30 and didn't feel well and wanted me to lay by her.

But otherwise it was mostly normal until I went to get in the car and the back door to our garage had been left open and the wind blew snow into it all night. And then the door to the car was acting funny and wouldn't shut tight so the kids were late for school. Jack hates being late so he refused to go in. I walked him to class (while Katie and Charlie waited in the car) and he still refused to stay. But Katie was also late for preschool so he came with me to drop her off and then finally I talked him down and we drove back to his school. Then it was grocery shopping and picking Katie back up and Charlie fell asleep in the car for 15 minutes and I had been home from the store not 5 minutes (just enough time to get everyone unloaded and in the house) when Ana called sick from school. So I went back and picked her up and then Dave came home from lunch and his car wouldn't start back up when he went to leave. (We jumped it and that worked.) So here it is, 2:00 in the afternoon, and Charlie won't go back to sleep and I have bread to make and a driveway to shovel, and on and on. Things don't always go as planned - both in life in general and in the day-to-day.

But I keep thinking back to the 5 minutes I spent trying to get Jack to stay at school. I was pushing and pushing and he pushed right on back. I got frazzled. He got upset. I was angry! Why did he have to make such a big deal out of this? He was 2 minutes late. It wasn't that big of a deal. He made it 10x worse by refusing to go into his classroom and running out of the school as soon as I let go of him.  But then I calmed down. On the drive back to his school, I said to him, "Jack, guess what. I hate being late too. Whenever we are late for church [which is far too often], I get so mad. I just like to be on time. So I get it. You can be mad and upset. But sometimes things happen. Sometimes Charlie gets a poopy diaper right before we leave and I have to stop and change him. Or we can't find kids' shoes or we just woke up late. Sometimes you just can't help it." After a few minutes he said he would go to school. When we got there I walked him in and he sat down and started reading.

Calm and compassion always win. I know that. I really do. Yet 9 1/2 years into parenting and still my first reaction is frazzle and frustration. I am sure I have passed the 70x7 number of times of repenting for that particular flaw of mine: React first, think later. But where the calm/compassion/validation response used to not even be on my radar, now it is my second reaction, so maybe, just maybe, I am making some improvement. Maybe in another 9 1/2 years it will be my first response. I think if I make it heaven, it will be because my kids are forcing Christlike attributes upon me.

Charlie is starting to be interested in walking. It's a game to him still. He'll giggle as he takes a few steps between us and we all clap for him and laugh at his success. He will stand up on his own in the middle of the floor sometimes and will let go and balance pretty well for a couple seconds. But he's still a crawler. That's me. I try to be like God. To be compassionate and patient. I stumble and fall a lot. Most of the time I resort to what is easier and what comes naturally. God is probably not too worried. He knows that it will come in time. It we be easier and easier as I practice. He is probably pleased with my efforts as I try little by little. But He also keeps giving me opportunities to practice.

I will learn one of these days.

thoughts on parenting and God

*Both of my kids have nightly homework. My 4th grader, who has to work a little bit harder to understand certain concepts and to read fluently, is required to sit and finish her homework. Then I go over it for mistakes and she redoes the problem until she gets it right. I often will read the instructions to her out loud because it helps her understand what is being asked. I also have her read aloud to me several times per week. This isn't because she has made bad choices and I am punishing her (though sometimes she views it as such). It is simply because her circumstances require it. My 2nd grader, on the other hand, is different. The academic portion of school comes very easily for him, but as a little introvert that he is, I recognize the need for him to have more down time. I set the timer for 20 minutes and as long as he is working diligently, he can be done with his homework when it goes off. He reads every night too, but mostly to himself after he goes to bed. It may seem that I am partial to one child. It may seem that I am punishing one child for something that isn't her fault. But as the parent, I have a deeper understanding of the needs of my children, and I require different things because of it. That being said, the standard is the same: they must learn reading, writing and arithmetic. That won't change, even if my homework policy seems inconsistent.

