Where's Katara?

And why did we leave her all alone for 11 days?

And can I really put up posters again?!!

What's Her Battle? What's His Battle?

He'd been under general anesthesia that day. He'd been in the car for four hours. The numbing cream on his hand hadn't worked. The IV hadn't gone in the first time or the second. But none of the other moms knew that as he squirmed and complained in his piano class. They glanced over their shoulders at me and I resented their children's private-school frocks and ties.

This quiet crying and sidelong glares IS holding it together for her. We're pleased with this response because it's so controlled compared to what it could be and what it has been. Please don't stare.

When you asked how I was at the checkout counter, did you really want to know? I left my three year old screaming from his hospital bed a few minutes ago. His cerebral fluid is leaking and it is excruciating. My daughters are lost without their parents. I am scared. But you don't really want to know that. And that's OK. Just please understand when I'm not friendly.

You got out of your car to yell at me. I'm not even sure what I did wrong. You used words that aren't allowed in PG-13 movies.

Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. (Plato)

When I am tempted to criticize, please let me remember that I can't see their battle.

When I am tempted to idolize her life and children and marriage, please let me remember that I can't see her battles either.

"Is That Baby Mark?"

Does Baby Mark like this song?

Does Baby Mark like hockey?

Is Baby Mark sleeping?

Does Baby Mark like football?

Does Baby Mark like this movie?

Is Baby Mark hungry?

Does Baby Mark drink milk out of your arm?

Can Baby Mark drink milk out of the owie on my ankle?

Will You Still Know I Love You...

...If I Don't Buy You a Christmas Present This Year?

I think I'm going to take a Sabbatical this year.

If it's "not about the presents" why does it feel so all about the presents?

do you ever have days

where you realize that you're not as good a friend as you thought you were?

when pondering upon this, do you ever realize that your parenting is poopy and your marriage is not a romantic comedy after all?

and sometimes these days coincide with the days that you realize that you can't keep your house the love filled temple we are all striving for.

and every now and then these days happen at the same time that you are fatter than everyone else at the PAC meeting.

they often seem to be near to the days where you clean all day and still end the day in a disaster zone.

it is not a good idea to check out other people's blogs on these days. their children will look beautiful and be well-behaved in all the photos you see. and their houses will look charming and finished too.

It's like Satan got all his guns lined up in perfect sync. I think I'll crawl under the bed. Let me know when he goes away.

What's Your Address?

If you did not get a Christmas Letter
you either live within 100 km
or we don't have your address.

Brooks Family Christmas Limerick

Christmas letters are so out of style,
I thought Limericks were worth a trial,
A stanza per member,
The Brooks to remember
Hope you think reading it worthwhile.

Mark Daniel Peter Brooks was born
With Dad gone hunting sheep (thin horn)
Mom in the bathtub
Nana instead of hub
August 7th he came in the morn.

Chas Frederick Lance Brooks and tumour
Maintains his sense of humour
Second time’s the charm
His surgery no harm
What a great year for our big bloomer.

Eliza Grace Laurel Brooks saw a slug
Ran to mom for a comforting hug
They belong in the city
These two are so ditty
Asking Daddy to kill every bug

Naomi Florence Katelyn Brooks scored
When she caught the ball off the backboard
Cross country she ran
With her energy she can
She always is talking and never is bored

Sariah Stock Brooks is painting her home
If it takes more than a day, well, so did Rome
A journal backlog
She started to blog
Painting’s unfinished for her to bemoan.

Dallin Lance Brooks and his bro shot a sheep
His job in Finland he’s trying to keep
Doing a PhD
Again in Forestry
Works on our basement to finish it cheap.

That is our story for this last year
A happy one we hope it appears
Pictures here thanks to mom
365000wordsayear.blogspot.com
We hope the Olympics will bring you here.

A limerick doesn’t really lend itself to expressing our more reverent thoughts. So we add a postscript here to tell the people we love so much about the Saviour we love so much. We believe that Jesus really came to earth and really is the Son of God. We believe that His teachings change our lives and our natures. And that we know that He provides the way to be with our most cherished people (you) forever. We are grateful for an annual excuse to share that with you and to celebrate His life. We send you our wishes for a happy Christmas and a year filled with hope and love and happiness.

Love, the Brooks Family

Who Reads This Blog, Anyway?

I'm just curious, and I'm not smart enough to figure out the IP info on StatCounter.

Answer 14--God Answers Children's Prayers Quickly

and then as we grow, He stretches the distance between prayer and answer.

It's an exercise program for our spirits. It starts with one lap and slowly adds a lap here and there until we have great endurance, strong faith, and a bit of patience.

At 5, with a panicked heart, I prayed in a rack of clothes at the department store that I would find my mother. Immediately, she called my name in the way only she does, with the I long and a soft Y in the third syllable.

At 7, when pulling and lotion and my mother did not extricate me and I was still hanging by my entrapped knee from my bunk bed. I prayed. And it simply slipped out.

At 11, I prayed for a friend, and I prayed a second time, and possibly a third time before Melissa Mitchell came along and we worked out a Paula Abdul dance for the school talent show together.

