Happy New Year

Well, it is 11:12 p.m. In 48 minutes I will bid 2005 farewell and welcome 2006. It will take me 6 months to write the new year correctly which makes me feel like the new year really doesn't start until somewhere around the end of May/beginning of June when I don't have to think so hard to remember what year it is. Jake asked if he could stay up all night tonight. We told him he could stay up for as long as he wanted...just make sure the doors were locked and the Christmas tree lights turned off. That elicited a plea for someone to stay up with him. At 10:30 p.m. as his eyelids were drooping he asked, "Has it been all night yet?" We told him no. He asked, "Did I at least make it to midnight?" We told him almost and then he was fast asleep. I'm left awake contemplating all the new years gone by and the progression of age it represents. From 14 years old until 16 years old I lived for the stake dances. Outfit preparations for the big dance started around the beginning of November and I was usually grounded from coming home late from the New Year's dance until the beginning of February. I remember a particularly stunning ensemble I wore one year that had lots of silky pink with enormous gold hoops and then the year I wore the sleek black velvet with the shiny black patent leather pumps. From 17 years old until around 21 years old it was the "stay out all night doing nothing" phase. It didn't matter what you were or weren't doing...just that you could say you stayed out all night doing it. I remember the 2 years I celebrated New Year's Eve on my mission...seems like we ate lots of Danish stuff and watched a Disney movie that was way, way too exciting. New Year's Eve 1999 does mark the first time that Chris ever kissed me...I reminded him of that tonight and he said he had blocked it because I freaked out the next day and broke up with him twice over the next 30 days. I assured him it wasn't the kiss...just what the kiss represented.

Anyway, here I am.

I am 35 years old and put my pajamas on around 7:00 p.m. tonight hoping I could be in bed by 9:00 p.m. I didn't wear anything pink, put on gold hoops or have any ambition for staying out all night but I have to admit I'm hoping to make out a little before going to bed. Jacob is sound asleep hugging his new stuffed frog named "George", Matthew is asleep with Little Ed the horse and a 2 foot blue stuffed Cookie Monster, and Hannah is sleeping with a stuffed monkey wearing Hello Kitty underwear (she took the rest of the poor stuffed animals clothes off...the kids got to go to "Build-A-Bear today...but that is another blog for another time). It is what I like New Year's Eve to be...safe, warm, comfortable, and surrounded by my favorite people. I don't believe in making resolutions that I really don't intend to keep but I do like reflecting on where I've been and where I hope to go. I've been lots of wonderful places this last year. I've also been in lots of "uncomfortable" places but in hindsight I am just as grateful for those places as well. I survived being the mother of 3 very little people, the primary president of 178 little people, and feel like I'm still moving forward even if it involves lots of backtracking sometimes. I've met some really great people, made some fabulous new friends, and have read lots and lots of interesting books. I've travelled to some interesting places, learned some new things, and seen some great movies. I have 3 amazing kids, an amazing husband, and a wonderful extended family. Christmas cards got sent out before New Years, Christmas packages got sent before Christmas Eve, and I got to stay in my pajamas all day a couple of days this past week. I have a trip to Hawaii to look forward to in 3 weeks, a visit from my sister, and a chance to meet my new niece and nephew. Yeah, life is good. I didn't lose the weight last year, eat any better, or exercise every day but you have to have something to aspire to each year. I'm headed upstairs to pour a little Martinelli's into a cowboy glass and make out a little on the couch.

Happy New Years!

Fa, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La

It has been soooooo long since I last wrote. I feel like a virgin blogger all over again! Life is crazy and while I appreciate having something to do each day, it does wear on the soul after awhile. Halloween was fantastic! I hate to say it but it may be my favorite holiday. I'm a fall season junkie so I should clarify that it isn't necessarily the actual Halloween holiday that I love but the build up to it with the crisp sweater weather, gorgeous leaves, pumpkins, soups, trips to the Pumpkin Land, witches night out at Garnder Village with 6 wonderful friends, playing at Wheeler Farm, hay rides, etc. But I do also love Halloween...Jake designed his own costume this year. He spent a couple of hours one night in his room drawing something and when he came out, he had a whole sketch of what he wanted his costume to look like. He called himself "Super Jake" and he was spectacular. He is his father through and through. Matthew was Darth Vader complete with theme music that he would sing at the top of his lungs while stomping down the sidewalk. Hannah was a darling witch with black cat tights. I was a fairy witch and Chris was the "victim of an unfortunate accident" with an ax in his head and blood dripping down his forehead. (The prop is always a little disturbing to me since it is really pretty far removed from my husband's personality...) Anyway, once we had gorged on candy and fallen asleep with serious sugar headaches it was time to consider the primary program...

Since this is my first year as a primary president, I was pretty naive about what it would entail to orchestrate 180 primary children + leaders in a sacrament meeting production that physically rivaled a Broadway show. Every child had a speaking part so it was mayhem. Figuring out the physical layout, distributing parts, practicing songs, doing special musical numbers, and getting adults to cooperate was seriously exhausting. But I will say this...on the day of the program, the kids did an amazing job! I sat on the stand right behind the podium and had one serious spiritual experience as I was taught once again about our Heavenly Father's plan for us. I cried through some of it, smiled through most of it, and walked away with a profound appreciation for the opportunity to serve in this church with the children of our ward.

Once the program was over, it was time to consider Thanksgiving. My darling sister-in-law and her family (4 kids and a husband) drove here from Denver and did we give them a holiday to remember! They arrived Saturday night...Sunday was great and then Sunday night, her 3 year old starting throwing up and by morning, her 8 year old and 5 year old had decided to join the party. Her 3 month old baby girl was the only one in the family that decided to refrain so we had a pretty quiet day of movie watching and trying to quarintine her 3 from my 3. By the next morning every one seemed to be feeling better so Courtney and I marched the kids down to Provo for a day of frolicking on BYU campus. Hannah was really grumpy all morning and by 4:00 p.m. that day she was running a temperature of 104 degrees. I have never seen one of my children so sick. She literally laid limp in my arms all night, running a super high temperature, and jerking awake every time she closed her eyes. She didn't cry but would just moan. Nothing helped. We were alternately Tylenol and Motrin and while it would bring her temperature down for a bit, it would eventually jump right back up. I finally managed to get her in to the doctor where she tested positive for a real case of influenza. Now just a side note here...I have become a HUGE, HUGE advocate for the flu shot. You have never seen someone sick until you see someone with a REAL case of the flu. Not the stomach flu, but the real thing. The person quits eating, drinking, and runs a fever that you can't bring down. It is death warmed over. Hannah had had a flu shot 10 days before the outbreak (apparently the flu shot take 14 days to be really effective!) but it was a pretty scary week. The only medicine that can treat both Influenza type A and B is something called TamiFlu which is impossible to find because the government is stock piling it against the outbreak of bird flu and such. It was a pretty frantic night trying to track some down for not only Hannah, but Jake and Matthew and their 3 cousins. Thanksgiving Day was fine...the meal was delicious but Courtney and her family opted out on any more adventures and left for home that Friday.

Since Thanksgiving, Hannah has had the stomach flu and a cold but she has officially turned 1 years old! Her birthday was a true joy to celebrate. It was as pink an affair as we could make it and she devoured an entire chocolate cake like a real champ.

Now I am trying to organize my primary classes for next year, get enough teachers called, find rooms for everyone, get supplies, organize a new teacher breakfast/orientation, a "Meet Your Teacher" pizza party and have Christmas. Like I said...I am grateful to have meaningful things to do each day but I have to admit that a massage and a pedicure could be top of my priority list if needed be! I'm off to change the baby and kiss her big, warm, delightful cheeks for a few minutes. Ain't life grand!

Beautiful Hannah

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Originally uploaded by AmyLynn34.

The only button that refuses to function on this picture web site thingy is the "rotate picture" button. I've tried. So I need you to turn your head so your left ear is resting on your shoulder. There you go. Now sigh. Isn't she one pretty baby? She is one of the 3 joys in my life. You have never met a baby like my Hannah girl...sweet, happy, giggly, funny, smart, and so, so, so cuddly. I can't imagine how I survived 34 years without her but the first time I held her in my arms I knew how much I had been missing her. She is my girl and my life will never be the same. "It's my BAby!"

Je joue tennis

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Originally uploaded by AmyLynn34.

I failed french class in seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth grade before I finally just got plain ole' kicked out of french my junior year. (And when I say "failed" I don't mean a "C+"...I mean FAILED!) Getting kicked out was such a relief...how slow is a educational system when it takes you 4 and a half years to convince them you aren't really enjoying learning french. I couldn't see the practical use for it...wasn't helping me get my license, certainly wasn't helping to convince my parents to extend my curfew, and I wasn't getting asked out any more for knowing it...and then my brother went and married the most elegant, exquiste, beautiful french girl you have ever seen. Truly...she is graceful and refined and her 3 small children could speak more french by the time they were 2 than I could in 5 years of school. And she throws the most amazing "dinners" I have ever attended. The picture above was the spread for my brother's birthday dinner in September...


And so I'd like to dedicate this post to ML and the beauty she sees in her every day life. I'd like to thank her for the many dinners she has hosted in her beautiful backyard that were a reminder of the power that good food mingled with great company has in life. I'd like to thank her for helping me to slow down and literally smell the roses and enjoy the tomatoes off the vine and reintroducing me to crusty, warm bread with a simple slice of cheese.



I wish I'd paid more attention in french class...good thing she did so much better than me in her foreign language class! I love you ML!