*Charlie, after being a fabulous sleeper from day 1 and sleeping through the night for the first 6 months of his life, starting waking up 2-3 times a night and I had to nurse him back to sleep. So, we are having him cry-it-out at bedtime. Every few minutes we go in and check on him and comfort him. The first night it was torture. The 2nd was slightly better. But by last night (night #4) he fell asleep after only 15 minutes and slept all night long. Despite having 4 kids, this was a new experience for me. I let Ana cry in the night once and after that she slept all night. When I tried it with Jack he would scream so hard he threw up and I couldn't do it anymore. Katie was such a snuggly nurser that I got a lot of joy and satisfaction of nursing her to sleep and I brought her to my bed if she woke up in the night. It wasn't a big deal. Our particular circumstances allowed for that, so it worked. But with 4 kids and Dave gone a lot at bedtime, I simply can't spend 40 minutes nursing Charlie to sleep and anyway a lot of times he doesn't fall asleep nursing. Of course, I love all of my children the same. I don't love Katie more because I rocked her to sleep or love Charlie less because I don't. Different circumstances call for different actions. I love all my children.

*My kids love to watch this one channel on TV that has some ridiculous "as seen on TV" commercials. It is a kids' station, so all of the things are geared towards kids. They are always asking for the stuff. In fact, I think 95% of my interactions with my kids is them asking me to buy them junk. Of course, I don't just give in. They are harmless things, perhaps, but certainly giving them everything they want when they want it isn't the best way to raise them. Sometimes I will give them a treat at the store or let them earn a toy from the dollar store. But I certainly don't let them eat candy for breakfast or spend all day watching TV or let them hit each other, even if they say I'm mean and unfair and I must not love them.

*Being a parent has taught me so much about the way God works in our lives. He is, after all, our Heavenly Father. He is a father, first and foremost. He knows us. He knows our needs, as individuals and collectively. I don't pretend to be a perfect parent. I don't always act in the most Godlike ways and many times I question my own methods. But I do love my children in a way that is perhaps a shadow of the way God loves us. We don't always understand his methods. We may think his standards are too high. We may not think it is fair that we have to work so hard when others seem to have it easy. We probably cry in our beds and wonder where he is, when what he is doing is teaching us an essential lesson that will help us eternally. Are 95% of my interactions with God asking for things? Maybe even things that the world has packaged to look enticing or harmless or fun or even good, but that are not eternally good for us.

*These 3 scriptures have come to my mind a lot lately:

*Ephesians 4 :14 That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive;

 15 But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ:

*1 Nephi 11: 17 And I said unto him: I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things.

*Proverbs 3:  5 ¶Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

 6 In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

write now

When I was 8 my sister gave me her old journal. She had used about half of it and it was blue with white geese and hearts on the cover and it had "I {heart} Rolly" written all over the inside cover. I didn't care. I tore out all her used pages and began writing. I wrote about Christmas presents and who won the Super Bowl and crushes and family and church and school and whatever else my little brain thought of.

I kept writing, too. I filled journal after journal. I still have them all in a box in the garage. To date I have filled about 2 dozen journals. Granted, most of my journal writing from the childhood/teenage years are filled with boys. That's all I really thought about in those days. The last 10 years my writing has decreased, but I like to think the material is a little elevated. Sometimes I think about those books tucked away in the garage and I wonder if there really is a point. I don't often go through and read them. Usually when I do I just laugh.

Today I came across my journal from 2011-2013. Ana found it and opened its pages. She opened it to a random spot and started reading it to me aloud. I felt nervous, not knowing which part of my soul she was about to discover. She happened upon an entry about her. It told of how Ana had befriended "the new girl" and welcomed her into her heart, like Ana always does. I wrote about how I felt like Ana was an instrument in the hands of God in helping that little girl and her mother feel loved and I expressed gratitude for Ana's friendly, outgoing nature.

As Ana read the words, her countenance changed. All the frustration she came home with melted away. She blushed and hid her face for a minute. The rest of the afternoon she carried it around and read it. She told me she felt loved and gave me a hug.

A few years ago I had been talking to a friend who had related a really hard experience she had gone through. I had wondered to myself why I didn't feel more inspired to help her at that time. That night I was reading through my journal and I came across an entry when I had called her to see if I could babysit or something and she had declined. I realized in that moment that I had been listening to the Spirit, regardless of her willingness to accept help.

This is why it is so important to write. We write our histories for ourselves and for our children. As we look back, we see strength and goodness and change. It is part of my legacy and their heritage.  The words I wrote changed my daughter. Maybe not permanently, but for an afternoon, she was changed.

Charlie's blessing day family picture

a reflection

I sent this picture to a sister on Sunday. I still need words of affirmation sometimes. Especially when in comes to clothes.

Back in June I wrote about my goal for this decade of my life called "my 30s." I wrote about how I wanted to be comfortable in my own skin and to be more accepting of myself. I am here tonight (for it is 11 pm and the entire family is asleep and I feel the need to write a minute) to report on my progress.

