Darn It!

Sometimes several years can go by and it feels that life is much the same as it has been.

But other times,

Naomi looks like a woman and smiles confidently as she leaves for high school.

Marko runs off to his kindergarten line because he already knows where it is.

And the game of pretending that Lucy is still a baby gets a bit ridiculous as she tells me that "Technically if a peregrine falcon didn't have wings it wouldn't be a bird." 

Darn those other times, when I realize that this stage is slipping away. 

Before & After

Before:

 

After:

 

Stay tuned (for 3 years) to see the real AFTER pictures. 

Good Luck, Beautiful Kid!

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.

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 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?"

Is This Worth Crying Over?

I've spent 15 hours painting. I've made my husband bail me out of a project he didn't want any part of in the first place. He's spent hours painting and spackling and unhinging. I've moved the furniture and plastic sheets back and forth and back and forth again. I've taped and painted and stretched in ways unhappy for an 8 month pregnant woman. Places in my body that house critical birthing muscles are screaming for me to stop. I've made three trips to the paint store 1/2 an hour away. I've sat in her room with swatches in hand and cried.

I think I hate the colour.

And I still have to finish the second coat.

And Naomi will be home on Saturday and it's a surprise for her birthday, so it has to be finished.

Is It a Deal If You Didn't Shake on It? (Part II)

Apparently, yes.

Welcome Home, Cat!

(see original post)

Is It a Deal If You Didn't Shake on It?

Naomi asked to talk to her Dad privately last night. They went off to the playroom.

Wait. Let me back up...
I've spent three weeks saying sentences like this:

"Dallin, leave her alone."
"Naomi, run!"
"Don't worry. I won't let Daddy yank your tooth."
"Dallin, stop teasing her!"
"It's not loose enough yet."
"Why do you want to pull it out anyway?"
"Just keep wiggling it, Naomi, it will fall out eventually."
"Have another apple, maybe that will help."

Last night, Naomi came out of the playroom grinning with blood dripping down her chin and her hand hidden behind her back.

Dallin came out of the playroom accusing me of "putting her up to this."

Apparently, the conversation went like this:

"If I let you pull out my tooth can we have one of Aunt Ellen's kittens?"

"Umm...I'd have to talk to Mom."

"But if Mom says OK?"

"Well, let me see how wiggly it is."

Wiggle. Wiggle. Out. In his hand!

Does this constitute a legally binding contract?

Well, they're off to Aunt Ellen's this week. We'll see if they arrive home with a furry friend.

What's the Difference Between the First Day of School and the Last?

First Day

They bathed in the brand-new tub and were tucked into their sleeping bags on the floor at a reasonable hour to be ready for the first day of school. The house had towers of boxes along every wall and we were all hopeful of a new school, new friends, and a somewhat-new life. Their hair was brushed and pony-tailed with bows. Their lunches included individually wrapped snacks from Costco. Their backpacks and sneakers were new and squeaky. And we were ready for a lovely stroll to the school by 7:56 am.

Last Day

They had a field trip to the spray park last week and it rained, so no bath necessary. They said they brushed their hair. There's no evidence to that fact, but I'm not going to fight it today. Eliza's backpack broke a month ago, but I certainly wasn't going to replace it that close to the end of the year. Creating their lunches with no bread, no snacks, no yogurts, and no juice boxes in the house was a trick. I am hopeful that their classes will have some sort of party that includes sustenance of some sort. We are finally ready to go after we hear the "first bell" ring in the distance at 8:25 am. Mario Andretti drives our minivan the 2 km to the school. And an exhausted mother drops off her children and sorrows that a whole year has slipped by again.

Who Wants A Pet?

"I do!" (Naomi)
"I do!" (Eliza)
"I do!" (Chas)

Who will feed it every day?

"I will!" (Eliza)
"I will!" (Chas)

Who will clean up it's poo every day?

"I will." (Eliza)

They're dropping like flies.
I just needed one more question.

"Are They Going To Put Us In Jail?"

It's just a speeding ticket, but my five-year-old thinks the police officers are going to put us in jail.

When I was a kid "Officer Friendly" came to visit our school every year. I knew that a policeman was my friend. A person who could be trusted in a world of stranger danger. A man to be looked up to. A respected guardian of our safe way of life.

My children say (Monkey see. Monkey do.), "Watch out, Mom, there's a cop up there."

About four years ago I got a ticket for running a stop sign. Naomi asked with a colorless, panicked face whether the policeman was going to shoot us.

Somehow I think I'm not teaching this lesson very well.

What Do I Say?

As mothers, when do we show our opinion and when do we "play it cool"?

For months Naomi has wanted to be part of a jump-rope team that practices at her school--The Thunder-Stompers. June is try-it-for-free month, so we went last week. She chose her cutest skipping outfit. She spent an hour looking for her best jump rope and finally found it. She had her water ready and her sneakers on in record time.