Girl Hair

I have been blessed with thick hair. Due to modern day highlighting techniques, it is a great color. It grows pretty fast, goes into a ponytail and can go a couple of days without a wash. But alas, it is a waste on a person like me. I am completely and totally hair disabled. I don't really understand how to do more than wash and condition. I own 3 or 4 different brushes, a host of goopy beauty products, and several curling/straightening things but it just doesn't work. Not only do I not "get" it, but I don't like it. All that pulling and pushing and prodding just doesn't appeal to my "get on with life" mentality. After having 2 boys, I used to joke that God would send me a girl when I learned how to do my hair. He didn't want a perfectly darling girl wasted on a woman who coudldn't do more than shave a head with a pair of clippers. And then he gave up and sent me Hannah because he knew I needed her and that somehow she would survive her mother's "hair disability". She is beautiful and perfect and the other day I "fixed" her hair for the very first time. It took about 30 minutes, 2 rubber bands (my fingers are so fat with those teeny things), and lots of forbidden snacks but we did it. Here is what it looked like:



A simple twist with a bow. She wasn't terribly happy about the experience. Matter of fact, she was down right mad but here is her after shot.



Since that day, she has allowed me to fix her hair on a few occasions but she absolutely will not keep her darling bows in. She rips them out and chews on them until they wilt. I'm just happy her hair isn't in her eyes and that we still have a good relationship despite the daily pain I inflict on her head. But guess what? Like everything else in life, this is but a moment. I was reminded of that when my cousin Missy showed up at my house the other day. She is getting married this Friday and had just had a "practice" run with the stylist that will be doing her hair for her wedding. She was breathtaking.



Children are here forever and yet gone in a moment! I looked at Missy and thought, "Will that really be my daughter someday?" I felt so sad thinking my days of poking and prodding her hair were so limited. The day will come when she won't want my help because she will be able to not only do it on her own, but do a much better job than I could. There will be school picture days, school dances, prom, short hair, long hair, awkward hair but then one day will be beautiful, elegant bride hair and she will be on her way. And if I'm ever so lucky, maybe one day she will bring her first precious daughter over to my house and we'll laugh about how she won't keep her bows in and how she hates having her hair done. Life is so grand! (But I still hate MY hair!)

Missing The Extraordinary

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Originally uploaded by AmyLynn34.

I can't tell you how often I have a day that ends with me telling my husband, "Yeah, nothing real interesting happened today." A couple of days ago I got up, fixed my kids breakfast, did a few dishes, put in a load of laundry and sat down on the couch to catch my breath when I happened to look at my 3 children...really look at my 3 children. Jake was wearing a monkey costume 2 sizes too big, Matthew was wearing a Batman cape and carrying around a Spiderman notebook where he claimed he was taking people's "orders" and Hannah was ever so patiently taking it all in while nibbling on something unidentifiable that one of her brother's had given her. And I have the audacity to say my day was pretty normal?

Reality is Still Stranger Than Fiction

I've been having deep thoughts about my passion for reading but I don't know if I'm articulate enough at writing to give them expression. I'm going to make an attempt because I'm curious as to others thoughts on the subject. I belong to an amazing book group comprised of women who are not only close friends but thoughtful, intelligent, educated, spiritual women. We are as different in life experience and personality as we are close in spirit and heart. Our books and conversations regarding them are always fascinating and uplifting to me. This month we read a book called "Peace Like A River" by Leif Enger. While in general we all liked it, there was some debate about one of the main characters in the book, an 8-year old named Swede. She plays a pretty major role in the entire story and provides vehicle for some of the story's major symbolism and "metaphors". My friend claimed her character was too unbelievable for her, that she had difficulty believing an 8 year old could do, say or think many of things that Swede does in the book. Because Swede is such a central character, it was a real stumbling book for my friend in reading the book and made it difficult to accept the books plausibility. While I agree that Swede was a percocious and unusual character, I began to ponder this idea of reading "fiction".

The simple definition of fiction is that it isn't true. But how interesting that our threshold for suspending disbelief is tapered and limited. My experience and need to accept Swede's role in the novel allowed me to believe that she was capable of all the author gave her to do. But my friend's needs and experiences were so vastly different that she couldn't accept it and found it a distraction. A wise friend said that she was capable of believing almost anything if it is well-written and I have to agree. The author holds the power with the manipulation of words to either sweep me into the story or keep me at a safe distance. What I am able to believe is based so much on the environment created in the book that allows me to suspend my disbelief and give over to my imagination. I do love non-fiction, anything non-fiction. And I adore picture books and fairy tales...most well-written books for children because I remember vividly a world where anything was possible. Within the framework of being written to match a child's perspective and imagination, I can believe anything.

At a different book group last year, there was a disturbing conversation about a fantastic novel called "The Red Tent". Women in the group were horrified that the book was about prophets from the Old Testament and the degrading light they felt was cast on these men. I was really appalled because the book's whole theme was about examining the culture of women from that time period, not the men. AND the book was intended to be FICTION, not doctrine on prophet's from the Old Testament. I felt so sad that people in the group had missed the opportunity to really examine and contemplate the real themes and issues this novel posed, but then again, where the line between fiction and reality gets drawn is so individual and personal. I'd love to talk to every one of you about where your line is and what you love and hate about fiction...about this stuff that is just made up but can touch us all so deeply and personally. And I will always stand by the belief that no one, not the most talented author or articulate writer, could conceive any fiction stranger than the reality around us every day. Don't get so buried in that novel that you miss the strange man on the subway singing broadway tunes!

Pizza, Books, and Fun

A list of favorites:
 
Color: Red

Smell: Freshly baked cinnamon rolls, the "Sugar Cookie" scented candle, baby shampoo smell in a baby's hair

Article of clothing: my green "hippie" layered skirt

Ice cream flavor: anything without nuts...but with big gooey chunks

Fast food place: Wendy's

Time of day: bedtime

Favorite CD: right now it is "Classic Moments" by Patti LaBelle

Flower: Tulips

TV show: The Amazing Race (Tuesday nights at 8:00 p.m.)

Board game: Life

Book: Peace Like a River (by Leif Enger)

Place to shop: Nordstroms

Vacation spot: Nantucket Island, MA; Venice, Italy

Movie: Cinema Paradiso

Restaurant: Tucanos

Piece of Jewelry: My Wedding Ring

Do you collect anything? I collect tea pots and tea cups

I have so many favorites...this list really reflects the "right now" of the moment. I'll wake up tomorrow morning and it will all have changed. Something I do love consistently is having Hannah fall asleep in my arms every night, kissing Matthew's big, delicious, sweet cheeks every day, listening to Jake tell me funny jokes, and hearing my husband's car pulling into the driveway every night. I love getting phone calls from my family, celebrating Christmas every year, and Halloween. Autumn leaves, BBQ, dates with Chris and sleeping in are also high on the list. Oh, I'm so glad that thinking of favorite things isn't a hard task for me! I get overwhelmed with all the wonderful things I appreciate when I make lists like this. It makes me realize how blessed I am and how much I have to be grateful for!

I got this list from a friend's blog...now it is your turn. What are a few of your favorites?

Homegrown Humor

Jake has been the star of classic one-liners over the last month. While he may only be 4-years old in "physical" years, he is way out of my league in every other way. Here are some of my favorites...

a) Tonight in his personal prayers, he thanked God for all the "loveliness and kindness".

b) Last Sunday as I was dressed in my skirt and new tan colored bra looking frantically for a shirt, Jake walked in and stood puzzled in the doorway for a moment before asking, "Mom, are you wearing your brown breasts today?"

c) Last week Jake asked if Dads ever wear "breastplates." (I was puzzled until I realized he was talking about bras! Admit it...isn't breastplate a much more creative, fun sounding word than "bra"?)

d) After submerging himself in his counsin's pool the other day, my darling, native french sister-in-law took him inside to find him some dry clothes. She found him a pair of underwear and some shorts and as he was putting them on he asked her where she got the underwear. She replied, "Oh, the panties used to belong to Ethan. We bought them in France last summer." Well, Jake was quite pleased to be wearing french "panties" instead of regular old American underwear and kept referring to them as such throughout the remainder of the day. The next morning he asked if it was OK to wear the french panties to church. My husband told him it was OK and then Jake paused for a moment before asking, "Dad, does anyone else wear their french panties to church?" We realized it was time for vocabulary intervention before he got us hauled into the bishop's office for some family therapy.

e) As he was being dragged into time-out the other day for a major infraction of some household rule, he shouted, "Can anyone help me please? I'm in SO much trouble?"

Just a few of the choice moments with Jake. Never a dull day!

Favorite Quote

I love this quote. It is from the book "The Velveteen Rabbit." This one is for Lisa and Ethan...


"What is real?" asked the Rabbit one day when they were lying side by side. "Does it mean hearing things that buzz inside you and a stick out handle?"

"Real isn't how you're made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you when a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with...but really loves you. Then you become real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse for he was always truthful. "When you are real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up? Or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen to things who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept. Generally by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out and you get loose at the joints...But these things don't matter at all because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

What I Read Over Summer Vacation

Summer vacation...HA! I've had college finals that were more relaxing than this summer has been! Due to my numerous years in public school, both as a student and educator, I still gauge my year by the "public education" timetable. Does anyone else do that? Do you start to feel antsy around the end of May, like you need a break? Do you find yourself sitting at work spending lots of time looking longingly out the window? Or do you find yourself frantically buying cartfuls of school supplies for school age children you don't have around the middle of August? I start to crave new sturdy shoes, a clean sparkly backpack, and a fun autumn outfit this time of year. I'm afraid I'm forever a slave to my years in public school...but I digress.