*Right now there is a huge pile of shoes sitting right next to the designated "shoe boxes" by my front entryway. Someone must have been looking for shoes before we rushed out the door to the kids' school this evening. They were having a movie night tonight and the kids wanted to go so we did even though once we were there and the room filled to the brim with children I started to worry a little bit about germs so I put a blanket over Charlie's carseat and hoped he stayed asleep because we were so packed there was no way I would be able to nurse comfortably. (He did sleep, thank goodness.) There is also a pampers-box-turned-rocket-ship, and other random items strewn about the room. My kitchen sink has dishes from after-school snacks and our quick dinner, but all the pots and pans are clean and the dishes in the dishwasher are clean and I got all the laundry folded and into their respective rooms. Plus I attended a Gospel study class, took Katie to the library and kept 4 children alive and happy. The rest can wait til tomorrow.

This was the movie event. You can see Ana in the background (bright yellow shirt.) I love watching her "make the rounds" at events.  She knows and loves everybody. Even the adults.

*I finally have stuff hanging on my living room wall. It took a while for me to figure out what I wanted. Pinterest, despite its bad wrap for making Mommies feel like they are not good enough and the many Pinterest fail blogs, has helped me to "see" my style. Just by pinning stuff that I like, I can look at a board and say: Oh, so that's my style. I like things that mean something to me personally, not just stuff that looks good. I like things that we have gathered, or pictures we have taken, or my children's artwork on display. I like bright colors. I like mismatched chairs around the dining room table and lots of colorful throw pillows and asymmetry. I like random. This has extended to my personal clothing style too. I like long necklaces and bright colors and funky, colorful shoes.  Pinterest helped me to see that.

*I am an aspen tree. I am light and airy and need connectivity and a network in order to thrive. I am a social being and I have to allow myself time to make connections. Real, human connections. And while I sometimes let social media try to fill the void, it usually does the opposite. I am learning to seek out real connections when I am feeling down and unmotivated instead of artificial ones.

*I am a Mary. I always think that in the hour and a half I have while Katie is at preschool that I am going to be super productive and get a bunch of stuff checked off my list. Sometimes I am. Most of the time I read my scriptures and write in my journal for a good portion of it. I get less "done" but I feel so much better. I have had some powerful spiritual insights the last couple weeks as I have done so.

*I am a good-enough-ist (in contrast to a perfectionist.) I heard once the saying "If something is worth doing, it is worth doing just barely." That resonates with me. My housework gets done, but sometimes, just barely. It is still worth doing. Our family nights are not perfect, and sometimes a little thrown together, but it is still worth doing.   I am not saying that I am complacent.  Complacency leaves us empty. But as Mary Poppins says: Enough is as good as a feast.


This is what I have discovered about myself over the last 10 months as I have been on this road to self-discovery and acceptance. I am not saying that these are the only or best ways to be. These are MY ways of being. I am not perfect. I have goals I am working towards like reaching out more to others and running a couple races this summer and I am still working really hard at not raising my voice. (I have been working on that one for about 10 years.)

Look, I even went running. Charlie didn't seem to mind too much

Something interesting is happening too. I am getting better. Not only is accepting myself helping me feel better, it is actually helping me BE better. I am a better person. I am less judgmental towards others. I am warmer to my children. I am less stressed out. I am more charitable. It is becoming easier to stay calm, to forgive, to apologize, and to be patient.  The phrase "to love others you must first love yourself" isn't about being narcissistic. It is about knowing who we are and what we have to offer.

I am not all there. There are days that are full of self-doubt. But I am making progress. And that is enough.

on sacrifices

I was sitting in my rocking chair, a sweet little newborn to my chest. He was dozing off and I was perusing the internet via phone. I came across an article - I can't find it now - that struck a chord with me. The gist of it was this: A woman shouldn't have to sacrifice her career to have a baby. The author noted the plight of the American woman in the workplace, including high cost of child care, inadequate maternity leave, and the tendency of women to hold back from promotions or other job opportunities because of family life.

Let me be clear on one thing before I begin: I absolutely believe that women and men should be treated fairly in the workplace. I believe in equal pay for equal work/experience and that people shouldn't be discriminated against simply because of their gender.  Also, I realize single mothers don't have an option of staying home and the cost of child care and other struggles can be especially debilitating in these situations. Just wanted to get that out of the way.

