Dressed in Bonnets and Bloomers

Today is bound to be one of those days.  I have a to-do list the length of my arm as we prepare for our next summer adventure (white-water rafting down Hell's Canyon!) which preparations include another trip to the store with all four littles later this morning.  I usually come back from the grocery store with all sorts of wonderful stories like this one and this one.   Yee-haw.

Even though today is going to be packed from start to finish, I felt like I needed to take a few minutes and write about some of the things we experienced on the recent pioneer trek we went on.

Our family handcart.  Dennis engineered this awesome
covered handcart thingamajigger with a fitted sheet, grommets,
and bungee chords.

I'm fully aware how odd it may seem to people not of our faith that we would get dressed up in pioneer outfits from the mid 1800's and reenact the crossing of the mid western plains of our Mormon ancestors with the young men and women in our church group (ward).  In a time of luxury and comfort, what on earth would possess us to push handcarts for almost 30 miles with all of the items we would need for 4 days in a 5-gallon bucket as we brave the heat and dust decked out in bloomers and bonnets?

To be honest, I had to give it some serious thought myself.  I understand the need to appreciate the sacrifices of the ones who went before us, " But come on now," I asked myself, "are the bonnets and bloomers and whole charade really necessary?" The answer was one I didn't really have until it was all over.

I'll try to recap some of my favorite experiences without being too long-winded.  After we assembled our group of almost 100 people into "families" with their respective "ma's and pa's," we started down the pre-determined course through the Owyhees.  Our family pulled the lead handcart as Dennis was the most familiar with the route.  The 9 other handcarts pulling behind us in single-file along the tops of the mountains was an awe-inspiring sight.

One of the boys in our family resting at
the top of the first mother of all hills... or 
at least the first of several to come.

Soon came the first big "hill," if you can call it that.  It was more like a daunting, steep ascent of large, loose rocks.  We decided to have only 3-4 families go at a time, using the manpower from the other groups to help each group up.  As I pulled our handcart up the hillside, everything inside of me felt like it was on fire.  No amount of physical preparation could have prepared any of us for the rigors of the trail combined with the high altitude.  We reached the top and nearly collapsed from fatigue.  We rested a few minutes and headed back down to help the other families.  First major obstacle: check .

That evening the men split off and went to a separate campsite as the women geared up for what would prove to be for the women, the biggest challenge of the event- the "Women's Pull."  While historically there was never an actual handcart pull exclusively comprised of women, this is to commemorate the thousands of women who crossed the plains without their husbands, often with little children in tow.  One of the highest mortality rates of those who crossed the plains was that of the men who braved the elements, often without relief, as they pulled the handcarts for their families day in and day out.  They often sacrificed their unthinkably small rations of food to their starving wives and children, leaving them especially vulnerable in their already weakened conditions.  Other men were called to serve in the Mormon Battalion or to serve missions or in leadership positions for the thousands who were crossing the plains.  This pull was not to show the men that we didn't need them or to put on a display of "girl power," but to pay tribute to the sacrifices that both men and women gave selflessly in honor of their religious faith.

I had traveled the route we would be taking a month before on a four-wheeler as we established the course we would be taking.  I knew it was going to be tough, but that's what made us want to use this portion of the mountain for the Women's Pull.  We knew the degree of difficulty would require us to draw on something other than our own strength to finish it.

The final portion of the 3 1/2 mile pull was 1 1/2 mile stretch of steep, rocky, up-hill grade.  Holy moly.

The Women's Pull.  Why is it that things never look as
hard in pictures as they really were in real life?

It was on this portion of the trail that I have my fondest memories.  My group of girls pushed with all their might as we passed the men who had come to watch- some of who silently and tearfully removed the hats from their heads as they watched us struggle by.  They had received strict instructions that they were not to assist us.  This was something we needed to complete on our own.   The seemingly never-ending road ahead of us in the blaring hot sun made the hill climb from the day before seem like child's play.  I tear up thinking of the resilience of the women in my group.  In silence we huffed and puffed and groaned under the difficulty of our task.  Occasional shouts of encouragement were heard as the girls cheered each other on.  We stopped several times to re-hydrate and catch our breaths but never once was a word of complaint uttered.  Not once.