At 17, I had to study it out in my mind. I had to weigh the many college and scholarship decisions that lay scattered across my bed in glossy brochures of smiling undergrads. I had to sense a direction and ponder it and confirm it with the Lord.


Naomi, this week, decided to add fasting to her ongoing prayers "for a friend at school." The waiting period for a trusting 9 year old these days is about 48 hours. And the answers are as clear as glass, so she will have no chance of missing the connection.

Tuesday, through a misunderstanding in gym class, she found herself in the locker room amidst, "Nobody likes you," "You're so mean," and whispers that included her name.

Her one "hopeful" for a friend offered, "I'm sorry about all this," and walked out. But another girl, not even a playmate of hers, stayed.

Then, to make it clearer she said, "You're my friend." 4th graders don't generally talk this way, but Heavenly Father makes the connection very clear for newbies. And so, she said a second time, "You're my friend."

And they sat on the top of the monkey bar dome and planned their school talent show duet. And they ate lunch together. And they had a playdate.

And Naomi sees the Lord's hand in her life.


I see the Lord's hand in my life. But it is slower to see than it used to be. I search more and wait longer.

My muscles are growing.

Where's My Watch?

And the car keys?
And my purse the size of Connecticut? (It seems it would be impossible to misplace.)
What did I do with the grocery list I just finished writing?
Has anyone seen my cell phone? (Can't call it, of course, because it hasn't been charged in days.)

Why can't I get my act together?
When am I going to learn?


I asked Dallin if he would still love me when I was old and had Alzheimer's. He said he was sure adding old age wouldn't change anything, since he loved me with Alzheimer's already.

"Mom, Are We Christian or Mormon?

Janie asked me and I didn't know."

Shoot! I wish we'd had this family home evening lesson a week sooner.


Mormons are Christians.

Mormons believe in Christ.

I believe in Christ.

I am a Christian.

What Do You Mean Worrying Doesn't Help?

90% of the things I worry about never happen.

Where is He?

there were

thirty-one snowmen
four fire trucks
one mayor
one member of parliament
two bubble machines
one gigantic christmas tree
forty-four air cadets
three marching bands
one scottish dance troupe
an inflatable santa on a motorcycle
a couple of rock bands
one scout troop
a 4-H team
four girl guide groups
and handfuls of mini candy canes

and just when I had lost all hope,

there was one simply robed woman
sitting calmly on a donkey
led by a quiet man

and I thought
that maybe
all is not lost

how do i bear another's burden?

especially when the burden is my spouse's? because those burdens are mine too.

like, when chas was in the hospital the first time. i had a picture of us meeting crisis like a hallmark card. or like an ensign article. or like...well, i don't know...like the music on jodi's blog. all full of rainbows and marriage to your best friend and everything gonna be all right. it was a photo down a long stark hallway of a couple embracing and strengthening each other. it had a hazy lens look.

but, we weren't the picturesque image i imagined we would be. we were real. we were still us. we still bickered. we both felt overwhelmed. we were both worried beyond description. thank heavens we had others to strengthen us. to help us bear those burdens. i wished we could have carried each other. i wished, at the time, that i could sustain him. i wished he could console me.

as we meet challenges again, i wonder how i can deliver him? i don't like to watch people i love struggle. come to think of it, i don't like to struggle myself.

bearing another's burden, when its already a shared load is complicated. its like buying each other christmas gifts out of the same bank account.

do you just watch? like when a kid is throwing up and you sit by them even though its gross.

do you panic too, so that you are truly empathizing and then you both drown together?

do you smile and say it will all be ok and try to create a happy mood around the house which just might be the waterwings for everyone? but maybe that seems oblivious, even callous.

"the fold of God...his people...are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light" (mosiah 18:8)

i'm willing. i just haven't figured it out yet.
that could almost be my life motto. (or my next blog theme.)

Is This Plant Going To Make It?

It's not looking too promising.

"Are We Cute?"

"Are we cute? Will you take a picture of us?"

I acquire 80% of my photos because my kids tell me they are cute and that I ought to take a picture. The other 20% comes from them using the camera themselves to take pictures of inanimate objects around the house.

What Are We Having For Breakfast?

Cold Cereal.

Is it Sunday?

Uh-huh.

Awwwwww.
Do we have to go to church?

Of course we're going to church.

I hate church.

Remember our family home Evening lesson with the Smarties? Remember why it is so important to keep the Sabbath Day Holy?

So that Heavenly Father can bless us.

That’s right and we really need those blessings right now.

But Heavenly Father could have answered
our prayers a long time ago.

I know that Heavenly Father listens to us and will bless us
with what will make us happy. He wants us to be happy.

It would make me happy not to go to church.
Does Heavenly Father want me to be happy?


Why do I always get trapped
on these kid logic conversations?

How Much Longer Can I Scrutinize My Life...

...Voice My Insecurities, and Question Everything?

I'm going to have to come up with a new Blog theme.

What's the Difference Between Forgiving...

...Forgetting, and Sweeping Under the Rug?

Are they all shades of the same colour?

Or different colours altogether?

Are they step 1, 2, and 3?

Is the only measure of forgiveness the response to next time?

All I can say is I am grateful that forgetting comes easily to me.