Although this has been a long, hot summer, I have had some fabulous reading experiences (even though I average 1/2 a page every night before falling into a sound, deep sleep). We are going to view this blog as a "Show and Tell" and everyone gets a turn. I'm going to share my favorite 3 summer reads and then it is your turn so be thinking...

1) Peace Like A River (by Leif Enger)...really love this book. I actually read it for the second time this summer and loved it even more. You don't find writing like this in very many "grown-up" books anymore. It is a beautiful, thought provoking story. My number 1 recommendation.

2) Kira-Kira (by Cynthia Kadohata): This book just won the 2005 Newbery Award. I thought this book was interesting from a very historical perspective. It is definitely worth reading just for its unusual perspective and take on a group of Americans we probably don't know much about.

3) Al Capone Does My Shirts (by Gennifer Choldenko): This novel was a 2005 Newbery Honoree. Again, a very unusual novel about a boy growing up on Alcatraz Island back in the 1940's. It is an interesting read and although it is supposed to be "children's fiction", I wouldn't recommend it to anyone under the age of 13-14 years old.

Well, there you have it. I have a soft spot for Young Adult literature...again, back to my years in public schools. Now it is your turn...besides the big, thick Harry Potter #6 book that is gathering dust on my night stand, I have nothing to read. What would YOU recommend? (And I know...I will read Harry Potter. I already had Carrie tell my the highlights so I could just get on with my life. But I promise to read it...eventually.)

Love The Body Your In

I was told it was time for a new swim suit. The one I have been wearing isn't pretty but it covered all the places that needed to be covered. My sister told me it was time and although I knew she was right, I still cowered to think of finding a suit with enough material to cover this body and make it suitable for public appearance. Three children, Ben and Jerry's, and a tense relationship with my treadmill have not resulted in a "bathing" suit type figure. And who wants to spend all that money on something that makes you self-conscious and yucky?

Carrie took me to Nordstroms.. I have to mention that as I walked into the store, I looked down at my shirt, stroller, and 2 children (the third one had opted out of the trip to the store and chose to stay at his cousin's house shooting alien ships on the computer...he probably made the wisest choice). My shirt was covered with all kinds of crusted, colorful, disgusting souvenirs from my kids, my baby was covered from head to toe with orange spit-up, and my son was wearing an outfit that suddenly looked obsenely small on him...the stroller is a whole other story. It is the kind of store where I half expected an alarm to go off warning the personnel that a grubby person was touching stuff. Anyway...tangent.

We went upstairs and I felt compelled to really examine the rack with the suits that said, "Lose 10 pounds in 10 seconds". I chose some suits, Carrie chose some suits for me and we all headed into the dressing room. Here came my enlightened moment...

I'm trying on these suits with the paper liner in the crotch with my underwear poking out the sides, Hannah is sitting on the floor chewing on the hangars and Matthew is sitting in the stoller clutching a high powered fruit drink and chocolate muffin that Carrie bought him in the snobby Nordstrom cafe and I'm actually liking the moment. And my body doesn't look grotesque, it just looks familiar. I don't love the dimply thighs, cottage cheese butt, or deflated balloon chest but they are mine. I recognize them and I am grateful they work so well. Someday I'm going to lose weight and eat healthy and develop love for my treadmill but right now I'm grateful to be healthy and happy. I'm grateful my body works and functions and keeps up with the stresses. I'm sure if I put all the energy I focus on disliking my body into something else, I could really get things done. And you know what? Black swimsuits hide a lot and a little swim skirt does wonder for your thighs. So next time you go to the pool, look for me. I'll be the big woman in the black swim suit splashing around in the kiddy pool! It will be fun!

Raccoons and Love

"Until you have experienced raccoons mating underneath your bedroom at three in the morning, you have missed one of life's more sensational moments. It is an uncommon event, to say the least. If you've ever heard cats fighting in the night, you have a clue. Magnify the volume and the intensity by ten. It's not what you'd call a sensual and erotic sound. More like a three-alarm fire is what it is.

When I had recovered my aplomb and adjusted to the new adrenaline level, I got a flashlight and went outside and peered up under the house. This lady raccoon and her suitor were squared off in a corner, fangs bared, covered with mud and blood, and not looking very sexy at all.

Neither my presence nor the beam of light could override what drove them on. With snarls and barks and screams, the passionate encounter raged on. While I watched, the matter was finally consummated and resolved. They had no shame. What had to be done was done. And they wandered off, in a kind of glazy-eyed stupor, to groom themselves for whatever might come next in the life of a raccoon.

I sat there in the rain...and I pondered. Why is it that love and life so often have to be carried forth with so much pain and strain and mess? Why isn't love easy?

I don't know. And the raccoons don't say."

(Robert Fulghum, All I Really Know I Learned in Kindergarten)

Yesterday was my 6th wedding anniversary. Chris and I were married on July 16, 1999 in the Mount Timpanogos Temple in American Fork, Utah. I always become a little sentimental on special days and this one was no exception. Chris and I actually met about 5 years before we ever started dating. I was engaged to be married and he was the guy all my roommates had a crush on. My first memory of Chris is watching him walk by our apartment window with his double breasted suit on and listening to this poor group of girls lament on how funny and cute he was but how picky he was when it came to dating. He had been dubbed "The Untouchable Bachelor".

I have often wondered how our lives would be different if OUR story together had started there. Instead it would take lots and lots of life experiences, a series of anxiety attacks, 3 break-ups, broken engagements, and a nasty rainstorm to bring us together. It's like the raccoons...love ain't always easy. When I worked in Young Women's I felt it was my duty to inform them that not every love story is perfect and sometimes the greatest stresses produce the most brilliant diamonds. Chris and I met all those years ago but we had lots of living to do before we could really understand and love each other. When the time finally came, we each brought all our "stuff" to the table to see if we could really find the courage and guts to see this through. I knew he was "the one" because suddenly I wanted this amazing person and his life more than I wanted anything else in the world. By the time we ended up at the temple on July 16th, I had no doubt this man loved me. He had seen me at my best and worst, he had loved me through a lot of ups and downs, and I felt like we had emerged triumphant.

And here we are. Our relationship is far from perfect but we are learning. Six years isn't very long so I hope we have lots more of life to learn from. These last few years have been the best years of my life...not because they have been free from the torments and stresses of life but because every morning I wake up to a man that I know will change my world and perspective before the day is through. He will make me laugh out loud, he will calm me down, he'll inspire me to believe in myself and my potential, he will adore our children and be adored by them, and he will be kind and gentle and patient in all he does. He will put up with my passion and impatience and shortcomings and I will learn a little more about myself and relationships and living. I couldn't ask for more than that.

I have never wanted the fairy tale...I have always wanted the reality. My life WILL end happily ever after. There will be lots of tears and heartaches and joys and celebrations and all of it will be joyful in the deepest places where it really counts. We will continue to work hard and laugh lots and find miracles in places I never dreamed.

Happy anniversary!

Don't Mess With Me

Last night as we were eating dinner, Chris and I were having a conversation about something Hannah was eating and whether or not 8-month olds should really be eating it. The conversation had gone on for about 2 minutes when Jake turned to Chris and said, "Dad, just leave Mom alone. She knows what she is doing!" It made us laugh so hard.

But there you have it. Don't mess with me. According to my 4-year old...I'm an expert! As I see it, I just won every debate for at least the next 6 months. At what age do they realize you really aren't the expert but are just trying really hard not to cause any permanent damage? Ah, parenting.

Alien Invasion

Only have but a moment...Chris and I went and saw "War of the Worlds" on Saturday night. We originally had no plans to see the movie with Tom Cruise and the aliens but then Carrie Ann admitted to sneaking into the movie with Todd and seeing the end and telling me it was so scary that Todd asked if he could include a little section in his prayers that night about God not letting the aliens attack. Well, anything that provokes Todd to pray for safety from aliens was worth my 7 bucks. I made Chris buy me popcorn just in case it was about what I expected and I had nothing to do for 2 hours. Well, aliens attacked and I have to admit it was pretty scary. Tripod, blood sucking, can't be killed by the national guard machines with roving metallic eyes and grabby metal claws got my adrenaline pumping. The movie was pretty intense until the end. The last 10 minutes of the movie killed the whole build-up and I left the movie theater in shock. No closure, no satisfying explanation for why aliens had just attacked the earth and sucked everyone's blood, no explanation for how Tom Cruise's whole family managed to stay so well-dressed and coiffed safe and snug in their Boston brownstone while the rest of the city was torched, no reasoning behind the eventual death of the tripods and certainly no long term glimpses of the therapy involved in recovering from such a trauma. (OK, and I wanted to know who was going to pay for all the damage and who was going to clean-up the disgusting mess they left behind and whether or not the 10 year old actress got tired on wearing the same outfit the whole movie, and...and...and...) I don't know what to tell all of you. If you must see the movie, go see it on the big screen. If you are uncertain...go see it but take a treat and leave before you have to watch Tom Cruise REALLY try and act at the end. Oh, don't be shy if you need to light a candle and ask God to keep the aliens away when all is said and done. It happens to the best of us.

P.S. Suzie Petunia...you thought Watcher in the Woods was scary? OK, it really, really was...but so is this one. Don't go!