I later heard a tearful recount from one of the adult women in our group.  She said that one of the tiniest girls in our group- only 12 years old and not even 90 pounds- at seeing her struggle, said quietly to her, "You can stop pushing if you'd like.  I'll push for you."  Such was the attitude throughout the entire ascent.  There were times during the Women's Pull when all I could do was put my head down and focus only on putting one foot in front of the other as we inched our way up the mountain, with our bodies feeling like they were on fire from the inside out.   There was vomiting, a few collapses, and a level of sheer exhaustion reached that had never been known to most of us before.

When we reached the top of the mountain, the girls in my group took a quick drink, and within just a few minutes, stood at the top of the trail, saying they were ready to go down and help the other groups of women coming behind us finish their pull.  I wanted to take each of them in my arms and hug them.  They seemed to have morphed from young girls, into women of strength, faith, and kindness and I had a front-row seat witness to the wonder of it all.

The rest of the trek was wonderful and everything I hoped it would be.  Despite the fatigue at the end of each day, I felt oddly rejuvinated and strong.  The entire 4 day experience was over far too soon for me.

This picture does poor justice to the blisters.

So back to my original question, "Come on now, is that really all necessary- the whole charade and all?"  The answer is one of humility and gratitude to our God and our forebearers.  It's "yes."

There's something about exerting oneself to the point of near collapse that leaves one's heart humbled and open.  A few people quietly remarked that they knew that those who had gone before, whether it be deceased siblings or ancestors from several generations back, were pushing right along side them, helping them along.

There's something about going down to the very basic of necessities that helps you clear all the clutter from your mind, and see with an unobstructed view the beauties of human nature.  People are better and kinder and stronger than we think.

It helps us see that God is good.  He did not forget our ancestors then and He certainly has not forgotten us now.

Our handcart family. 

When I got home I struggled with feeling ready to jump back into the 21st century.  I just wasn't ready. I didn't know how to make sense of all the nonsense that was waiting for me down off the mountain. I wanted to live forever in a world of simplicity where at every turn you were seeing the goodness and selflessness of others.  I felt slightly depressed and demoralized to think that this is my life, not that life up in the mountains.

After doing some processing, I realized that this is my trek- the 21st century rat-race.  Just as they made the most of their trek across the plains then, I am expected to make the most of my trek now.  And now, just as they did so many decades ago, we struggle but we also rejoice.  And there are countless reasons to rejoice and give thanks.

Birthday letters Part 2

From May 24- July 10th we have our wedding anniversary and all of our kids' birthdays.  That's six weeks of fun and exhaustion.  So for now, the marathon is over until next year, at least as far as birthdays are concerned.  Here are Camden and Lauren's birthday letters since their birthdays fall close together.  These letters are a little late but they were written with lots of love.


Dear Lauren,

You've turned 3 years old.  Three!!!  I was looking through pictures of the day you were born, and then a few months later when you had your wild, wild hair, and it felt like it was just last week.  In so many ways you remind me of myself.  I feel like I'm looking at a mini-me from 27 years ago.

Early in the morning I gave you your birthday gift from me- a purple princess outfit, complete with the tutu, shoes, wand, tiarra, and fur-lined purse.  I had to take you to the store for some last minute items for your birthday party and you insisted on sporting your new look to Walmart.  I had never seen you look so cute as you clomped loudly through the stores in your shoes that were too big, wand and purse in hand, as you flounced around with your chin held high.  Several women had to come to comment on your beautiful outfit.  Over the past few months it's as though the "girl gene" in you has just been switched on and we are now in full princess and ballerina mode around here.  All of a sudden you have discovered that all things pink, purple, and frilly are marvelous.

We have a routine on Sunday mornings as I try to get you dressed.  The only way I can get you to sit still while I fix your hair is to turn on Angelina Ballerina on PBS.   The other day I was fixing your hair just as the show was playing it's introductory theme song and you started squirming and whining.  When I asked what was wrong, you kept saying, "I want to twirl, I want to twirl!"  So I had to stop, and let you twirl in circles in front of me as the theme song played before you sat back down so I could continue.