But let's get one thing straight:

Having a family requires sacrifices.

It just does. When you choose to bring a child into this world, you are choosing to sacrifice. For 9 months a woman gives up her body to house another living soul. After birth, a mother sacrifices sleep and time to keep this little thing nourished.  Every step of the way, we give things up. Late nights with friends are traded in for early bedtime. Fancy dinner dates are traded in for happy meals. Instead of buying new shoes for ourselves we are paying for piano lessons. The list goes on. And yes, our careers take a hit as well. Some of us choose to stay home instead of capitalizing on these prime career years. Some choose to work, but are passed up for promotions because of the time commitment. We all make sacrifices.

(Fathers make sacrifices too. A lot of dads pass up promotions so they don't have to move their families, or choose a career based on whether they can live close to grandparents. They, too, leave work early to attend concerts and basketball games. If a woman feels slighted because the bulk of the child-care responsibilities is falling on her shoulders, perhaps she should look no further than her husband, and figure out a solution that works for both of them.)

Anything worth having is worth sacrificing for. We give up time and money for an education. We go without stuff we want now for things we want in the future - like saving for a new car or a down payment on a house.

And nothing - no career aspirations or fancy cars or prestige - even comes close to this:

This is joy. Real, true, lasting joy. The kind of joy that is seeded in sacrifice and vulnerability and, above all, love and connection. To be a part of something bigger than yourself.

It is worth the sacrifice.

reach out

I have written a lot about our wonderful friends that we had in Vermont. Our friendships with them was almost instantaneous. We were all far away from our family, and we needed each other. We did family dinners and swapped kids for date nights and went to the park. We saw each other multiple times throughout the week. We borrowed milk and eggs from each other. We called each other when we went into labor, or hurt our back and couldn't move or needed to vent or laugh or cry. It was a unique experience and I knew nothing like that would happen again.

My absolute favorite picture of some of my absolute favorite people on earth. May 2013

It is different here. I love our ward and neighborhood and all the wonderful people I have met. They are wonderful people who love God and are willing to help anyone who needs it. We had people willing to come over and watch the kids (or have the kids over to their house) during Dave's whole kidney stone issue and I have a list of people willing to come over when I go into labor. Everyone is amazing, really.

However, because most of those around us were born and raised here and all of those needs are filled by their family. At least, that is how it seems. So, I have spent the last 6 months feeling mostly unneeded.  Not like in a "woe-is-me" kind of way. More like in a matter of fact way. I have just gone about doing my thing and letting myself be wrapped up in morning sickness and kid stuff and Dave's crazy work schedule. But I suspect that, like me, there are those - someone I see at church once a week or walking their dog around the neighborhood - that actually do need something from me.

So my resolution for the year 2015 is to REACH OUT.  I want to focus on lifting others up and seeing their needs.

Now, I realize that it might take some time to get traction on this resolution of mine. After all, we are about to have a baby and I imagine I will mostly be staying home for a few weeks. So perhaps my goal should be first, to SURVIVE. Then focus on reaching out.

I always set resolutions, but truthfully, don't always do well with them. Last year held a lot of changes for us and so it wasn't a great year for keeping resolutions. I only made it Leviticus in the Old Testament. (Partly because after we moved I started teaching a different class so I had that material to study.) Once morning sickness hit all hope for a routine went out the window.  And though I still get snappy with my kids, I think I am improving (very, very slowly) at speaking more kindly.  But, lest I think I am a failure, 2014 was a year for growing a baby, establishing a new home, and supporting Dave. In fact, I think in the last one I could say it has been the best. I don't think Dave and I have ever been more in sync with each other. Our marriage is absolutely stronger today than a year ago. I am so grateful for him every day and all he does for our family.

 I still believe what I said last year about resolutions. As long as we are working towards something, we aren't failing. It is always good to have a goal in mind. Something to look to and reach for and climb towards. Giving up because we think we can't do it or because we tried and failed keep us from seeing the best things that life has to offer. So even if I set that resolution to speak more kindly every single year for 10 years, change can still happen. Sometimes it is slow and almost imperceptible. But we are always changing as individuals. It is up to us to determine which direction that takes place.

january

I love January. After the celebrations of the Holidays, I love the chance to pack it all away and reflect on the goodness of God and the changes I want to make. ("The calm after the storm" as I recently heard it called.)