Can a Three Month Old Be Bored?

Baby,
please keep crying
when you're not
tired
or stinky
or hungry.

Please cry
when you are bored.

Otherwise
I'm afraid
we will forget
to talk to you
for days on end.

What Can I Do To Have Today Again Tomorrow?

Start at 5:00 with a baby who slept all night.
Watch rainbows grow in the sky on our walk to school.
Reach the end of the rainbow. Literally.
Fill an Ikea bag full of food and clothes and games for the family whose house burned down last night.
Deliver the bag.
Complete all the errands, even the dry cleaning.
Invite Chas on a lunch date and watch his eyes shine over his worms & dirt dessert.
Laugh together at Calvin & Hobbes with Eliza.
Listen to Naomi's post-Activity Days chatter without rushing her.
Soak in the hot tub so that someone can listen to my chatter.
Discover the secret to making the baby giggle. (a belt snapping on the bed--no wonder it took us so long to figure it out.)

Count the tender mercies of the Lord in my life.

It was so great, I think I'll do it all again tomorrow.

"Life is like an old-time rail journey-delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride." (Gordon B. Hinckley)

What Could Be Better?

It started earlier this week with a bowl of Breyers Brownie Mudpie.

But it wasn't salty enough.

The next bowl had a bit of peanut butter stirred in. Yum. Almost like a Ben & Jerry's flavour.

The next one was the same.

But that got old.

Tonight I discovered the chocolate sauce in the fridge.

I have arrived.

The brownie mudpie. The peanut butter. The fudge sauce.

Good thing I have also arrived at the end of the box.

Are You Getting What You Need?

Everyone else in this family takes what they need.

You wait for what you need.

Are you getting it?

Answer #13--It's All About Consistency

The power in prayer is cumulative.

My little acts of kindness only amount to anything in their total effect.

My children feel the importance of the temple when they notice that, "we just went to the temple a few weeks ago."

Each Family Home Evening is lonely and insignificant on its own.

Putting up with it and waiting it out and letting it go become patience in their quantity.

Our savings account grows with $50/month. It seems to shrink when I wait until we have enough money to put in.

"In my office is a beautiful painting of a wheat field. The painting is a vast collection of individual brushstrokes—none of which in isolation is very interesting or impressive. In fact, if you stand close to the canvas, all you can see is a mass of seemingly unrelated and unattractive streaks of yellow and gold and brown paint. However, as you gradually move away from the canvas, all of the individual brushstrokes combine together and produce a magnificent landscape of a wheat field. Many ordinary, individual brushstrokes work together to create a captivating and beautiful painting.

Each family prayer, each episode of family scripture study, and each family home evening is a brushstroke on the canvas of our souls. No one event may appear to be very impressive or memorable. But just as the yellow and gold and brown strokes of paint complement each other and produce an impressive masterpiece, so our consistency in doing seemingly small things can lead to significant spiritual results. “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33). Consistency is a key principle as we lay the foundation of a great work in our individual lives and as we become more diligent and concerned in our own homes." (David A. Bednar)

On the other hand, something is always better than nothing.

How Many More Times Will We Get To Do This?

We'll soon have our own temple (in Langley), so we don't have many more six hours of movies in the car, all-you-can-eat buffets, kill time at the park down the street, blow money at Deseret Book trips in our future.

I will miss them.

In some ways the six hours of time to connect with my husband, the sacrifice of a little time and money, and the preparations necessary to make it a happy experience for my kids make our temple trips each month all the sweeter.

Maybe I'll still go to Seattle even when there's a temple down the street.

All I know is that when we lived in Salt Lake, with temples around every corner, we often missed attending every month. Since we've lived in Vancouver, we rarely miss a month, even though it requires much more of us. Why is that?

"I hope you are using the temple constantly, because you will gain blessings there that you cannot gain anywhere else on the face of the whole earth. The temple stands as a monument for all to see. It stands as a statement that we as a people believe in the immortality of the human soul. Everything that occurs in that temple is of an uplifting and ennobling kind. It speaks of life here and life beyond the grave. It speaks of the importance of the individual as a child of God. It speaks of the importance of the family as a creation of the Almighty. It speaks of the eternity of the marriage relationship. It speaks of going on to greater glory. It is a place of light, a place of peace, a place of love where we deal with the things of eternity." (Gordon B. Hinckley)

Why Are All of My Friends So Much More Talented...

...and Wittier, and Smarter, and More Generous, and Wiser Than I Am?

I must have really good taste.

Why Am I Blogging? (Part IV)

It's like a grocery list for my questions.

You know how when you realize you need sour cream or cleanser or cinnamon it nags at the back of your brain until you write it down?

Oh, no. What was it that I was supposed to remember at the store.
Was it sage? Baking soda? Tissues?
Why didn't I write it down?

Even when I write it on a scrap of paper doomed to be lost long before the grocery store trip, I still feel better. And that annoying voice saying: Cleanser. Cleanser. Don't forget the Cleanser. You're going to forget, I know you are, finally leaves me alone.

It's that same way with all of these questions plugging up my mind.

Blog on scrap of paper and have done with it.

How Could It Possibly Be 11 O'Clock Already?

Kindergarten pick-up time.