Your dad and I agree that you usually have more energy than our two boys combined.  You also have an unbelievable knack for finding mischief.  Little lady, you are exhausting... but oh, how I adore you!   One of the saddest things in life for me would be to ever see you lose your spunk. You are almost always happy and cheerful, eager to help, and eager to show affection.  You are sweet and thoughtful with others, especially your parents and your little sister.

You are remarkably coordinated and were ready to have your training wheels taken off your bike before you turned 3!  (even though we haven't gotten around to it yet, you're definitely ready)  You can hold your own on just about anything physical that your brothers can do.  You can also out-eat them at just about every meal!  Now that appetite, I must say, you inherited from your momma- sorry sis.  One of the most adorable things about you are your stout little legs, especially when you wear a swimming suit.  Oh, there aren't many things cuter than little girls in swim suits!  Again, that stoutness is something you inherited from me- sorry again.

One of the things that has been nice over the past few months is that you finally decided to start speaking in sentences and using the right words!  It was as if you just woke up one morning and said to yourself, "Hmmmph... it's been long enough.  I guess I'll start speaking now."  And all of a sudden you're using full sentences and you are oh-so-expressive...to say the least.  You also potty-trained recently, and quite quickly.  It just came down to you deciding that you wanted to do it.  And just like that, there were no more diapers and no more accidents.  That stubborn streak has an eerie resemblance to your older brother.  I'll let you guess who I'm referring too.

My sweet, little princess- I can't imagine what this family would be like without you.  You bring a vibrant energy to this family that is irreplaceable.  I felt a special bond with you the moment you were born.  You are my little girl!  There is no comparison in the world to the feelings a mother has for her daughter.  I love you sweet, Lauren.  Happy third birthday.

Love,

Mom





Dear Camden,

This birthday is a special one as it's the year you turn eight.  It's hard to explain the feelings I've had leading up to this birthday.  They are ones of anticipation and excitement, but also of trepidation and dread.  You aren't my little boy any more.  You're a little man now.  You've reached what we believe to be the age of accountability.  It's sobering and scary for me to think that with all of my imperfections (and there are many, many, many) that the mantle of accountability has been lifted from my shoulders and placed on yours.  While my work is far from over with you, this is a new chapter in your life.

No matter your age though, to me you will always be the little boy that first taught me about being a mother.  There's a special bond between a mother and her first born.  You were the one that first brought that explosion of love I felt for a little person who relied so entirely on me for those first few years.  From the second I saw you, I was smitten.  No matter how many sleepless nights, or colicky evenings, or trips to the doctor's office, my love for you has never waned, not even for an instant.  It was you who first taught me to love the way a mother loves and for that you will always have a very special place in my heart.

Our ward went on a pioneer trek the day after Camden's birthday.
This picture was taken the evening after our first day on the trail.
He walked all 9 1/2 miles that day and did wonderfully.  

There are so many things I love about you.  You are ingenious at building and creating.  I'm flabbergasted at some of the things you create with Legos.  Ever since you were tiny, just over a year old, I could tell you had a gift for organization as I watched you organize your little cars by color and size in a perfectly straight line.  It was unbelievable!  You inherited your dad's artistic gift as well and are able to draw pictures and comics with wonderful creativity.  You are kind and helpful to your siblings.  You have a well-developed moral conscience and instinctively know the difference between right and wrong.  What a joy it has been for me, as your mother, to see you grow into a kind a loving person.  You have learned Spanish beautifully at school and even received an award for your achievements in learning and speaking Spanish.  You are athletic and enjoy spending time on your bike, playing tennis and racquetball, and playing with your brother.  I love to see the sweet relationship between the two of you.  I pray that will always continue throughout your life.

Camden, while these are things I love about you, this is not why I love you.  I love you because you are my son, and that is something that will never change.  Some of these talents and gifts may fade away and you may develop other interests in life that take you down different paths.  Life is a continual process of waxing and waning, but hopefully one of always growing.  I don't know if anyone really grows into the exact person or leads the life they had envisioned as a child, and that's alright.  In the end, I love you because you're you.  I love you for being you, no matter what form that takes.