Last year was a roller coaster year - full of high highs and low lows. We had the excitement of matching in Salt Lake City and the sadness of seeing loved ones pass. Dave graduated from medical school and we left dear friends and wonderful Vermont behind. We have had the news of a new baby and Dave's kidney stone episode and much more. We miss our Vermont family dearly, and as we all spread out more and more I know it is the ending of a wonderful era of our lives. We will always look back on our time there with such fondness.  The year was an eternity and yet the blink of an eye.

We have tried the make the most of living close to family. We have traveled to Idaho for Thanksgiving and Grandma's Christmas Party/Dave's birthday and again for New Year's Eve. It has been so wonderful!

As per our tradition, we stayed home for Christmas. We played with Jack's new helicopter and read books and Ana painted and Katie flitted around the house and we all went sledding and played endless games of Uno.  I thought it might be weird doing dinner alone since we have done dinner with friends the past few years, but it ended up being really nice.

My favorite Christmas scenes:

New Jammies

Katie took her role as Mary so seriously. It was the most precious thing I have ever seen

Christmas!

Painting with her new art set

Love the new robe from Grandmas

Reading. I have learned since she got this book that she likes graphic novels. She has read it twice already.

Fresh Christmas snow. Hooray for a white Christmas.

This year hasn't been my best for writing. I haven't journaled or blogged much.  I want to keep doing it.  It requires stillness and forces reflection. It requires that I focus on the good (or at least the humor) in every situation. I don't want to be so consumed with busy-ness that I neglect my need for stillness and reflection. It seems a mother's day is a day of "hyper-vigilance" - managing crises and functioning in a state of urgency. Much of that comes with the job. Writing, reflecting, being still, and focusing on things that matter most often get pushed aside, to the detriment of everyone involved.

While I haven't officially made my list of resolutions, I know that they will involve more pro-action. More time to be still. More time to write down thoughts and ideas. More slowing down and simplifying.

The baby's room is ready, and so as long as he stays put until Dave is done working his night shift rotation, we will be alright.

Hello, 2015.

faith

Today I want to write about Faith. Specifically, my faith. By "Faith" I mean my religion, but I also mean my personal belief in God.

The last few years have been both faith-strengthening and faith-questioning. I had never before known what it meant to "mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort" (source) until I watched family and friends grieve in so many different ways over the last 36 months. I have come to understand that scripture a little better now. I have had experiences when I know that the hand of God has been guiding me and others. I have also had experiences when I have asked difficult questions, some of which don't have good answers.

I was reading through some of my "notes" on my phone a few weeks ago and I came across one that I wrote late at night a few months ago. I was reminded of it again the other night as I read the talk "Receiving a Testimony of Light and Truth" from this last General Conference. I want to share my note here.

Thoughts on faith (August 3, 2014)
I have no idea how computers work. I know how to use them, and I know general concepts like electricity and things but I have no idea how binary code is translated to my being able to send data hundreds of miles in merely seconds. Some people do understand that. They have studied and worked and know all of the processes that go into that machine. Not only that, but the technology used to improve computers is growing exponentially. But of course, it had to start somewhere. The first computers would be useless today. Does that make the principles they were built on any less true and valid? Of course not. They were the building blocks.

My faith is a lot like that. There are so many things that I do not understand. But I have seen time and time again what happens when I rely on faith and tap into heavenly power. There are things even in my own religion's history that are perplexing and I wonder "why did they do it that way?" But truth isn't learned in one glorious moment. It is learned as we test and try principles. It grows little by little by little as we study and try and sometimes even make mistakes-as individuals and collectively. And I believe there is a tipping point where the truth becomes evident faster and faster and we become better versions of ourselves. Not because what we know now is more true than what we knew then, but because we are building on the truth we have already learned.

It would be silly to say, "until I understand it completely, I will not use a computer." So why would I wait until I understood God completely to utilize His Power and Goodness? The more I turn to Him, (and study His Word) the more I understand Him.

Though I express it differently than I did before and even sometimes look at it from a different perspective, I feel my faith in God is stronger now than ever. I am a witness of the Power of God, in my life and in the lives of others.

remembering

 
A few days ago I was looking through some old photos of Ana when she was Katie's age. It's kind of fun because they really were almost the exact same age at the same time of year. Man, has time flown by. I was also reading some of my old blog posts from back then. Katie looks so much like Ana did at the age.  In fact, I have a hard time remembering Ana as a 3 year old. I am in the Katie-as-a-3-year-old phase and I keep projecting my experience with Katie on the past. But Katie isn't Ana, and Ana wasn't the same as Katie is now.