All I did was nurse and clean two bathrooms.

Stinky. (The bathrooms and the pick-up time.)

Oh, and I wrote this little blog.

"What's The Hokey Pokey?"

Chas asked this morning. Eliza didn't know either. Nor Naomi.

Last week they wondered what sparklers were.



I rectified the sparkler problem on Halloween and the Hokey Pokey ignorance this afternoon in our living room.

They don't have a clue what's on TV. The only music they're exposed to at home is from before I was born. We had to Google the 4th grade music craze, Demi Lovato. They don't know what's playing at the movie theatres or the name of anybody famous except Obama. I'm not sure they know that video games exist.

What a deprived existence I'm carving out for our children.

The same one my mother created for me. The one I'm so very grateful for.

What's Up With Moods? (Part II)

crunchy leaves and pink noses
sun on top and fog beneath
sweatshirt weather
a peaceful pace because we're not late
children holding hands
with each other!
and autumn smells
on our way to school this morning

All Is Right With The World.

What If I Made a List

of all of the things I do today
instead of all of the things I need to do?

It might be a really short list.

Who Does Chas's Big Pumpkin Look Like?

Don't start guessing family members.

We chewed on this one for a while.

Dallin finally got it worked out...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Jean Claude!

.

The French Pea from Veggie Tales!!

.

Ta-Da!!!

I guess Chas had a vision when he was determined to carve the tiniest face on the top of the hugest pumpkin in our Halloween history (or Halloween future, by the way.)

Where's The Candy?

I knew I'd regret this decision. (click here)

I just didn't know I'd regret it so soon.

How Is Chas Doing? (Part II)

(original post--click here)

This is not really a post about how Chas is doing at all. How he's doing involves soccer goals and piano practices, kindergarten field trips and playdates, birthday parties and work projects with dad. A bunch of delightfully typical, normal, run-of-the-mill kind of stuff.

This is really all about a 13 mm nodule in his brain that is sitting there doing nothing. Affecting nothing. And, for the last eight months, not changing, growing, spreading, or doing anything at all.

.

Thank God.

.

Literally.

-------March 2009 MRI-----------------------October 2009 MRI----

Does It Really Matter If Kids Close Their Eyes During The Prayer?

We've been fighting this battle for 5+ prayers a day for 8 years. (That's 14,600 prayers)

Sometimes we're mad

sometimes we whisper gently during the prayer

sometimes we ignore it and hope it will go away

sometimes we have powerful Family Home Evening lessons on respecting our Father in Heaven

sometimes we have close-your-eyes contests

sometimes we recite the five things we do during a prayer preceding every prayer

and sometimes I wonder why we bother at all.

Isn't it only really about creating a personal relationship with God? Can't that be done with their eyes open?

When do we declare defeat?

Now What?

I decided to go with my cousin Jodi's theory.(click here)

And after Star Wars and limitless sugar had induced a catatonic state

I explained the dangers of sugar

to their newly forming grown-up teeth

and to their mental capacity to retain spelling words and

other equally critical scholastic information

and to their athletic prowess on the netball court and soccer field

and to the respiratory and cardiovascular health

of their distant future.

They agreed that the risks were much too great and gathered up all of their sugar and dumped it into one enormous UNICEF bag, which I promised I would, under no conditions, throw away.

So, now what do I do with all of it?

Dallin, hide it from me.

Hide it deeply.

Like, in Milwaukee.

Am I The Coolest Mom Ever?

Or is your mother coming to school riding an

Inflatable Ostrich completely mortifying?

You never know about these things.

Where's The Shallow End?

'Cause I'm tired of being in over my head.

Can I Have A Horse?

Remember that Naomi negotiated for a cat? (click here)

Chas tried for a horse.

The horse was a no, but he did secure himself a pack of Bakugan cards in exchange for the bloody thrill for Dad. (To my own dad, It was all I could do to resist saying that "The horse was a nay.")

Then, that night, the Tooth Fairy comes too!

Our kids have got a smokin' good dental plan over here.

Naomi has even begun to gamble on the US/Canadian exchange rate. Last time she was in Utah with a lost tooth, the Fairy delivered 5 Canadian Dollars. We haven't figured that one out yet, but Naomi informed me this morning that she will be banking her next lost tooth to take with her to the US where the going rate is better. Maybe the tooth fairies in the US are unionized.

It's no wonder my kids won't ever do a "pay job," just wait until the next wiggly tooth, and you're set.

How Do I Respond To The Wonderful Comments People Make On My Blog?

Do I make a comment on my own blog?

That seems a little ridiculous. And there's no guarantee that they'll see it.

Do I just read it and smile and feel loved and move on?

No connection at all?

This is what I said was so dangerous about blogging in the first place. You have relationships without actually conversing. Conversations that are two one-way streets.

Well, Mindy's favourite aunt, I know of you from decades ago. Please adopt me, and stalk me, if you'd like. I'm not promising anything... ummm... well... anything too promising, but check it out if you want.

And to friends who somehow found me out, despite my attempts to be a closet blogger, just be gentle and realize that I write under the delusion that no one is actually reading this stuff.

And to my cousins who write me witty and loving comments. I guess a one-way street is better than no road at all. I love you.