Thank you for your patience with me.  Thank you for loving me despite my short-comings.  I'm excited to see what the future holds for you, as I have no doubt that it is very bright.  I love you, Camden, more than these little words can do justice.  Happy eighth birthday.

Love,
Mom

Coming up for a bit of air

Luke enjoying some chips while sitting
in a tree.  One more reason to love summer.

The past few weeks have been incredibly busy, as it is every summer.  Sometimes when things are this busy I forget to lift my head above water and take time to do the things I enjoy, like blogging.

We enjoyed some time camping in Eastern Idaho at a family reunion and are now gearing up for a pioneer trek with our ward, followed by a river trip down Hell's Canyon and then another family reunion.  These are good times.  I love it.

The fourth of July came and went quickly.  We spent the evening with some wonderful friends and enjoyed a marvelous dinner and some fireworks.  We had a little incident with some stray fireworks which burned the side of my leg and burned several holes through the blanket Calista held on her lap (yikes!).  After the embarrassment of my initial reaction of jumping up and letting a few colorful words fly out of my mouth passed (uggh... with two bishops and half of my Sunday school class watching, I was mortified at my reaction), I felt overcome with gratitude that my little baby had been holding that blanket on her lap when the fireworks leaped onto her lap.  It's all fine and well though.

On Sunday as we stood up in church to sing the national anthem, I suddenly got a lump in my throat as I read the beautiful lyrics.  What a change from 15 years ago.  I remember as a teenager lacking any sort of patriotism towards the American flag.  I thought Americans were arrogant, close-minded, and ignorant.  I remember getting into several arguments with other American teens as I pointed out all the ways Americans were blissfully clueless as to what went on around them.  It irritated me immensely and  I vowed I would never live in the U.S. as an adult.  I didn't realize that at the time I was the one being arrogant, close-minded and ignorant.

And here I am as an adult,15 years later, feeling a swell of pride as I stand to sing the national anthem of my home.  I've realize that sure, there are some Americans that fit the stereo-type I held.  But then again, you can find people that fit that same stereo-type in any country, anywhere in the world.  I guess that's the funny thing about stereo-types.  Usually it's not the people that fall into stereo-types but the people assigning the stereo-types who ends up being guilty of it themselves.

So what caused the change?  I'm not quite sure.  I imagine it came mostly from gaining some maturity on my part, but it also came piece by piece throughout the years.  Part of it came as I earned my college degree using Pell Grants and other government loans that had low interest rates.  I could choose any career field I wanted with the sky being my limit.  It came bit by bit with the birth of each of my children as they were born in clean, modern hospitals.   It came as Camden started attending a fantastic dual language school that is part of a marvelous public education program.  It came as I traveled internationally as an adult and had my  eyes opened to the corruption in other countries that I had been oblivious to as a kid. It came with the wonder of the prompt and efficient public services offered (fireman, paramedics, teachers, garbageman, etc.).  It came as I learned about the sacrifices of my ancestors and the forefathers of this country.  It came as I watched people tearfully remove their hats and hold their hands to their hearts as service men and women led the way at local parades with their flag held high.

What a blessed place this is!  This is my home and I feel I indescribably blessed to be raising my little family on American soil.

My dad's brothers and sisters on their family stomping grounds.

One of my favorite views in all of the United States

The little freedoms

Lauren is just beginning to realize that when she sleeps, life still goes on without her and she really hates that.  The boys and I have developed a game where each afternoon I tell them all that it's going to be nap time... for everyone.  I wink at the boys, and they wink back.  We clean up lunch and the boys run into their rooms, hop under their blankets and pretend to be asleep.  Tiptoeing, I take Lauren to peek into her brother's room and show them to her as they lay there with grins and stiffled giggles, pretending to be asleep.  And she totally buys it. I read her a story, tuck her in, and close the door to her room.   Once the coast is clear the boys jump out of their beds and race downstairs to pack their backpacks with water, snacks, and bandaids, and slip out of the house while their sisters sleep.  I give them my cell phone, reminding them that I'll be checking in on them every 20 minutes and not to talk to strangers or to go into anyone's house. Despite their three year age difference, the two have become inseparable little compadres. Today as I watched them race off down the street towards their afternoon adventure of jumping their bikes on dirt ramps, I realized how nice it was that they had reached this stage of limited independence.