 When Ana was 3, I blogged a lot. I am so glad of that now.  When I look back and read what we were doing and how I was reacting and what I chose to write about, it brings me back to that time when it was just me and Jack and Ana at home all day.  It helps me remember.

I don't want to look back in 5 years and realize that somehow I stopped keeping a record of my life. A record of my children. I have my journal for my most intimate thoughts. And instagram for random snapshots. But I don't write much about the nitty gritty of daily life. And maybe my posts were (are?) a little redundant. Maybe they were mostly filled with Ana flitting around and me dreading the dishes. I suppose the more things change the more they stay the same. Because now I have two flitting girls and I still put off the dishes. Still, I don't want to forget this time. I especially like blogging because I tend to focus on the positive when I write here. There are times when I really need to focus on the positive. Things aren't always rosy and there are days, like yesterday, when I feel like I clean the same mess up over and over again and it leaves me feeling grumpy. That's one reason why I need to keep writing.

 I want to remember how funny Katie is. She is so serious and expressive. She says funny things and asks a million questions. She doesn't like to leave my side. If she is eating a snack in the kitchen and I walk out she will yell my name repeatedly until I come back and say, "I don't want to be by myself in here." I want to remember how much Jack likes to read out loud to me and how as long as he has a specific task he is happy but when he is bored he goes a little nutso. I even want to remember how much Ana stretches me to my limit. She is so full of life and energy that I simply can't keep up. She doesn't take no for an answer. And when little baby boy gets here in January, I want to keep a record of his sweet baby-ness.

This is important to me: that I keep track of life so that I can look back and say, "Life was good. We did hard things. We grew and learned. We witnessed miracles."

a post about my resident spouse

On the Red Butte trail watching the sunset. 

Everyone told us residency would be hard. For both of us in different ways. So I started by lowering my expectations for myself, especially since I am pregnant. We are now nearing the end of Dave's 3rd rotation.

Just as an interjection for those who may not know exactly what it is Dave is doing - He is working primarily at Primary Children's Hospital. Every 4 weeks he rotates through a different branch of pediatrics - adolescent medicine, cardiology, etc. He also has outpatient clinic every week. At the end of 3 years, he will be a licensed pediatrician. Or he can continue on a do a 1-3 year fellowship in a specialty. He will apply for those during 2nd year if he wants to. Also sometime during this year, he has to take (and pass) Step 3 of the United States Medical Licensing Exam, which is a 2 day test. 

His first rotation was a pretty easy schedule, but he decided to get Step 3 out of the way right away so he was studying for that. We found out recently that he passed, which is awesome and he is glad to have it out of the way. The next rotation was "wards"  which is what most people generally think of as residency - long hours at the hospital almost every day. It was long and it was stressful, but I felt like I came through it all right.  Most of the time I felt like I played the role of the supportive wife pretty well. He worked hard and I did what I could to be his supporting cast.

I noticed something amazing about my husband too. When he had such limited time off, he wanted to make it count. He would take a kid to the library or to the store. He would come home for just a minute and ask if there was anything he could do for me. And even if he was really tired, he would curl up with the kids and watch a movie with them. It was amazing.

And then I got all full of myself and thought, "Okay, I have got this. I can do this resident wife stuff."

This rotation is split it two; the first two weeks were called Safe and Healthy Families which pretty much means you are dealing with families who are NOT safe and healthy. (Abuse, mostly.) But the schedule was pretty easy. The last two weeks are night shift at the hospital - just like wards but at night.

It has been rough. I don't do well with the night shift thing. Once I am asleep I am okay, but I am totally unmotivated to get myself there. And there is the what-to-do-during-the-day-while-daddy-is-sleeping issue. The older kids are in school, so that helps. Truth be told Dave is a pretty deep sleeper so that is good. Still it changes routines and schedules and trying to figure out when to eat dinner and what to fix and all of that stuff has been really stressful.

Then last night, while working his night shift, he started with some pain that got so bad that he ended up dragging himself to the ER. He has a fairly descent size kidney stone. They sent him home with some pain meds but he couldn't keep them down and when he did they didn't seem to be working. So tonight, though it was supposed to be his "night" off, he is up at the hospital again, as a patient.

Luckily for me, we landed ourselves in an amazing ward. We made one phone call and had someone over to give him a blessing.  My visiting teacher came to my rescue to watch my kids while I took Dave up AND fed us an amazing dinner. We are so lucky to be here.