But then we arrived and I saw her searching for some deep dark hole to dive into. There were teenagers. There were kids who knew how to do super-cool tricks. She didn't know anyone except a 6 year old from Eliza's class.

I watched it all with the wisdom that 24 years distance brings. I saw how open and warm the kids on the team were. I saw how much fun they had together. I saw how Naomi's endless stamina would make this such an ideal fit for her. So would the fact that it is mostly an individual sport. I saw how the cooler kids and the chubbier kids and the younger kids and the less-coordinated kids were all included and encouraged.

And I thought of how helpful it would be to wear her out twice a week with skipping for two hours straight. And I thought of how our family of four would be able to juggle this additional activity so easily because it is two blocks away. And I thought of how many years I've been hopeful that she would have an interest to call her own. Anything that she feels good about doing.

And I saw Naomi desperately fighting to not be noticed, not stick out, not mess up. I saw how this decision will not come down to skipping for her at all, but to whether she can be brave in the face of a new situation with expectations she doesn't understand and a deep social pool that she'll need to swim in.

So, I desperately want Naomi to participate. I think she'd be great. I think she'd love it. And I don't know whether she'll be able to make the plunge.

Do I tell her how great I think the whole thing would be for her? She won't understand it all anyway. Or will knowing that her mother wants her to do it take just a little bit of the excitement out of it? Like finding out that my chocolate cake has zucchini in it.

My mother wisely didn't say much when I had creepy boyfriends. I'm sure if she had said what she really thought, I would've held on to them tighter.

Sometimes expressing our opinions to our kids can have an undesirable effect, I think. But which times are those?

A great song from the musical The Fantastiks:

Dog's got to bark, a mule's got to bray.
Soldiers must fight and preachers must pray.
And children, I guess, must get their own way
The minute that you say no.
Why did the kids pour jam on the cat?
Raspberry jam all over the cat?
Why should the kids do something like that,
When all that we said was no?
My son was once afraid to swim.
The water made him wince.
Until I said he mustn't swim:
S'been swimmin' ever since!
Why did the kids put beans in their ears?
No one can hear with beans in their ears.
After a while the reason appears.
They did it cause we said no.
Your daughter brings a young man in,
Says "Do you like him, Pa?"
Just say that he's a fool and then:
You've got a son-in-law!

Will You Check On Me Before You Go To Bed?

Naomi has asked this every night for about three years.

Sweetheart, I never miss and I never forget. This is the highlight of my day. It's the sacrament for parenting. It's the time when all is right with the world again. When there are no struggles and no interruptions. It's where I stand over you and marvel that you are mine. Regret the hurtful things I may have done through the day. Determine that tomorrow will be better. Adore your beautiful faces. And cherish your miraculous spirits. In these few moments I pray that you will remain steadfast and that you will find happiness. I beg the heavens that Grandma Barbara was right when she said that children are resilient. And I thank God for letting me have a chance with you.

Good Night.

What's A Roll?

Naomi read in her cousin's blog: "Two Dozen Homemade Rolls."

"What's a roll?" she said.

What's a roll?

It's a bun.

"Oh."

She's completely Canadian now.

Is There An Entry About Me?

My dear Naomi. My eldest. You receive my rawest parenting. You are closest to my insecurities. You receive the majority of my time and nearly all of my energy and I worry incessantly that it isn't enough.

You have charisma and energy and sparkle and sweetness that continually surprise me.

You are concerned about Kaylie who lives in a foster home.
You are grateful we have Eliza safely adopted into our family.
You never forget to pray for John Larsen.
You know your prayers will be heard.
You cheerfully do your chores.
You watch out for your brother and sister.
You eagerly talk to Nana every chance you get.
Your eyes were the brightest when we saw the two deer in our yard this week.
You are naive of anyone's intentions being anything but pure.
You worry about Koby being unkind to Ethan.
You are ecstatic about a new baby coming.
You have shown a true mother heart from the time Eliza was born and you were only two then.
You ask me every few days what I'm going to be when I grow up. And you always laugh when I say, A Mother. "No, after that," you say.
You are already thoughtful about the importance of choosing wisely whom you will marry.
You trust me when I tell you that learning to read is so vitally important, even though I know you can't see that far ahead.
You remember that Chas has had a rough go and are tender toward him.
You forgive us so many, many, many times.
Your whole day can be "the best ever" because of watching a friend do rug-hooking.
You once wrote a song at Sister Murley's that captures the sweetness that is intrinsic to you.

(Naomi's Song)

I love you.

Who Do You Usually Play With During Recess?

I was at the girls' school today during recess.

Naomi came in and said she didn't have anyone to play with, so I went out with her.

Who do you usually play with at recess?

"Carissa and everybody."

Why aren't you playing with them now?

"They said Wednesdays are their day off."

Their day off from what?

"From playing with everybody. On Wednesdays they can just play by themselves."

Ouch.