As I walked back inside and caught a powerful whiff coming from upstairs, I was reminded of our morning fiasco.  Lauren had dumped an entire bottle of my new hair serum on the carpet, followed by a bottle of fingernail polish remover on top of it and then rubbed it in... just for good measure.  I caught her just as she was beginning to paint her left leg with bright purple Insta-dry fingernail polish (the kind that dries in 60 seconds).  Nap time couldn't come soon enough for this little monkey.

There are so many little freedoms that disappear with kids.  You often don't even notice they're gone until they reappear after years of absence. Hobbies are forsaken, 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep seem like foggy memories from a former life, even uninterrupted piddle time is a thing of legend.  The past few months we have reached several milestones of recaptured freedom, one of them being quiet afternoons.

Lauren became potty-trained and Calista switched from formula to milk.  I figure that change alone saves us well over $100 per month.

Camden finally learned to scrub bathrooms and do other household chores well.

Luke has learned to shower independently.

Calista phased from 2 naps per day to one.  She has also learned to crawl and entertains herself for hours on end discovering the nooks and crannies around the house visible only to 2 foot elves and small children.

Ahhh... the small things that can bring so much relief.

I joke sometimes that having small children feels like house arrest since we could never go anywhere for the longest time because it seemed like someone was always napping.  While I consider scheduling and organization one of my strengths, it can also become tiresome when the children become so accustomed to it that it becomes hard to break from the routine and be spontaneous.  They become deliriously irrational when naptime is delayed by only an hour and our lives seem to be ruled by potty breaks, naps, and sippy cups.

The road to regaining independence is traveled slowly, one step at a time and victories large and small are celebrated all along the way.  But unfortunately each step on that same road also takes me closer to the day when who once seemed like little balls and chains will fly the coop and all will be quiet.  And then I wonder, what's going to be more painful once I get to the end of the road? The loss of freedom I feel now or the emptiness of the house once they are gone?  I don't need to think about that answer.  I already know and it hurts just thinking about it.

Optimism on a dark day

Yesterday I was reading an article in the news about a crime that was so unthinkable and horrific that after reading the graphic details, I suddenly felt light-headed.  I had to sit down and put my head between my knees to stop the ringing in my ears and the spinning of the room around me.  My reaction reminded me of the way I felt after I changed my first ostomy bag after graduating from nursing school.  Even though the crime had happened years ago, it was as if the sun shone a little darker for the rest of the day.  The man convicted of the crime was to be executed this morning.  It's a humbling thing to think that as I write these very words, he is likely meeting his Maker.

Last night I watched a clip about a boy who had lived his whole life feeling rejected by others.  He hid his pain through a terrifying outward appearance which only led to further isolation.  He wasn't good at anything, he said stoically.  And I suddenly I saw my own little boys in him and the tears began to flow.  This wasn't just some creep who made mothers with children in tow cross to the other side of the street as they some him approach, this was someone's son- just as special  to another mother as mine are to me.  He had once played with trucks and squealed over fruit snacks as my boys do now.

A week before that, as Dennis and I drove out with a group of people from our ward to scout out the route we would be taking for an upcoming youth trek, our bishop told us in non-specific terms (keeping everything very anonymous and confidential of course) about some of the tragic things he had witnessed in his few years as serving as a bishop.  My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach as I thought of the darkness and sadness that exists all around me, often behind closed doors as people suffer in silence.  I had to turn my head to keep the tears from coming as I thought of the shattered lives and the heartache of people living in all around me as I sit blissfully ignorant in my posh little life.

As I looked out the window as we drove to the Owyhee's for our trek excursion, I saw the fields coming to life with color as the sun rose in the eastern sky.  I saw the snow-kissed mountain tops in the western horizon and the majestic Snake River winding it's way quietly through the characteristic rimrock mountains of southwest Idaho.  It was breath-taking.   The contrast of what my ears were hearing in our conversation and what my eyes beheld was stark.  This, what I was seeing, was God, not the calamities or the blunders of men.