As I sit here and type this all out, I feel really, amazingly blessed. Dave is such a smart, hardworking husband and I am so lucky to have him. He has such a strong desire to be a good dad and husband and to be an example of a Christian.  Even though the last couple days have been stressful and a little crazy, the Lord sends his tender mercies in simple things like a text from a sister saying that she understands, and the chance that my friend was home this evening when usually they eat Sunday dinner with extended family. God does not forget us.

Isaiah 49:15-16

 Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.

Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

making a house a home

This last weekend we went up to Idaho for a few days. We went fishing with Dave's brother, celebrated Jack's birthday, stayed up way too late, and went to church in our old Rupert ward. It was wonderful.

By the time we were driving home last night a vague homesickness set in. Usually after a trip, the drive home feels like a relief, but this time it didn't. Our walls are still bare. I still haven't unpacked my boxes of books (something that always makes me feel more at home) and it is strange that my calendar is relatively empty. It doesn't quite feel like home yet. It will. I love our new neighborhood and our house is great. We got a new couch that I really love. But I am still figuring out where to put things and how to organize stuff and all of that. It takes time. I know it does.

I had a dream the other night that we were done with residency and it was time to move again and I couldn't believe it had gone so fast and I felt like we had just barely moved and I couldn't bring myself to do it again. It has been an exhausting journey, even though it is exciting. Transitions can be hard.

The night before we left Vermont I lay our our little cot in our mostly empty house. Four years before I had done the same thing, and our empty house felt full of promise and hope for the future. This time, though all of our stuff was packed tightly (very, very tightly) in our moving truck, the house didn't feel empty at all. It felt full of ghosts. The ghosts of our memories that filled the house to the brim. Memories of Christmas mornings and lazy Sunday afternoons and the smell of lilacs through the windows and dinners with friends and so many other wonderful things that happened in that house. It was a four year process of making that house a home. And I cried.

The same with happen with this house. We will fill it with so many memories that in a few short years when we pack it up I will cry. And it will feel like home.

May 2014 - Last day

July 2010 - First day in our new home

keepsakes

Ana, April 2010. I came across it today. It's one of my favorites.

As part of my "40 Bags" challenge (which has really morphed into a 40 areas challenge because I don't really fill a whole bag every day) I pulled out some files out of my filing cabinet tonight labeled "keepsakes." Surprisingly, most of what found its way all the way into the folders were actually things I wanted to keep, (unlike the "to file" drawer of my desk that was 3 years full of random things, only a handful of which were actually keep-worthy) so my throw-out pile was small.

I am not very fast when it comes to these things. I look at every picture. I read every card. (And then I decided to move all my cards to a shoebox to make the folder a little flatter.) I am a collector and I am hopelessly nostalgic. As I was going through these treasures, a few things came to mind.

1.) I really need to be better about writing thank you cards. Those little notes of thanks mean a lot to me. I keep many of them.  I am touched by the sincerity and vulnerability it takes to express such heartfelt thanks for my small, seemingly insignificant contributions. I should do that more often for others.

2.) I have such wonderful people in my life. I have friends and family all over the country. I have been influenced and inspired by friends and neighbors and even acquaintances. I have had times when I have given and times when I have received. I read cards of sympathy during a surgery or miscarriage, cards of congratulations for milestones and baby births, cards of thanks for small things I had done, and cards and letters just to say "hi." I am so incredibly blessed.

3.) My kids are growing up way too fast. Ana is becoming so tall and thin. Katie has a full head of hair now. Jack was younger than Katie when we moved here. Time has flown by. Each picture is just a fleeting moment, but seeing them all together in one place weaves a story of a life. There were even a few pictures mixed in of me and Dave when we were young. Time flies by so quickly. I can't even remember my 4-year-old self at all, and even Ana's 4-year-old self is quickly fading from my memory as life moves on.

Life really is all about relationships. We are all children of God and how we relate to our brothers and sisters here is the most important thing on earth. I found a list of 50 things I want to do in my life tucked away in one of my files. Most of them I still want to accomplish, like "get a master's degree." But even if I do, I hope that it never becomes more precious than a shoebox full of cards, or a love-note from my husband, or a painted hand print of my daughter.

stories

"Tell me a story." I think this was the basis of my courtship with my husband. We would be sitting on a couch - in his apartment or mine or in a student lounge somewhere - with his legs stretched out over mine and he would ask for a story. And then I would tell him of something that happened when I was little, or past boyfriends, or whatever experience came to mind. He would tell his stories too. We both had relatively light-hearted and happy childhoods, so the stories were usually happy. And then we decided to have to same story for the rest of forever. And I think we are just about to the point where we know all of each other's stories. Once in a while, though, a story will come out that we don't know. I like it when that happens.