(And to my mother, I think it's time to get yourself a Google Account so that you can stop being "Anonymous" when you comment.)

And What Do You Do About The Kid

who is suddenly too sick to go to church
but has shown no sign of illness all morning?

Tell him he's fine and send him anyway?
Trust his own judgement?

Call Daddy and say, on second thought, he can be the one to stay home with the hypochondriac kids (now that a majority of them are here) and I'll go to church, instead?

Why Do Kids Always Seem To Recover Right After...

...You Tell Them They're Too Sick To Go To Church/School?

And then I find myself in the ridiculous predicament of,

"Well if you're not going to act sick,
you'd better go to school/church, after all."

I'm creating Ferris Buellers.

What's Up With Loot Bags That Cost More...

...Than The Present My Kid Brought?

Remember when
Birthday Party Loot Bags
were a bunch of junk
and a handful of candy
in a brown paper bag?

Remember how
many parties
didn't even have loot bags?

They came home from the parties today with
action figures,
and dinosaur eggs that hatch in water,
lip gloss,
and bubble bath,
ring pops,
and Kinder Surprises,
popcorn buckets,
pin ball games,
sports toys,
barettes,
headbands,
candy,
and more
all in a medium size gift bag.
Not a Loot Bag bag,
a Gift Bag bag.

The Twin Pack
12-Shot
Nerf Gun
Blaster Set
that I found on sale
is not looking as
great as it did
yesterday when we bought
and Dallin said, "Wow!"
and this morning when we wrapped it
and Chas said,
"I wish it were for me."

Could we all scale back on the loot bags, please?

How About A Primary Song?

It was a tender moment. Chas and Mark and me.

Mark looked at us with peaceful newborn eyes.

Should we sing him a song, Chas?

Yeah.

What should we sing him?

How about a primary song?

OK, what Primary Song?

"She Keeps On Talking"

If you aren't familiar with this 1980s winner, click play below.

And Question #195--How come you can't post just a song to a blog? Why does it have to be a video?

Don't I KNOW Anything?

I knew when I began this blog that I had more questions than answers, but I had no idea the discrepancy would be so dramatic.

The tally at the top has been unnerving me for weeks now.

So, I've been wracking my brain to find Answers. I'm coming up very short.

I don't know what color to paint my living room.
I don't know how many kids to have.
I don't know what to pack for lunch that anyone will eat.
I don't know how to both simplify and magnify my church callings.
I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
I don't know where I put my keys.

But, there are a few things I do know. There aren't many, I've realized, but they're the big ones. The answers that really matter, I have. I have them and I know I have them.

Here's One. Answer #10--I Know That God is the Father of My Spirit and the Creator of My Body and that it is my potential to be like Him.

and Answer #11--I Know What Matters Most in Life. I don't do it a lot of the time. That's the problem, of course. But I know what it is.

and Answer #12--I Know That Heavenly Father Speaks To His Children. He speaks to prophets. He spoke to Joseph Smith. My life is happy because of the truths He teaches.

The disparity between Questions (193) and Answers (12) is still ridiculous, but if this were a weighted formula, I think I would be coming out ahead.

Instead of

Q + A = Me,

Something like

Q + KA = Me, where K = ∞.

Is Blogging a Complete Waste of Time?

Or is it journalling, scrapbooking, and keeping in touch with family all rolled into one?

When Am I Going To Learn

to book plane tickets as soon as I find the good deal?

Not two days later when they've raised the price by $300.

Darn!

Can a Two Month Old Be Bored?

Sometimes he's
not hungry.


Not tired.


Not stinky.


And still he cries!


The nerve!

What Are We Going To Do With All Of This?

Ummm...

Wash

Cut

Juice

Boil

Strain

and

Watch a Lame Teeny-Bopper Girl Movie until Midnight.

Welcome to Date Night!

Who Takes These Pictures?

Don't We Have Enough To Do Making Thanksgiving Dinner?

Apparently not.

Because we had to

buy a juicer,

harvest 40 pounds of grapes

and start a new project

an hour before the turkey was done.

What Are You Thankful For?

We are so thankful that you are a dodib, too.

Can You Move In?

Everyday I notice something else.

You hemmed her pants. She wore them today.

You vacuumed the car. It wasn't due for the annual vacuum for another two months.

You had the van's lug nuts tightened.

You returned the overdue DVD to the library and saved us $1/day for five days.

You caught up all the laundry.

You stocked the fridge.

You must have mopped the floor because it never stays that clean with The Big Dig going on in the backyard.

You washed the living room rug that had never been washed and was also showing signs of The Big Dig.

You cheered on the 12th place cross-country runner. In the rain, I heard yesterday.

You went to speech therapy and soccer and the grocery store. All with three kids in tow. These are feats I don't even take on with all of them if I can help it.

You left a crockpot full of dinner for us to come home to.

You even separated the odd socks by size and color into neatly rubberbanded piles!

I don't need a nanny, I've decided.

I need a Nana!

It's All Hormones, Right?

Just when I think

that I am not postpartum anymore,

I cry at the 4th Grade Cross-Country meet.

(And am glad that I am wearing sunglasses.)