Gordon B. Hinckley, who is one of my favorite optimists said, "I see so many good people everywhere-- and there's so much good in them.  And the world is good.  Wonderful things are happening in this world.  This is the greatest age in the history of the earth...  We have every reason to be optimistic in this world.  Tragedy is around us, yes.  Problems everywhere, yes...  You can't, you don't build out of pessimism or cynicism.  You look with optimism, work with faith, and things happen."


This past weekend Dennis and I ran the Sawtooth Relay with his brother, two cousins, and one of his aunts.  It was one of my favorite races I have ever done.  It was an all out blizzard most of the time as we trudged through the snow in the 62 miles from Stanley to Ketchum.  As I ran my two legs of the race, I struggled to keep my mind off the discomfort of my body adjusting to the altitude and the soreness in my hips.  I looked up and saw the snow coming down, felt it's wetness on my face, and saw the expanse of the road ahead of me.  This was why I chose to come to Earth- to feel it all from the wonders to the grief and the pain.  I thought of people who would give their right arm to be able to do this even if they had to endure these uncomfortable elements to do it.  After the race was over, we all agreed that part of what made it so memorable was the snow and the wind, and the fact that through it all we really enjoyed ourselves and even wanted to do it again.  Even in the thick of the snow and the freezing temperatures, the comraderie among the racers was still there.  I wish I could tuck away that ability to always enjoy the race amid the storms.


Somewhere between the beauty of the scenes that I beheld in the Owyhees and the Sawtooths and the atrocities of what I had read is where  life unfolds itself.  Yes, heaven is on earth, we just have to open our eyes to know where to find it.  And more often than not, it's right under our noses.

How to boil a frog

I used to look at mothers with their quiver full of kids and wonder how in the world they did it.  After having Luke, I was in dumb-struck awe of anyone who had more than two children.  I have people approach me all the time when I'm at the store and comment while shaking their heads on how full my hands are.  Yesterday at Costco, an older lady said with a wink, "Honey, it looks like you need to have more kids," as she saw me unsuccessfully trying to keep my three little goats corralled around me (the fourth goat is thankfully still small enough to be buckled into the cart).  I'm sure I looked like a really bad circus act parading through town.

Yesterday was one of those days where the thought of my youngest being only a year old and that I have at least 17 more years of this mayhem ahead of me makes me want to sit in a corner rocking back and forth and banging my head against the wall.  

As a kid, I didn't really enjoy babysitting so I imagined that my home would never be overrun with the sounds of stampeding little feet and my walls covered with greasy little paw prints.  Maybe a couple pitter patters, but nothing more.  But I've decided that the chaos that is added with each kid is like the story I told the kids in Sunday school about the frogs in boiling water.  If you put a frog in cold water and raise the temperature slowly, bit by bit, soon the water will be boiling and the frog will be belly up, never having noticed what was happening.  

I started the day out with a refrigerator void of milk and having to resort to powdered milk for breakfast.  Dang it.  Being married to a farm boy for 11 years, I knew that would never fly.  I was going to have to go to the store with all four littles, something I usually avoid at all costs.  Warning the kids early in the morning of what our plans were for the day, I spent the next hour getting the girls ready, making beds and cleaning up breakfast, and calling out the time we had left before I wanted to be out the door.  As I loaded the girls in the van, Luke sauntered downstairs in his pajama shirt and nothing else... nothing else.  "Luke!  Buddy!  We're leaving!  Go get dressed!  I want to be out the door in about 30 seconds!"

"What?!?  Where are we going?"

Fifteen minutes later we were pulling out of the driveway with a sulking 5 year old in the backseat muttering things under his breath that he's probably lucky I didn't hear.

Bed, Bath and Beyond came first.  In and out in two minutes- that was my plan.  Within 10 steps of entering the store, my plan was already shot to heck.  Camden stood in open-mouth awe at the shelves stacked to the ceiling of gadgets he could use to rubber-band and tape together to make all sorts of weapons of mass destruction.  Within 8 seconds flat, Lauren had discovered the world's most fantastic tea party with $20 plates and $15 teacups, which just so happened to be in the most breakable, expensive part of the entire store... the wedding registry office.  I'm sure the employee that followed us discretely throughout the store watching us had nothing to do with post-destruction clean up he was sure would happen.