I Really Lived

A friend gave me this quote a couple of months ago and tonight it helped put all today's tragic mom moments into perspective. So here is one for all the moms who feel like that didn't do anything important today!

I Really Lived
by Marjorie Hinckley

"I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long perfectly manicured fingernails.

I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp. I want to be there with grass stains on my shoes from mowing Sister Schenk's lawn. I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbor's children. I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden. I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder.

I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived."

Tonight when my husband got home from work and asked me how my day was, I answered, "Ah, you know, the usual. Nothing real spectacular." For some reason, the answer I gave didn't sit right with me. Really? Nothing spectacular? And then I started thinking about it...really thinking about my job as a mom.

This is the hardest job I have ever had. I've had some challenging jobs in some challenging places but nothing like this. I'm learning how to do a million things and learning so much about myself that no university or advanced degree could ever give me. Today my children were fed, clothed, played with, loved, cuddled, kissed, tickled, taught and put to bed in a place where they knew they were safe and protected. Today my children learned new things and laughed out loud. Today Jacob held his little baby sister in his arms and announced that he was big enough now to protect her. Today Matthew told me a million "Knock, knock" jokes with the same punchline and he was so cute and sincere that I laughed out loud at every single one. Today Hannah grabbed my face and sucked on my cheek and I couldn't put her down because I loved her so much. Today I not only took care physically of a household full of people but I tried my hardest to take care of them emotionally and spiritually and intellectually. Do we ever stop to think as mothers about every single individual child in this big world that did not have you or anyone like you to do all those things for them today? I can't tell you what it does to me when I think about children being cold or hungry or alone. I hate all the children I've met who never had a childhood. I hate that I know way too many children who don't go to bed feeling safe or protected and don't know any other emotions besides fear or hate or emptiness. I hate that there are kids roaming streets and being taken advantage of in ways we can't even fathom. I don't like that I have names and faces behind so many of these tragedies. I didn't have an uneventful day where I didn't do anything. Today I changed the world for 3 small people who I hope will go out one day and change the world for lots more people. It makes every moment seem so critical and important and every event filled with meaning. And I hope that I don't ever lose a place in my heart or mind or emotions for every child out there that didn't have anyone who cared today.

Your day was pretty important.

Upper Lips and Chin Hair

This week I ended what I had termed "the year of the hair" and finally went and cut it off. I had lasted six months without a major cut until I woke up and discovered that not only do I hate having long hair but it really didn't do anything for my physical appearance. I decided to go to a new salon since I had made my regular hair-cutting person sign a solemn oath at the beginning of the year that no matter how much I begged and pleaded and reasoned with her, she wouldn't cut my hair. Off to the beauty salon...I was intoxicated by the sophistication of the place, the serenity of not having a single kid with me and the aroma of expensive shampoos. I decided to really go for the gold and do something crazy...I'd get my eyebrows waxed.

The lady led me through the salon and down a mysterious hallway, in through the secret glass doors, and into a room with a table contraption. I carefully scaled the table and laid down. She clucked, clucked, clucked in horror and dismay as she tried to tame my mangled brows down enough to get the wax on. While applying the wax, she casually asked, "So, are we going to do this upper lip today sweetie?" What? My upper lip? What was there? I was horrified. I replied, "Uh, yeah." And as she was sweet talking and putting that hot, hot stuff where no hot stuff had ever been she threw in, "Here, I'll just grab this chin hair while we're at it" and kept on waxing. I lay on the table and tried to take in what had just happened. This was just moments before she ripped off all the hair and skin on my face. I stumbled out of the room feeling naked and terribly violated. (I felt like that sheep on the bonus feature "Boundin'" from The Incredibles DVD) I looked in the mirror at the receptionist's desk and found 3 enormous red swollen patches on my face. It was hairless but it wasn't pretty.

Now, I need to ask in an honest, non-face to face kind of manner...was the hair so appalling? Were people being distracted by lip hair careening in the wind? Or chin hairs hanging from the bottom of my face? Who can I count on to bring these things to my attention? I have spent the last few days trying to figure if the red, swollen bumps now were better than the blond hairs before?

I've decided to go back to my regular hair cutting person and renegotiate the terms of the contract. Apparently the "year of the hair" was more than I had expected.

No Beauty and a Hairy Beast

When I was young, I use to dream about the day that I would be old enough to buy all the cans of mandarin oranges that I wanted. I would also imagine the glee of being able to just sit and eat as many of them as I desired without parental interruption or limitations. I find that as an adult, although some of my childhood fantasies have been laid to rest, I still can't resist certain things...like a flyer at the library annoucing the 2nd annual "Prince and Princess Ball". Who could possibly pass up on an opportunity like that? Plus, they promised Beauty and the Beast would be making an appearance. While some of you urban types may see this kind of thing every day, us "rural" folk must be sure and take advantage of our limited opportunities. Preparations began.



My 3 children, a nephew, a niece and a sister-in-law all joined us for the crown making and costume selection. Each child and adult made a crown for the regal evening and the children selected various capes, swords, and rain boots for the occasion. Despite a raging storm outside, we all left for the ball.



Upon arriving, we eagerly entered the library rotunda and sought out the promised guests. One look at "Beauty" and her "Beast" left us all a little dumbfounded. Without being overtly unkind, Beauty was no "beauty" and the beast was way, way "beastly". Jake and Matthew just stood and stared for a bit before Jake announced, "Is there anything else to do here?" We ate our food service brownie, drank some watery punch, made a couple crafts, danced to Mrs. Potts singing "Beauty and the Beast" and left for home. I wasn't disappointed. The ball was all I hoped it would be. You see, as an adult, none of the magic of these events is lost on me and matter of fact, they are enhanced by my love of "community" events. I love our little library. I love the families that pulled out their dress up box for an evening at the ball. I love the hometown feel of gathering together and eating brownies. When I join a community, I rarely miss a carnival, rodeo, high school drama production, library event or any other opportunity to get out there and smell real life. So go ahead...watch closely for those seemingly small events that pack a big punch. And remember to chew that stale brownie slowly and savor every last drop of punch. Real life can pass you by so quickly.

Nostalgia Gone Real Bad

Today as I was taking a leisure stroll through my quiet little neighborhood, I paused for a moment to drink in the soft summer breeze, feel the warmth of the bright summer sun on my face, and listen to the little girls running the lemonade stand try to rip off a customer.

The lemonade stand was on the other side of the street from me. It consisted of a box covered with a sheet, some paper cups, a beige Tupperware pitcher, and 3 little girls who appeared to be around 5 or 6 years old. I have a strict policy about always buying lemonade at children run lemonade stands and as my eye caught sight of this sweet little set-up, I felt remorse that I didn't have a few quarters with me. (I must also add that I have an equally strict policy about never actually DRINKING the lemonade. It always ends up on the lawn around the corner because let's face it folks...there are a few possibilities that have to be considered when buying beverages from strangers on street corners in the 21st century!) Anyway, on my side of the street stood Bronson. He was holding his bike and staring longingly at the lemonade stand across the street. Bronson is 4 years old and was obviously intrigued by the festivities way out of his reach. Suddenly one of the little girls noticed him staring, stood up and came to stand right in front of him on her side of the street. With a hand on her hip and a sassy little voice she called out, "Do you want some lemonade?" Bronson's face lit up and he eagerly replied, "Yeah."

"It costs two bucks," sassy girl answered.

Bronson looked down at his pockets and said, "But I don't have any dollars."

Sassy girl switched hands on hips and said, "Fine, I'll sell you some for 25 cents."

Bronson dropped his bike and ran for the house screaming, "Mom! Can I have some moneys?"

I put my head down and moved as fast as I could trying hard not to make eye contact with the little business hustler on the other side of the street. My sentimental feelings of nostalgia had quickly been replaced by the hard realities of tough bargaining and the sweat and tears involved in trying to made a living these days. Two bucks for warm, watery lemonade? I suddenly sensed that the days of innocence and naiveness were gone...then again, innocence and ignorance never made for super successful lemonade stands. I walked by her house again tonight and desperately wanted to stop and ask how profitable the 2-buck cups of lemonade were.

The clincher to the whole experience? Tonight as I was putting my 4 year old to bed, he told me he really wanted to buy a bike. I told him what a great idea I thought that was and how he could do some extra chores around the house to earn some money. His face scrunched up a little and he said, "Mom. I don't want to do work. I just want to sell some lemonade like that girl today. How many cups of lemonade does it take for a bike?" Sigh.

Spiritual Puking

Hmmm...where to start. A couple of weeks ago I went to church and got a new calling. Didn't see it coming. Church ended and I took the 3 young 'uns out to the car contemplating whether I wanted those new Vanilla Creme Frosted Mini Wheats for lunch or left over chocolate chip cookie dough when my husband came running out to the car in a panic. "Amy, where have you been?" I was sitting in the car with 3 kids so I thought the question was a little reduntant but I played along.