When...

When is our next two-hour walk filled with rich conversation?

When do I get to see the 211 pictures you took?

When do we get to see the Red Sox win? or at least score a run?

When will we finish sorting out how to be cheerleaders to the people we love?

When will we debate private schools vs. public schools?

When do we get to finish the other topics on the list on the fridge?

When is the Settlers of Catan rematch?

When do I get to taste the pumpkin butter?

When will I get to hug Caroline goodbye?

When are you coming to visit us?

Why Is My Mood Directly Proportional to Hers?

And how do I sever the link?

y=kx

What's the Recipe for a Perfect Vacation?

3 tsp Gorgeous Weather
5 Tbl Sleeping In
1 tsp Baby Sleeping Through the Night
3 Tbl Long Walks
1 cup Reading
1 cup Yummy Food
1/4 cup Nostalgia
1 Sports Event
1 Souvenir
pinch of Shopping
2 tsp Service
1 tsp Nature
2 1/2 cups Time Alone
3 cups Spiritual Food
4 cups Long Lost Friends
11 cups Favourite Cousin

Just like my baking and stir-fries, I create it without much attention to the ingredients and amounts, THEN realize it is fabulous, and try to record it so I can recreate it. It never works very well, but I'm going to keep trying.

How Many More Strikes Do We Get?

The cat is back. It was babysat again by some thieving, well-meaning neighbour for a week.

And how many more times can I put up posters that pitifully brand us as the inept cat owners?

Strike 1

Strike 2

Do You Ever Put Everything On Your Bed...

...so that you'll for sure put it away before you go to sleep and then you get to the end of the night and feel so utterly exhausted that it all goes right back onto the floor?

I do too.

How Long Are We Going to Keep Calling "Katara"...

...on the Way To and From School?

And why did I let myself get attached?

Have You Seen Our Kitten?

(We lost it again.)

Please call us if you have any information.

(Or if you've taken her into your house and now think that she is your kitten.)

Why Did I Buy Size 16 Jeans?

Was it so that when they fall off thirty times a day I can feel like I'm losing weight?

Was it because I had four kids with me at Wal-Mart while I was trying them on?

Was it because I was so desperate to wear non-maternity clothes that I settled for anything without a knit panel?

Was it because the 14's were too tight and they stupidly don't make 15's? Ding ding ding. Right answer.

Why don't they make 15's?

And why do the waist of jeans only go halfway to the waist?

Are Parents Supposed To Correct Their Children's Homework?

I'm sort of new to the real homework world. I'm not sure how this is all supposed to work.

I understand that parents should guide and teach and offer support through the whole homework process, but what about correcting it?

Is homework supposed to be an indication to the teacher of how completely hopeless my child's spelling skills really are? or should I be telling my daughter that almost every word on the page is spelled wrong and helping her spell them correctly? Then the teacher won't have a clue why she received 1/20 on her spelling test when her homework looked so good.

Does Reading The Work and The Glory Count As Scripture Study?

It has long passages from the Doctrine & Covenants and the New Testament.

How Did This Happen?

Exactly 15 walls on the main floor of my house have square foot patches of 10 different colours of sample paint on them.

15 walls!!


10 colours!!


How did this happen?

It's all a bit blurry, but I remember having the mother of a playdate come to pick up her daughter a week ago. I remember sitting on the couch having a lovely chat. I remember musing about how to decorate my house. My friend started throwing around words like "Natural Wicker" "Bluff" "Spiced Rum" and "Caramel." It all got foggier then. Two days later I was in her car on the way to Benjamin Moore. 47 swatches, 10 sample paint pots, and an hour and a half later, she told me we did not have time to go out for lunch (the only reason I agreed to go at all) and then we were in my house painting every sample on every wall. I remember nursing Mark, washing rollers and watching my friend roll a small patch on every wall in sight. A second trip to Benjamin Moore. A third trip tomorrow...

I was planning to think about this for six months. Then worry about it for three months. Then give up for another half a year. And then start discussing it with playdate moms again a year from now. Now I have a deadline to have Spiced Rum on the accent wall and Masada on the door jams by tomorrow at 3:30 when she comes to check it out and help me paint the Mannequin Cream on the doors.

Notice the $4.99 paint pot samples on the table in the background.

"How Come They Only Have One Kid?"

Me: "I don't know."

Chas: "Maybe they're not so lucky like us."

How Did I End Up Doing This AGAIN?

I'm hunting for a piano teacher AGAIN. I am so mad.

I did this three years ago when I decided our first teacher was not working for Naomi.

I searched lists of registered musicians. I googled piano teachers. I called music schools. I weighed different methodologies. I mapquested distances.

And I interviewed teacher after teacher. This is a completely ridiculous process because you don't get any idea of what it will really be like two months in when your kid is whining about practicing, throwing a fit in the lesson, or rudely refusing to try the next chord. And every teacher you interview besides the one, you either have to slink away and never call them back, or boldly call them and say that there is someone better than they are. It's like firing someone you haven't hired. It's awful.

We spent all summer searching. I endured it well. We found a nice grandmotherly sort. And Naomi changed teachers.