Costco was Costco in all it's wonder and glory.  How thankful I am for their large parking spaces, limousine shopping carts, free food samples, wide aisles, and a food court with inexpensive churros and hotdogs.  Surely the CEO of Costco has a quiver full himself (or herself). God bless you.  

...Aaaaand that's how they lure in these mommas and get them to spend $200 each time.  

Then came the doctor's office with Luke and Calista's well-child checks.  I wonder sometimes if the reason so many kids are diagnosed with ADHD is because they were sitting in a stark white doctor's office for an hour before they were diagnosed.  My kids were bouncing off the walls, literally.  And then the pediatrician dropped the real bomb when he told me that the new state regulation was that children stay rear-facing in their car seats until their two years old...   TWO?!?  Are you kidding me?  Are there really that many people in the state legislature that have never had kids? Are they oblivious to the fact that the one year mark is celebrated by parents, largely in part because they get to say good-bye to rear-facing car seats?  As Calista howled and screamed after getting her one year shots, the poor nurse had to navigate through three chimpanzees bouncing around and singing, trying to make their little sister smile.  As deafening and raucous as it was, it warmed my stressed out little heart.

On the drive home as we rocked out to the Sesame Street soundtrack, poor little Calista had several explosive sneezes- the kind that send snot flying everywhere, giving her a nice little gooey web to play with. Camden, the designated snot-cleaner-upper since I was driving, would hand over the snotty tissue holding it by the tips of his fingers with watery eyes and turning his head trying not to gag.  A few minutes later I looked in the rear view mirror and saw Calista's little mouth, chewing on something like a calf with a mouthful of cud. When she flashed me a big gummy grin and I could tell it was something plastic that wasn't supposed to be there. Camden had had it with baby duty and sent Luke up to see what it was.  {insert dry heave} "Gross! She's chewing on her bandaids!"  Sure enough my little lady had picked each of the bloody bandaids from her shots off her chubby little thighs and was blissfully gumming away.

The rest of the afternoon was a mind-numbing blur of folding clothes, keeping thieving little hands out the pantry, tying water balloons, and fighting a pounding headache.  

When Dennis came home, he asked if I wanted him to take the kids to tennis lessons.  No!!!  I'll do it!  An hour of sitting in the van reading a book while the kids took their boundless energy out on a poor, unsuspecting tennis instructor sounded heavenly.  Aaah... to finally sit down, kick my legs up and read a book.  And wouldn't you know it, halfway through their lesson, a freak monsoonish-type storm kicked up, cancelling their class a half hour early.  Back to the trenches to start with the bedtime routine.  

After kids were tucked in bed and the kitchen cleaned up I went around to check on the kids.  Thinking the boys were asleep as I went to turn off Camden's lamp, he turned to look at me and smiled.  

"Did you have a good day?" I asked.

"Yes!  It was an awesome day.  Thanks for everything you do.  You're a great mom," as he wrapped his arms around my neck and held me in a long hug.

And just like that, it all become worthwhile for this little frog.

Birthday letters

Cher (a long-time childhood friend), I hope you don't mind me stealing your idea to write a letter to each of my kids on their birthday!  I loved reading yours to your kids on your blog and decided I need to do the same for mine!  Luke and Calista have birthdays just a week apart so here are theirs together.


Dear Calista,

It is your first birthday and what a year it has been.  I can't help but smile every time I think of you.  If ever there was a cheerful, sweet-spirited baby, it would be you.   People are constantly commenting on your calm disposition and how studiously you examine everything and everyone around you.  When we were at the pediatrician's office, instead of crying as he examined you, you carefully studied his stethoscope, tongue depressor, and hands- slowly and gingerly turning them over, and then smiling shyly and turning away when he caught your eye.

You love to sit contently and watch those around you with a smile on your face as you wiggle your hands and feet.   You rarely fuss or cry so when you do, we all come running to see what the matter is.  I have to keep the baby monitor on at the highest volume when you're napping because the only way I know you've woken up is from tiny little mouse-like squeaks or soft cooing coming from your crib.  When I put you down to sleep, I simply lay you down, give you a kiss, and close the door and I rarely ever hear another peep until it's time to wake up.