Amy: Sitting in the car. Why? Where have you been?
Chris: We have an appointment with the bishop. Are you coming?
Amy: (blank stare)
Chris: I told you about it before church. Remember?
Amy: (blank stare)
Chris: They're waiting for us. Hurry.
Amy: Couldn't I just wait here in the car. I hate unbuckling all those car seats plus I'll just embarass myself when you get some calling that leaves me alone with the kids and I break out into one of those ugly emotional scenes.
Chris: (blank stare)

Anyway, the whole way into the church I was praying. Not the reverent, soft, gentle kind of praying but the real ugly raw emotional kind of stuff. I just knew my husband was being called to something that required nights, weekends, and me alone with all these kids after 6:00 p.m. We sat down in the office. When I say "we" I mean the adults. Jake and Matthew were jumping on the chairs and Hannah was crying, straining, and pooping. The bishop talked as loudly as he could and when he said, "Amy, we'd like to call you as the new primary president" I missed it because I was yelling at my kids. You think I am exaggerating but I'm not. He got no response so he tried it one more time and this time the room went absolutely silent. Those of you that know me know that although I can be awkward I am usually good at bluffing through the social scene. No. This time it was long awkward silence. I remember hearing the second hand tick on the clock and smelling Hannah's diaper. We all sat there. The bishop shuffled some papers and finally said, "Uh, would you like some time to think about it". I seriously don't know what happened after that. I remember Chris saying, "Are you alright?" and I asked him not to talk to me for a few minutes. I remember crying a little bit as we pulled into the driveway but that is it. All a blur.

I need to get to the best part of this story. Had some really amazing experiences choosing my counselors and secretary...amazing women with some serious combined years as former primary presidents, counselors, etc. (Didn't know this when I chose them but loved starting our first presidency meeting by saying "Well, if you ladies need any help with anything, you just call and let me know.") We decided to hold our first presidency meeting at my house and why not? Go ahead and bring the kids. I have 3, my first counselor has 2, my second counselor has 5 and the secretary has triplets. We ended up with 7 children under the age of 4 coming to my house to play. Presidency meeting started off with sippy cups full of juice and water and a couple of diaper changes followed by blood in the play room, a graham cracker disaster in the family room, a riot in the bathroom, and plastic dinosaurs stuffed in decor in my house where I didn't know stuff could be stuffed. I quickly ended the meeting and asked if anyone wanted to go bond at McDonald's playland.

Things went well for the first 3 minutes and then the first counselor's son came down out of the play structure to announce that the second counselor's son had just "spilled his stuff all over the playland." While we were trying to discover what the mystery "stuff" could be that he was spilling, children started pouring out of the playland tunnels shouting, "Barf! Barf! There's barf all over the playland!" and sure enough, there was her 2-year old son standing at the top of the structure staring intently at the floor. More chaos ensued. I really could go on and on...from trying to coax her son to come down to the children fighting to climb up and get a first hand glimpse at the "barf" to my 4-year old son asking me just what "barf" meant and if I could tell him all the other words people use to describe throw up. Yeah, its what my husband mumbled in my ear when I sat down after being sustained....Let the games begin.

World's Greatest Toy

When my son Jacob was little, we decided to go visit my parents in Houston. I knew it would be a LONG 4 hour flight so I decided to invest in a few new toys for the plane ride. At the toy store, I discovered this fabulous looking toy that just begged to be added to the toy collection. It was called a bumble ball. It is a round plastic medium sized ball with these spongy multi colored bumps that stick out. You push down this button on the ball and this tame looking toy goes wild and bounces all over the place creating a visual treat. It is absolutely riveting to watch and hilarious to play with. So I bought this innocent looking toy and packed it in our travel bag for loads of airplane fun. Well, funny thing about the bumble ball...it kind of looks like a bomb when it goes through the x-ray machine at the airport and really balls that bounce all over the place in a violent, gyrating sort of way aren't super fun on airplanes. Once we cleared security and apologized to all the terrified, irritated passengers sitting around us on the plane, my husband confiscated the toy and announced it would not be returned until Jake and I learned how to choose appropriate toys for the appropriate occasion.

The bumble ball hasn't been played with much...until tonight. Tonight I decided Hannah needed to be introduced to the world of the bumble ball. I was so determined that even hunting for the tiny screwdriver and some live double AA batteries didn't deter me from my quest. Batteries were in, screws tightened, and Hannah and I sat and looked at the ball in quiet (slobbery) admiration. Then came the moment of truth. I pushed the little yellow button and set the device in motion. It was pure joy. Hannah let out the appropriate squeals and then watched in slobbery fascination as I danced all over the room trying to catch the bouncy toy. The best part of the evening though was when I handed her the ball to hold. The vibrating motion of the ball shook her from head to toe. Her delicious chubby cheeks jiggled, her precious Buddha belly jiggled and the 3 amazing fat rolls on her legs went crazy. I couldn't stop laughing and kissing her all over. She just held tight onto that ball and jiggled away. I have never seen anything so funny. It made me love that bumble ball all over again. I am not exaggerating when I say it is the greatest toy on earth. Seriously. Go get one and live the good life!


P.S. I am having a real moment of truth...I just went to find a picture of my beloved little bumble ball and after doing my google search, I'm discovering that apparently my favorite toy is really a canine chew toy! Every site listed was a "pet" site. I swear I bought it at a CHILDREN'S toy store. But hey, I'm considering the doggy chew toy for my teething baby. Such a fine line between us humans and our "pets"!

The Repentant Blogger

I just went to post my last blog and realized it has been over a MONTH since I last posted. Good heavens. I had a few lessons I needed to learn this last month and have been busy messing up, repenting, messing up some more, repenting, and then trying really hard to learn my lessons. Here is what I have been trying to learn and why I haven't been blogging.

1) Despite the passage of years, I still hate science. I understand it better now but the bottom line is that it really just isn't all that interesting to me.

2) People with cracked heels and a lousy sense of balance should just save their money and not buy high heeled shoes.

3) Be leary of pedicures given in shady nail shops in Murray, Utah. And if you choose not to heed that advice, at least take ALL your prescribed antibiotics and don't assume that just because the infected sores have gone away, that the staff infection is all cleared up.

4) When your child wakes up in the middle of the night with a bloody nose, don't let him wipe it on the furniture in the family room before getting him a piece of toliet paper.

5) It is OK to say "no" to babysitting other people's kids...even if you have to lie about it.

6) It is OK to let a child that is not your own sit in a poopy diaper. When you have enough poop in your life, you don't need to take on someone else's.

7) PBS is actually EDUCATIONAL T.V. so don't feel bad if your children need to watch it all day.

8) Stop wishing away my children's childhoods...I'll have plenty of time to get to all the things I want to do someday...although I'm certain when that time comes that I will be sitting in a rocking chair wishing I had all those days with my kids back.

9) Do your visiting teaching.

10) Stop cleaning the house and just get on the floor and play with your kids. Your kids will never ever remember if the dishes were done all the time but I'm convinced they will remember every moment that you put them off because you just had to do one more load of laundry.

Anyway, these are some of the reasons I've been unable to blog for the last month. They all have fairly interesting stories behind them but I'll save those for another blogging day.

Infants and Therapy

Yesterday in church I was having a conversation with a friend where I started a sentence by saying, "Well, Hannah's therapist told me..." My friend passed through an obvious range of emotions before holding up her hand and saying, "Whoa. I'm sorry. Hannah's therapist?" Given that sweet Hannah is 5 months old and that I didn't preface "therapist" with "PHYSICAL therapist" created some confusion although the ensuing conversation convinced me that maybe we really should start our children in therapy when they are young. I've considered keeping a notebook of all the bad mothering moments I've had to save my children money on therapy when they are older. Instead of spending the first 10 sessions recalling all the horrors, they could just hand the notebook to the therapist and get on to undoing all the damage. I should insert a disclaimer here that really I do try my best but way too often I go to bed with all the ungraceful moments I've had that day floating around in my head. I adore my children...love them from head to toe but I always like to start conversations with people I've never met that are either considering motherhood or just beginning motherhood with the warning, "I'm not a graceful mother. I promise that whatever you witness here today is not a reflection on how it has to be. I like to do things the hard way."

Today my children and I all ate breakfast on the floor because I've removed all chairs and stepping devices from our lives to keep Matthew out of the cupboards.
Tonight for dinner my boys had Cocoa Pebbles with bananas, 1/2 a frozen Cotton Candy gogurt and a paper towel with a piece of turkey on it.
At the wedding reception Saturday night I actually told Jake he had to eat 4 more bites of his butter frosted cake before he could have the mints (as if eating the cake were somehow healthier than the mints).
Hannah went to church yesterday with her onesie hanging out the sleeves of her cute tulip dress and by the end of church I'd stripped her of her ruffle socks, darling shoes, and head bow because I couldn't stand how confined she looked.
I actually had a conversation with a mother today that went EXACTLY like this:
Perfect mother: Excuse my hands. They're blue because the kids and I were dying wool in the backyard today.
Me: Dying wool?
Perfect mother: Yes. We dye the wool in Kool Aid (Sugar free kind I'm sure) and then prepare the wool for knitting.
Me: Yeah, we watched 3 straight hours of PBS Kids today.
Perfect mother: (Polite but horrified laugh) Oh, that's why we don't have cable.
Me: Yeah, I only have cable to keep me from giving away my children between 3:00 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. every day.
(Awkward silence)
I could have kept my mouth shut but it just begged to be said. And don't think I haven't called my husband on his cell phone and told him he could stay at work as late as he needed but if he stepped in that door one minute pass 6:00 p.m., he would have to go pick his children up at the neighbor's house.

Yes, starting therapy in infancy doesn't sound like such a bad thing. Happy Mother's Day!