A year later we moved and I started it all over again. But this time for two children and in September, when of course, every teacher has all of their teaching spots full.

I chose a teacher who was close and had a beautifully decorated studio. Within two lessons I knew this was not going to work at all. She was already snapping at what I considered my children's mid-range behaviour. It was not going to be pretty when they pulled out their real antics. Now I had to fire a teacher I had hired (and had given 10 post-dated checks to.) That was no fun at all. Now I avoid her determinedly when I see her across the intermission lobby at the concerts we have season tickets to (and apparently so does she.)

Finally I found a wonderful teacher. Hooray! He was 50 minutes away, but it was worth it. He distinguished between the two very different girls seamlessly. He praised the efforts of the one who desperately needs encouragement and pushed the one who could handle a bit of challenge.

Nine months later he accepted a position as principal of a music school far away and I am ready to jump off the roof as I begin the process all over again. Especially when I consider that 75% of the people involved in the lessons would rather call it quits anyway (I'm one of that 75%, by the way.)

Why am I doing this at all? Is it sheer stubbornness? Or will this study of music really expand their minds, open opportunities, broaden their appreciation, nurture their talents, and bolster their confidence the way I always tell myself it will?

I am ready to throw in the towel.

Why Are My Armpits So Itchy?

Surely it couldn't be my deodorant!

I've used the same kind since I was thirteen and my super-cool older cousin took me into the drug store and told me that "Ban is the best because it has aluminum chlorohydrate." I just nodded, trying not to look as young as I felt. We also looked at lipstick that day. I nodded and tried to act as mature and cool as I could. And if she saw right through it, she didn't point it out to me.

By the way, Katie, I think of you when I buy deodorant. I should have included you in this post.

How Dare They Say All Those Things About Me?

And why the CRAP (the harshest, filthiest word I use) do we buy it?!?

I stood in a long line at the grocery store the other day. (and I had the back of my grocery list and a pen in my pocket.)

During that time I was told that I...

...should "Be Happier"

...could "Lose Weight While I Eat"

...can "Get More Out Of My Life"

...and ought to "Make My Man Happier."

Apparently "It's Time To Reinvent My Rooms" and "Lighten Up My Comfort Food."

I should have "Banked My Baby's Cord Blood," should be "Planning Ahead For Halloween," and can achieve "Body Bliss By 42."

And it seems that my sex life may not be "Normal."

Magazine after magazine tells me they have the "secrets," "tips," "tricks," and "inside scoops" to my life. Really? Well, that would be worth $3.95.

I won't even bother to include all the criticisms that are insinuated by the pictures in my tirade.

What gives Magazine Publishers the nerve to criticize, accuse and demean women so blatantly?

But the bigger question is, Why the HECK (another good swear word) are we stupid enough to buy it!?

(Mom, there's an article about "Curbing Your Child's Swearing" on p. 98 of Today's Parent Magazine)

Where's The Soother?

It has become the constant, perpetual, ubiquitous, pervasive, endlessly chronic daily question. (Thank you thesaurus.com)

I'm going to the store tomorrow and buying 10 more.

American Translation: Soother = Pacifier = Binky = Fafi

Is It Cruelty That My Kids Went To School Today Without New Shoes?

I walked the kids to school today. We were surrounded by shiny new shoes and pristine clothes too warm for the current weather.

I had a pang of guilt over last week's decision that they didn't need any new clothes. They don't need any new clothes. They have more than enough, even considering how rarely I do laundry, and they're all in good condition.

But new school clothes is part of the childhood experience, and now, year after year, I am denying my kids of it, because we have lucked into a few good hand-me-down gigs.

My kids seem oblivious to most material things, including this, so maybe I should just count my blessings and sign off this post. But sometimes kids seem oblivious to things, but are really keenly, internally aware.

Or, maybe I'm sending a much more important, lasting message, of priorities that rank clothes, money, shopping, and all that goes with it on the bottom rung?

But, oh dear, there was a pinch of guilt.

What's His Name? (Part IV)

On third thought,
let's go with

"Mark Daniel Peter Brooks."

You know the story of how we learned

the name of the Brother of Jared?

Well, let's just say I am grateful that

it was Daniel, not Mahonri Moriancumer.

Should I Bother Buying a Baby Book?

Baby Burrito began to smile yesterday.

I realized that a dutiful mother would write this down somewhere. Does blogging count?

Naomi has a baby book. It is 3/4 full of humorous anecdotes, critical-to-remember dates, and adorable pictures.

Eliza has a baby book because I was not going to be one of those mothers who only kept a record of her eldest's life. I feverishly wrote in Eliza's baby book every possible moment so that it would be robust like her sister's. Somehow it still only ended up about 1/3 full.

Chas has a baby book because when Eliza was born I was given two. It has three entries, and I don't know where it is. I comforted myself over the last five years by saying that, Although, I was not keeping a record of his life, I was doing the things that really mattered, like snuggling with him and drawing with chalk on the driveway. I also committed to memory every significant date so that I could go back in and fill out the baby book as soon as I had a minute. Needless to say, all those life-altering milestone dates have long since slipped into brain oblivion.

So, do I even bother buying Mark a baby book? I know I won't fill it out. The real question is, Will the guilt be greater if I don't buy the book at all or if I own it and it sits unused on my shelf?