I am currently reading this book. It was recommended to Dave by a doctor and after he was done I picked it up. It is a collection of stories by a pediatrician turned grief/cancer counselor and it is full of beautiful stories of life and hope and faith and truth and, mostly, healing.

Everyone's life is a collection of stories. We all have painful stories. We all have triumphant stories. We all have stories of turmoil and stories of peace. We have stories that teach us obvious things and stories that we wonder what the lesson is for decades. As we share these stories, we connect to others. We bless their lives and our own. We give and receive and learn about ourselves and others. We learn to love - truly and deeply. We become less judgmental.

In this era of social media, I hope we don't forget to tell our stories. Blogs are wonderful for sharing stories and that is one of the reasons that I love them.  In fact, sometimes I get so caught up in strangers' stories that I forget that the people in my life that I love the most have wonderful stories that I am not hearing.

Recently we have started sharing stories around the dinner table. Dave and I take turns telling the kids things from our past. There have been a few of Dave's stories that I haven't heard yet. I love it when he tells the kids his stories, even the ones I already know. They love it too. When I tell Ana that I know how she is feeling, she wants to hear the story about it. Often it helps her deal with her emotions. 

When I was young I used to beg my mom to write down her life story. She always said that there was nothing to tell. But the stories I have heard over the years have brought a lot of strength to me. Like the time when she was pregnant with her 5th kid and my dad was writing his master's thesis. My dad had never learned to type, but Mom had so she would stay up late with him while he wrote it out by hand and she typed it. While he was writing she would lay down on the couch and sleep and then wake up to type some more. That is love. Or the time she had such a rough time handling the kids in sacrament meeting while my dad was in a bishopric or overseas or something and so afterward she went home and skipped the rest of church. I was shocked to hear that from my mother, but also relieved because she always seemed like she could handle anything and I was so far from that. Suddenly I felt like I was probably doing just fine.

I love the subtitle of the book: Stories that heal. Sharing our stories, around the world and around the dinner table, can heal our hearts, our lives and probably the world.

why my new year's resolution is not to lose weight

I have been feeling super ... blah... and grumpy. I always get this way in the winter. I know one of the reasons is because I get pretty sedentary. I am so so much happier when I am active. But I live in a climate where "warm" in January is 20 degrees, and so I don't go outside much.  And my waistline is showing it.

So, like many Americans I decided to set a goal of health. I want to feel good. I want my body to be strong and my mind to be clear. I want to eat more fruits and veggies and fewer treats.

But I am not trying to lose weight. Weight is an easy way to measure progress, but it is also flawed. People get discouraged when the scale doesn't reflect what they want it to, even if their new habits make them feel physically better.

I have never watched the Biggest Loser. I can appreciate the idea of helping people create new habits and changing their lives for the better, but I have never watched it. However, I was intrigued last week with the outcry over the winner. She weighed in at 105 lbs. So many people said she took it too far. All I could think was: What do you expect? You give a big reward to whoever loses the most weight, as if weight equaled worth, and then get upset when people take it too far. I know women, skinny women and not-so-skinny, who obsess over what the scale says or what size pants they wear. They talk about it to their friends. They talk about it in front of their daughters and your daughters. This has to stop. Stop talking about changing your body's shape.

I do not talk about my weight or my physical insecurities in front of my children. Ever. If they see me exercise, I tell them it is because exercise keeps my body strong and healthy and makes me feel good. If they see me eating fruits and veggies (and encouraging them to do so too), I don't tell them I am trying to lose weight or because treats make you fat. I tell them I eat it (and they should too) because it is good for them. It gives their body nutrients and energy. (Often when Jack is having a hard time eating his fruits and veggies, all I have to do is tell him what the nutrients in the food will do for him, and he is much happier to eat them.)

Please, let's stop the discussion about weight. Instead of telling people how much weight you have lost, let's talk about how good we feel and how much more energy we have. Let's talk about how much longer we can walk or run and how we don't get out of breath so easily.

Happiness is not found on a bathroom scale. Worth isn't found in a size 4 pair of jeans. My body is amazing. I want to take good care of it.