Unibrows and Other Hygiene Disasters

My mother once gave me some profound dating advice...she said, "Amy, don't ever end a relationship over something that can be waxed, plucked, or fixed at The Gap." While I realize this reveals one of the shallow, insensative sides of my personality (or the fact that commitment terrified me so much that I was using some pretty pathetic excuses for ending relationships), I can now appreciate the sentiment. I'm sitting here in a chair actually scratching my scalp pretty regularly because I am in desperate need of a shower. Then it got me thinking about all the other "physical hygiene" things I probably need:

1) A haircut and color job
2) Eyebrow waxing and overall "facial" hair removal (nothing dark and course, just light and fuzzy)
3) Ear cleaning
4) Chapstick
5) Good body wash
6) An overall shaving of body places that are "culturally offensive" to let hair grow wild, especially with the all important "bathing suit" season upon us
7) A manicure
8) A pedicure
9) Help with really dry, cracked heels

I really could go on and on. While I don't want you to imagine some horrific beast sitting at a computer in her own filth, why is it that being a girl demands so much effort? My husband just wandered in and out of the room and I would really be willing to bet you that if I asked him what he thought would physically help alter his current state, he'd say, "Well, I have a couple hairs on my neck bothering me. Would you mind giving them a trim tomorrow?" Ah, the simple life. I'd just really like to get my hands on the women in history who got everyone thinking that women needed this complication just to be hygenically presentable. And I haven't even touched wardrobe, make-up, shoes, or accessories.

I need a simpler existence. When I get in the shower, it is usually with 3 little time bombs ticking away out on the couch with as much junk food and Tom & Jerry videos as I think will entertain them until I get clean. I actually find myself asking things like, "What is more important today? Clean hair or clean armpits? Only got time for one." I now find myself applauding the guys I dated with the unibrows, hairy backs and strange colored toe nails...I'd like to think they are off making a huge difference in the world with all the time they are saving in the bathroom.

Ode to Mothers

I was cleaning out my files on our hard drive when I came across this little souvenir from last Mother's Day. I wrote it because I was feeling so guilty about yelling at my kids on mother's day but then I didn't know what to do with it. Ha! I love blogging. Now I know what to do with all my psychotic musings...anyway, I would wait until mother's day to post it but I have so much more to say this year on mother's day. Anyway, an ode to mothers.

The Sunday before Mother’s Day, I was sitting next to my 7-year old primary class in closing exercises when we were asked to practice a new song. I had never heard this song before but the children were told they quickly needed to learn it since they would be singing next week in sacrament meeting for Mother’s day. The song honored mothers with comparisons to lilac bushes, green earth after rain, and bluebirds singing. The children sang the song with about as much enthusiasm as a death march.
Midway through the massacre, I leaned over to ask a little girl in my class if she had ever heard this song before. She replied that they had sung it once in opening exercises. I asked if she knew what the song was about. She said it was about somebody’s mom but she wasn’t sure whom. It captured the essence regarding some of my complicated feelings regarding Mother’s day. Just whose mother ARE all those songs written about in the Children’s Songbook?
Please don’t misunderstand me. While I applaud a holiday dedicated to pampering and honoring all the mothers of the world, I am ready for a more realistic perspective on the day. Instead of feeling guilty because I don’t fit a single song lyric, poet’s verse, or heart wrenching story, I would like to be applauded because most of the time I am dressed before noon, sometimes I smell clean, and there are even days when the dishes get done. If we sang a song about a mother in yellow pajamas with cereal spilled down her front, my children would know whom the song was about. If we read a poem about a mom who knew how to build a pirate ship, get a spider web to come out of her sleeve, make a paper Spiderman mask out of toilet paper, or build a slide out of couch cushions, my kids could celebrate the fun moments. And if someone would tell a story about a woman, who cherishes alone time in the bathroom and appreciates the family’s sympathy when she breaks out into tears over nothing, I could sit and feel real. I have decided that this Mother’s Day, I’m going to celebrate all the "real" moms out there, the ones who occasionally yell, lose their cool, and have temper tantrums. The moms who aren’t always clean or pretty smelling but are in the trenches making it all happen. The ones who endure long games of make-believe, Wiggles videos, and endless excursions to the park because they know in the end how much those things matter. Being a mom is the most rewarding experience I have ever had. But it also involves more selflessness, sacrifice, and patience than I possess making me far from the perfect mom. The greatest part of the adventure is that when I stop and look at this little monkey on my knee who has the grossest diaper I have ever smelled and is determined to get me to stop typing and play with him, I know I am going to make it because I have the world’s best teachers. By the time they are done with me and waving good-bye from their dorm windows, I may start to get it. They get it and will stick with me until I figure it out. So hooray for all the imperfect moms and the families that love them!

Visual Evidence

A few blogs ago, I told the story of my darling son and his smelly rubber rain boots. Well, he is still wearing them which has proven useful over the last few rainy days but seem ridiculous when it is 65 degrees outside and sunny. When I asked him the other day if they were making his feet hot, he said, "Yeah Mom" and sat down, took off his boots, took off his socks, and put back on the boots. So here is my favorite picture of Matthew and his blue boots.

Calling All Opinionated People

First of all something must be said...without really being able to explain why, I have a feeling my brother Chip is lurking around these blogs without identifying himself. I can't tell you why this "spidey" sense is telling me so, but if you are my dear brother, you have been caught and now must make yourself known!

Over the past few months I have been compulsively compiling lists of "must read" and "must see" books and movies. I have assembled all these post-it notes and scrapes of paper into one pile where I shall now ask my faithful readers to help me sort out what is really worth reading/seeing and what can be left alone. Here is my "wish" list:

MOVIES
The Sea Inside
Finding Neverland
Born Into Brothels
Yesterday
Lemony Snickett's Series of Unfortunate Events
Story of Weeping Camel
As It Is In Heaven
The Chorus
Downfall
Tupac Resurrection
Twist of Fate
Maria Full of Grace
Spanglish
Meet the Fockers


BOOKS
Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight (Alexandra Fuller)
The Hours (Michael Cunningham)
Caramelo (Sandra Cisneros)
What Should I Do With My Life? (Po Bronson)
Executioner's Song (Norman Mailer)
Raising Ephraim's Child (author?)

Given the limited amount of time I have these days, I really want to spend my time on things interesting and thought provoking. If any one has opinions on any of these things, let it be known!!

A Grand Day Out

Today was a splendid day in so many different ways. It was the type of day where for no apparent reason, all the elements in the universe combined to create a series of perfect moments. A day that will live in my senses for many years to come.

The weather outside was perfect. A balmy 65 degrees, sunny, clear, and windy. I loaded my 3 children into the mini-van and drove to Carrie's house. There, on a blanket in the backyard, Carrie, Kacy, Maggie, Ben, Jake, Matthew, Hannah and I ate a delicious lunch, listened to fabulous music, and bonded. The wild bird reserve was beautiful, the kids were delightful, and the company wonderful. As a great momento of the moment, Kacy presented me with 3 CD's that she had made for each of my children. It wasn't until I got in the car and took a look at the "index" she had made that I realized she had individually tailored each CD for my individual children. I was so touched! I'm not that nice of a person and I'm always seriously overwhelmed that there are people in the world that thoughtful and kind...and that I actually KNOW them! What a blessing!

After lunch, my children and I drove to Orem where we met my Aunt Jan. She played out on the big lawn while I went in to Hannah's physical therapy appointment. I came out to find her and my boys blowing bubbles and laughing. I sat on the lawn and appreciated all the things I love about my favorite aunt and my 3 children.

Next, I took the kids to Toys R' Us where we picked out 2 kites to take to the park with us. We walked around and looked at all the toys and I loved listening to Matthew run from toy to toy shouting, "Mom! Wow! Look at this!" They were enthralled by a store with so many wonders and we just walked around trying to take it all in. Hannah was wide awake in her car seat passing out big, beautiful smiles and cooing away. She loves to talk and my favorite times are when she looks me in the eye and I know the sounds she is making are just for me. Amazing!

Our last stop was Fort Utah Park where we met our play dates. We played at the park and flew kites and held each others babies and were happy for a long time. I loved running around the grass with my boys trying to get the kites to fly and then untangling them from the trees when they finally did. I loved watching several of the kids crowd around Hannah's car seat where all their sweetness and gentility come oozing out at the sight of a tiny baby smiling at them. I love dear, dear friends who each bring something so unique and special into my life. I love having this play group to share my children and experiences as a mother. These women and their children have enriched my life in very special ways. I never anticipated having such strong, wonderful friends at this phase in my life. I am so grateful.

I have always believed that heaven would be a different experience for each one of us based on the things that made each of individually joyful in this life. As I drove home tonight listening to the Hannah's CD from Kacy and watching each of my children drop off to sleep, I decided what I would like my little heaven to look like. I will be wearing my favorite blue skirt (it would be clean...no spit up or soda) and my favorite "Britney Spears", pre-teen, lace-around-the-ankle shoes. There will be an abundance of perfect balmy days and lots of green, soft grass. I will have kites and bubbles and swings galore. There will be an abundance of diet soda and delicious foods. Blankets and soft chairs will be scattered about and great music playing softly all the time. The best part will be my children...they will forever be mine. I will be able to tickle them, kiss them, hold them, and play with them all I want. They will never grow up and move away and not want to be picked up and squeezed. I won't ever be distracted for a moment by the things that don't really matter in eternity. My attention will be undivided. I will have each dear friend there to share these moments with and to continue learning from. I am grateful for each sweet moment where I realize heaven is not so far away...it is right here surrounding us.

Anyone Need a Wipie?

I have had some real adventures uncovering the true meaning of things in my life...