Even though you look different from your siblings, your dad and I can see bits and pieces of each of us in you.  You wrinkle your nose when you smile just like your momma, but your 2nd and 3rd toes on your right foot are webbed just like your daddy.  You have your daddy's eyes and your momma's hearty appetite and stocky build.

You took your time learning how to crawl and even when you do it is done cautiously, stopping often to study the fibers on the carpet or a crumb on the floor.  Your teeth have also taken longer to come in and as they have, your canines have come in just after your two bottom teeth so you look like the cutest little roly-poly vampire I've ever seen.

You don't say much but you love to mimic sounds.  So far the best sounds you do are kissing and roaring.  Sometimes you'll blow me a kiss then wrinkle your nose and roar right after.  My favorite is when you crawl, swinging your head back and forth roaring and laughing.

I will admit that before you were born, I was nervous.  How would I handle another baby and keep my wits about me in the process?  But you came along and brought with you a soothing and calming influence that this stressed out momma needed desperately. 

Sweet little Calista, you have a spirit about you that this world so desperately needs.  It's one of peace and calm and contentment.  It's one of patience and caution, happiness and unconditional love.  I adore you more than this momma has words for.

Happy first birthday.

Love,
Mom




Dear Luke,

You just turned 5.  How did that happen?  It seems like you were just Calista's age and now you're getting ready to start kindergarten.  I've heard people my entire life talking about how time flies but I never really understood it until I had kids of my own.

Sometimes it's a little eerie for me to see how much you remind me of your Uncle Jesse, especially when I see you and Lauren together.  It's almost deja vu as I watch the two of you squabble with the sneaky instigating, the protests of innocence when you're caught, and the smirk of satisfaction when you've reached the ultimate goal: a sibling meltdown. The other night as we were laying in your bed before you went to sleep, I told you that before you were born, we were trying to decide between naming you Luke or Jesse.  How ironic!

But even through it all, YOU- little Mister, have a way of wrapping people around those little mischievous fingers of yours.  Your older brother is starting to get a little bit of a complex with all the attention you get everywhere you go.  You have an ease when it comes to talking to people and striking up conversations.  Usually within minutes, you have them laughing at your silly jokes and comic impressions of others.

You have a heart-melting sweetness with your baby sister and your momma.  You love to draw me pictures and make me crafts.  My favorite thing is to come into my bathroom and see a picture you have carefully drawn and taped up to my wall for me to enjoy. You tell me they are so I'll think of you and know that you love me.

You are also remarkably generous and thoughtful.  There have been several times when you and I have gone on a special outing and I've tried to treat you to something like an ice cream or a new Hot Wheel.  You insist that if you're going to have one, then Camden needs to have one too.  You have even told me you would rather walk away with nothing if Camden can't have one!

You are becoming quite an ingenious little Lego builder and artist as you've used your creativity and what you've learned from your brother.  You love to play outside with the hose and to ride your bike.  You love to cook and are extremely helpful in the kitchen, especially as I make dinner.

One of my favorite things about you is your determination to do what YOU want to do and to make your own choices.  While at times it can certainly make my life challenging as a mother, I admire your determination to be independent and to decide for yourself.  If you foster that quality and use it wisely, it can become one of your greatest strengths as an adult.  I hope you always keep that independent mind (sometimes you may hear me refer to it as unbelievable stubbornness!).

You have a passionate, spitfire personality.  Sometimes that passion comes out in unrequited love for your preschool teacher, or it comes out in the form of a fiery temper.  You feel things deeply on both ends of the spectrum and while that quality can by problematic at times, it is also one of your strongest attributes.

My little Lukester, I love you with all my heart.  I love how you make me laugh, and you sure know how to do it well.  Not a day has gone by since the day you were born that you haven't made me laugh.  Sometimes the laughs come  after a long day when you're in bed and I'm exhausted, but they most certainly come.  You are such a special member of this family and my life wouldn't be complete without you.

Happy fifth birthday.

Love,
Mom