This time I'm going to console myself with, Boys won't care about their babyhood the same way girls do. (If you disagree with this statement, you are invited to keep your comments to yourself.)

What Would We Do Without Her?

I was 11, sitting on my bed in Grandma Barbara's house reading the New Era. It was the issue with the annual writing/photo/music contest winners. The article was written by a sister in a family full of adopted kids. She described making 18 peanut butter sandwiches in the morning. I felt the smallest stirring in that moment that said, Adoption is a good way to form families.

That feeling came and went for more than a decade, all the while growing in intensity and clarity.

By the time Dallin and I were dating I felt a certainty that our family would be formed by adoption. Dallin had a similar journey with the Spirit.

When I became pregnant with Naomi I felt shocked. What about all of those feelings about adoption? Wasn't that all preparation for forming our family in a different way? But by now the stirring turned feeling was a yearning.

I went to the library and checked out books on adoption. I read websites. Dallin and I talked. And we prayed. Always we prayed.

Then suddenly, in a whirlwind of decisions piloted by Providence we found ourselves settled in Canada and seated in a chapel with a woman talking about adoption at the podium. Every feeling of 13 years culminated in that moment. When she finished and slipped into the hall, I chased her down. Literally.

No longer a stirring or a feeling, the yearning became a consuming, rushing, driving force. From that moment until nine months later we filled out paperwork, took pictures, met with social workers, dug money out of the woodwork, and prayed. Pleading, yearning, guided prayers.

And then it was August and she was coming. And she would be ours. And then it was September and she was born. And she was ours. And all the thoughts and longings of more than a decade were satisfied with this one miraculous child.

What a long, careful road we were led down to find her. For so many years. Why was it so important to have this child in our family? Why did she come to our family in this way? Why was Heavenly Father so involved in getting her to us?

Within moments we knew that Eliza would change our family dramatically. She is a peacemaker. She is an optimist. She has a magnetism unlike anything I've ever seen. She never forgets to pray for Chas, long after the rest of us have become complacent. She softens conflict. She brings hope. She restores the Spirit to our home. She is a gift to us. It's no wonder we call her, Grace. It's no wonder the Lord knew we needed her!

How Can I Possibly Have a Fever on Day 6 of Antibiotics?

I woke up yesterday with a fever of 100.2.

I took Motrin and Tylenol all day long.

I went to bed with a fever of 102.6.

And now it is 103.5.

I am so mad.

And sad.

And hot.

And cold.

"What Does 'Angelic' Mean?"

"What do you think 'angelic' means?"

"I don't know."

"Can you guess?"

"Ummm."

"What does it sound like? An--gel--ic.

It means like something. Like a what?"

"Like a Jelly Bean?"

Do You Realize That Naomi is Halfway to Adulthood?

I cried when Dallin pointed this out to me. 

 

It's all been too fast.

 

I haven't taught her half the things she needs to know. 

 

I'm behind and I'm chronically bad at catching up. 

How Did I Get Here?

The short answer is that my mother cursed them on me.

The longer answer is that I arrived at this state--

"No that doesn't count as a bite. I said three bites, not two. A bite means you fill up your spoon. You like carrots. It's just chicken. It's only parsley. Parsley isn't a vegetable, it's a spice. It's just like salt and pepper, only green. If you finish the whole bowl, you can have another biscuit. Yes, of course, including the corn..."

--the longer answer is that I arrived at this ridiculous bite-counting, vegetable-pushing, guilt-creating state out of complete desperation. Tonight at dinner I felt that I negotiated deals more complex than NAFTA. I swore I would never visit this state. I think I said something about not even visiting this country.

I remember being four and watching my brother do the airplane thing with a bite on a fork. He was the best! It had neat "vrrrrrrrrrrr" and "bddddd" sounds, and loops and turns and dives. And I watched it all with my mouth open and I remember thinking, "There is no way I'm going to keep my mouth open when he tries to put the bite in." And time after time I clamped my mouth shut just as the airplane made its final descent to the landing strip.

And later I was eight and left at the table "until you finish your dinner." I think once I sat there for nine hours. I knew my mom was mad. But I also knew I would stay there for nine months if I had to. And finally I would be sent to my room with no supper (which, of course, was exactly the result I wanted.) And then that same wonderful older sibling would sneak crackers and cheese down to me. I think he thought there was a real possibility of starvation.

I entered parenthood committing to myself that I would not get sucked into this picky-eater nonsense. Well, actually, I was not going to have any picky eaters, but since that didn't work out, I went to plan B. Do not get emotionally involved. I knew it didn't work.

A while back a woman with eight grown children told me that if she were to do dinner-times again with her kids she wouldn't fight it at all. If they wanted five buns and no soup that would be fine with her. Everyone could have dessert regardless of whether they ate anything or not. Mealtime was about family togetherness, not about food. Is she right? By the way, all eight of her children have been quite rebellious and the two I know are obese. Does this give her theory less clout?

Well, as of tonight, I am currently touring this miserable state, but I think I'll take the next plane ride home. I hope it makes neat sounds and loops and dives. And I hope it finds a place to land.