Every spring, as I watch my husband slaving away in our yard, I am taken back to a choice moment in my life when innocence was torn away and reality became a harsh teacher. I was 9 or 10 years old when one day I was searching all the drawers in my parent's bathroom for some random item. As I opened the bottom drawer, I came across a whole box of what I naively thought were "Wet Wipes". I loved Wet Wipes and eagerly grabbed a package to tear open for a little mid-afternoon hand washing. Well, I tore open the package and out fell this strange rubber like object. I picked it up and stared at it for a long, long time. It most definitely wasn't a wet wipe, not a balloon...what could this thing be? And then it hit me. I don't know what background knowledge I had regarding these type of things but somehow I just knew. Looking back on the moment, I don't know what was more horrific...that I was standing in my parent's bathroom holding a condom or realizing that my parents actually did things that required a condom. I didn't know what to do. I thought about flushing it but I was worried it would clog the toliet. If I threw it in the trash, I was scared a parental unit would find it and come confront me. So I did the only logical thing I could think of...I stuffed it in my pocket, went to the garage, found a shovel, dug a hole in the front flower bed, and buried it deep in the earth. Why I chose the front flower bed when there was a whole forest behind our house is still somewhat of a mystery to me...but I have often wondered about the people who bought the house after us and the first spring planting that they did in the front yard and what thoughts crossed their minds as they uncovered that buried condom?! Ah, the innocence of youth.

Great Date Night Entertainment

I am always on the look-out for something to really spice up the weekly date night. My husband and I had recently had a conversation about taking more opportunities to expand our cultural education beyond dollar movies and fast food dates. Maybe more plays or concerts or something...well, I was driving home the other night listening to my beloved NPR when an announcement about a new play caught my attention. After the riveting introduction, I was mentally posed to take note of the title and location. This was going to be it...our first walk on the cultural highway, our introduction into Salt Lake City's "artsy" crowd, the night that changed our lives forever. Vagina Monologues. I really don't mean to offend anyone's gentle side but that was the title of the play they were announcing on NPR. If they can use the word "vagina" on listener supported local radio, then certainly it must be acceptable vocabulary. I really thought I had heard it wrong so I turned up the volume and there it was, blasted and echoing off the walls of the mini-van. A serious snort erupted and then I giggled the rest of the way home. I couldn't wait to share my suggestion with my husband. I wanted to call every one I knew and ask them with a straight face if they wanted to go see the "Vagina Monolgues" at the Rose Wagner Theater with me. I asked Chris and his only reply was, "Are there enough lesbians in Salt Lake City to fill the whole theater?"

We were so close to a date night breakthrough. Guess it is back to the drawing board.

Filthy Rich But So, So Cheap

I am in a constant state of amazement at the contrast between what doctors make as a gross annual salary and what they chose to entertain their patients with in their waiting rooms. It seems to me that if I were asking people to come to my office and pay me a fortune and wait forever in a "waiting pen", I'd be bending over backwards to delight their every need and satisfy their every whim. I'd be so much happier about going to the gynecologist if my appointment started with a massage and appetizers in the waiting room.

I took my 3 children to the pediatrician the other day. I was excited because he had just moved to a new office with several other pediatricians. Judging from the first class exterior of the new office complex, I figured this was going to be a mini-Disneyland vacation for us. We walked into the enormous waiting room with the great big fish tank and sat down, waiting for the entertainment to start. Hmm...there was the enormous dirty salt water fish tank with 3 miniscule clown fish hiding in the artificial reef, the broken Sesame Street pop-up toy from 1974, one miniature hot pink bean bag chair, a train table without a single train piece, and the free magazines doctor's receive one copy of that sit in the waiting room forever. OK, so maybe the massage and appetizers are pushing the envelope but would a few new toys and an updated copy of People magazine be asking too much? I have always believed that good health was 50% physical and 50% mental. How much healthier would I be if I could read updated issues of current magazines and play with a few stimulating toys? Then again, if they kept me healthy, who would be paying for those huge gross annual salaries??

Mother Superior Meets Ghandi

Isn't it amazing how you can write an entire blog about something you find hilarious about someone else and completely forget that you were once guilty of the same horrific crimes you just spent a whole blog elaborating on? My family was quick to point out that Matthew's rainboots were nothing compared to my childhood wardrobe...

At the age of 7, I saw "Sound of Music" for the first time. Of all the characters in that movie for a child to relate to, my strongest connection was with Mother Superior. I spent the next week dressed in some kind of nun-like costume topped off with my mother's denim wrap skirt on my head as my "head covering". I took up residence in my father's home office and wrote very important messages on a pad of notebook paper. I'm sure I counseled weary souls and confused nuns during that week but I only have recollections of feeling very important and powerful. Forget Maria...I wanted a bunch of people to order around.

In sixth grade I remember going to see the movie Ghandi...two times. The second time was particularly memorable because my brother and I accidentally dropped a packet of M&M's from the very back row and they rattled the whole way down the slanted floor of theatre with people yelling, "Shh" and lifting their feet off the floor with a "What the...". Anyway, shortly after seeing the movie for the second time I took to wearing my mother's yellow silk pajamas around with a bright dot of red lipstick in the middle of my forehead. This wouldn't disturb me so much if I hadn't been 12 years old and didn't have distinct memories of wandering around the woods in the back of our house in this get-up. Who knows game I was playing out for myself...

The years 1980-1984 were spent in the garage dressed in my "roller-derby" outfit where I was training to be the next rollerskating champion of the world. I remember a pair of white leg warmers with pink unicorns and a torn at the neck, hanging off one shoulder gray sweatshirt with a big orange tiger and "Eye of the Tiger" in velour black lettering on the front. Choice outfit.

There were many, many years I spent in a flowy floral hippy skirt and very high stiletto heels playing school in the basement. Oddly enough, I did go on to be a teacher but never once wore stiletto heels to school. Education today just isn't what it used to be.

So here I was throwing literary stones at my 2 year old with the biggest, sharpest old beam just hanging right out of my own eye...sorry Matthew. And Mo...burn the evidence.

A Disease Known as Tortellini

I seriously have been to enough doctors in the last 2 years to qualify for some type of medical degree. My children are enlarging my medical view and I can now pronounce disorders and doctor's specialities like it is my native tongue. Except for the one I encountered today...my darling daughter has a very tilted head. She always looks to the right (her right) and has a pretty solid head tilt in the same direction. It was charming the first month, a little alarming the second month, and downright scary the third month. So after a brief consultation with her pediatrician, we showed up for physical therapy at 8:00 a.m. today. I have been trying to decide all day what my favorite moment of the whole appointment was...maybe you can help.

I actually chose this morning to wake up at 6:30 a.m. and exercise on the treadmill leaving me 2 minutes and 15 seconds to get ready for the appointment. I wore my favorite black and white leopard pattern fleece "lounge" pants, a black T-shirt from the dirty clothes, white work-out socks and brown suede loafers. I pulled my hair back into the shortest, greasiest ponytail you have ever seen and chewed gum during the 15 minute car ride to freshen my breath. Hannah wore a pair of pajamas with spit up and a big bunny on the front. I don't even know where Chris pulled those pajamas out from but I can assure you they have been put in a place where they won't "accidentally" be pulled out again. I actually fed my daughter with one hand while driving a white mini-van down I-15. She belched like a sailor when the student physical therapist finally pulled her out of her car seat. I arrived at the appointment late, smelly and flustered. As the physical therapist was handing me my clipboard straining at the "clip" with all the papers I had to fill out, he pointed out the box I was supposed to fill in with her "problem". He said, "What is she being seen for?" We both looked down at my cute baby sitting in her car seat with her head tilted at the oddest angle you have ever seen and I thought, "Is he kidding"? I was tempted to say something like "Her hair won't curl" or "Her big toenail is crooked" but I suddenly became nervous that this was some kind of warped test so I said, "Her head tilts to the right." He said, "Oh, she has..." and I swear what I heard was "Tortellini". I even looked at him and asked him to repeat the word. It still sounded just like tortellini. I had skipped breakfast and have a healthy appetite anyway but I couldn't believe that I was so lucky to have a baby with such a delicious disorder! By the end of the appointment all they had to do was mention the disorder and I would salivate. In one short physical therapy appointment, I had become a big, fat Pavlov dog. Just writing about it is making me crave pasta...

So my baby was taken into a room where they poked and prodded and twisted her head in directions I didn't know a human head could turn and all I could think about was how soon "Octtavio's" italian restaurant would open and what happens to a body when it is fed rich pasta first thing in the morning. Hannah was hypnotized 30 seconds into the appointment by the purple mardi gras beads they were dangling in front of her. I saw her move her head in directions I have never been able to coax her into and her eyes danced with joy. Forget all this Fisher Price crap...Hannah and I are saving our money for Mardi Gras in New Orleans next year.

Well, the good news is that she doesn't need a helmet yet. We have 3 months to cure the flat spot on the back of her head before we have to fork out $1300.00 for a plastic helmet that most insurance companies won't cover because it isn't for "health" reasons but "cosmetic" purposes. Hannah and I have to do her exercises every day, 3 times a day and I'm excited to shower for our next appointment. Despite all the hilarious moments today, I followed the cutest 3 year old boy and his mom out of the office and watched as they walked to their car. His legs were severely crooked but you've never seen anyone move so fast. I honestly felt grateful for the huge moments that happen in the tiniest of events. I felt grateful that my beautiful daughter isn't suffering from anything more serious than a tilted neck and flat head and that I had all these people who could look beyond animal print fleece and spit up stained bunny pajamas to help my daughter have a normal, healthy life. I headed home happy, content, and ready to kill for a bowl of tortellini!

Capes, Rain Boots and Other Fashion Disasters

I have a son who has no respect for the simple rules of fashion. While I have always prided myself on being an open-minded individual with a willingness to accept new ideas and embrace all people regardless of race, culture, etc, I have proven a failure when it comes to accepting and embracing what my child chooses to wear each day. My 3-year old will often ask, "Mom, does this match?" but I swear if my 2-year old catches wind that what he has chosen to wear somehow follows any norm of pattern or color, he will go change. He will not let me near his clothes drawers. Any suggestions from me are gruffly thrown to the dogs with a simple but stern, "No mom! I can do it." While I really do applaud that this child has learned to dress himself, I am finding it hard to simply let him wear whatever he wants. Let me explain myself...

Regardless of whatever clothing he may choose for the day, the outfit always begins with a pair of Santa Christmas socks and a pair of blue rubber rain boots. These boots have been worn with leisure outfits, Sunday clothes, and even pajamas. No outfit is too sacred not to be worn with "the boots". I have tried to insist that he not wear them to bed but there have been many nights when I have gone in late to check on him and found those boots snuggled deep under his blanket. They are most irritating when they kick my back repeatedly or stomp on my body as he crosses over me in MY bed to get to his favorite spot curled up next to dad. Ah, those cursed boots.

He also loves his pair of red sweat pants with the blue stripe down the leg and the "horse" shirt that is now too small for him. I shake my fists at the heavens every time he pulls on the plaids with the stripes or the Halloween monster shirt with the Christmas pajama bottoms. Many a mother or well-meaning person has counseled me to just let it go and focus on celebrating his independence. I've tried...it doesn't work. I just can't celebrate reds and purples in the same outfit. Call me shallow, call me ignorant of the greater purposes in life, call me what you will but tell me how many people who wore rain boots and horse shirts have made it through life without serious psychological scars?! I have started carrying a matching outfit piece with me wherever we go in hopes of having an "accident" with either a top or bottom that will allow me to put the matching garment on him and have peace with his outfit. For those of you that know me, I'm not winning any awards with my fashion statements. Carrie Ann tries to keep me in line when I've gone too many days in outfits made entirely out of fleece or "leisure suits" that need a washing (I'm terrible with pantyhose and purse etiquette too) but at least my leisure fleece suits MATCH! Tonight he wore his dinosaur pajama top and doggy pajama bottoms to bed. I am absolutely certain that if I were to check on him right now he would also be wearing Santa socks and rubber rain boots. And I haven't even mentioned the Superman cape and broken knight's helmet...

Despite the torment I feel inside every time I see him in the red plaid Sunday shirt with the blue plaid summer shorts, he is still a constant source of wonder and joy. The other morning I found him watching the garbage truck out the big front window in black Sunday socks pulled to his knees, the rubber rain boots and his pajama dog top. His eyes were dancing with joy, his hair was glistening in the morning sunlight streaming through the window, and his darling white dimpled diaperless butt put a smile on my face and a memory in my head that won't soon be forgotten. I'll try to remember that there may come a day when he comes to visit me in his dapper matching Gap outfit and I'll mourn the loss of his youthful fashion ignorance.

Meanwhile, I have high hopes that Carrie Ann's blog on shoe etiquette will be a turning point in losing the rain boots for him.

The Quiz

I was given a challenge to take this quiz and I think I'm sleep deprived enough tonight to try it. I've decided that being sleep-deprived is a little like being drunk (although I wouldn't know about the drinking thing personally. I just watch a lot of drunk people on movies.) When you are sleep-deprived you see double, everything is either hysterically funny or tragically sad, and you do things that you wonder about the next day. Anyway, here we go..

3 names you go by:
1. Hey you!
2. MOOOOOOOM! (shouted by a 3 year old from a bathroom who needs his little butt wiped and you have been ignoring for the last 10 minutes)
3.Amy Lou


3 screen names you have:
1. oscarfish
2. moder34
3. aloc
(Did I just do one of those stupid things that you aren't supposed to do on the internet? Like give away all my personal information so now everyone has access to my life instead of just some people?)


3 things you like about yourself:
1. I am a spelling bee. (I can truly spell just about any word)
2. I am a homing pigeon. (I don't get lost very often. If you take me someplace once I can usually make it back there.)
3. I am a girl of simple pleasures (like 30 minutes alone at Wal-Mart or being able to go to the bathroom alone without kids)


3 things you hate/dislike about yourself:
1. My furry, thick eyebrows
2. The fact that I'm not a REAL blond (it still shocks me when I have to go get my hair highlighted every few weeks. My inner spirit is really a blond.)
3. My two bicuspids that look like razor sharp fangs.


3 parts of your heritage:
1. Swedish (explains my passion for all things red meat and potatoes)
2. British (explains my passion for fried foods)
3. African American (why I have a black Cabbage Patch doll and drag my young children to candlelight vigils in winter)


3 things that scare you:
1. mullets
2. Darth Vader's breathing
3. The family vacation my family took to Hell when I must have been about 17 that I seem to have repressed from my memory. (I need to ask Carrie or Sarah about that! I'm certain I contributed somehow...)


3 of your everyday essentials:
1. my 3 kids & darling husband
2. Great Value brand REAL chocolate chocolate chips
3. a really good book to read


3 things you're wearing right now:
1. an old red T-shirt from Eddie Bauer
2. Christmas pajama bottoms with a safety pin at the waist because I bought them when I was pregnant
3. a tortoise shell colored hair clip


3 of your favorite bands/artists (today):
1. 80's Whitney Houston
2. Norah Jones (Real favorite! I think she is amazing!)
3. The Cure (I have just rediscovered their power in my life! A true guilty pleasure!)


3 of your favorite songs at present:
1. "Be Happy" (Judy Garland version)
2. "Survivor" (Destiny's Child)
3. Some song by Josh Groban that is dramatic and passionate and romantic but in Italian so I can't understand a word of it or remember the title.


3 new things you want to try in the next 12 months:
1. a size 10
2. sleeping through the night
3. writing a children's book


3 things you want in a relationship (love is a given):
1. great sex
2. great conversation
3. free babysitting


2 truths and a lie:
1. I was on the Leeza Gibbon’s Show
2. I have a sister who has a nephew with 11 toes
3. I am a size 10


3 physical things about a love interest that appeal:
1. Happy eyes
2. Nice, firm, squeezable butt
3. Good breath


3 things you just can't do:
1. stop eating
2. get to bed before 1:30 a.m.
3. breastfeed


3 of your favorite hobbies:
1. reading, reading, reading (which I usually have 5 minutes of before I fall into a deep sleep)
2. teaching/storytelling (I really love teaching. Really, really.)
3. Going on any kind of adventure


3 things you want to do really badly right now:
1. sleep forever
2. Go kiss my baby's big, round, yummy cheeks
3. Eat a Hawaiin blizzard


3 careers you're considering:
1. Belly Dancing
2. Working at Old Navy
3. Teaching at BYU


3 places you want to go on vacation:
1. Nantucket Island
2. Venice, Italy
3. Iceland


3 kids names (either boy or girl):
1. Claire (I just discovered yesterday how much I really like that name! Who knew!)
2. I hate to say it but I love the name of the baby spice on Blue's Clues....PAPRIKA or CINNAMON
3. Spencer or Andrew


3 things you want to do before you die:
1. sleep a lot
2. learn how to wear make-up and do my hair
3. wear tight leather pants, tube top, and red spiky heels while lip synching to Abba's "Dancing Queen"


3 People who should take this quiz right now:
1. Suzie Petunia
2. ADD Typist
3. Mo

Happy Human Rights Day!

In order to appreciate what I am about to say you have to understand that I am descended from solid Scandinavian stock. My maiden name is Scandinavian, my physical features are Scandinavian, I served a mission in Scandinavia, I lived there as a child…do you get it? (By the way, at the risk of being condescending and insulting, we all know that Scandinavia isn’t an actual country but a reference to a particular geographic area, right? Just checking. I had a boyfriend when I left on my mission that wrote me 6 weeks into my mission to say he was a little confused as to which country I was really going to Scandinavia or Denmark? And if I was going to Scandinavia then he was really confused because he couldn’t find that on a map! Is that too telling about some of the people I’ve dated?) Anyway, despite what you would think would be a deeply ingrained heritage, I grew up wanting to be black. Seriously. I use to wonder if there was a black girl somewhere who really wanted to be white and if some tragic mistake had been made in our mortal assignments. I love the color of brown skin, want to be able to braid my hair in a million braids and not look comically stupid (sometime I’ll blog about the year I tried to braid my hair for girl’s camp), have a deep passion for all music R&B or gospel, sometimes want to shout "Amen" during people’s testimonies on fast Sunday, and love studying black history. So given this background, I felt it was really important to get out of the house and give my children a real "multicultural experience" on Martin Luther King Day. Given the location I live in, finding an appropriate outlet for this need to express was not easy. I opted for the candlelight march on BYU campus and enlisted the aid of my sister since I may be slow but not entirely stupid to think that I could pull this off alone with 3 children.
We arrived at our destination with a double stroller carrying 2 rowdy boys, a Snuggli with my 7 week old newborn, a pink, fluffy diaper bag (I may be a mom but I don’t have to carry plastic Winnie-the-Pooh diaper bags…no offense to anyone who does) and a somewhat dampened enthusiasm since it was cold and we had just carried a double stroller up a lot of stairs. There was a large crowd gathering at the bell tower…the most un-multicultural looking group of people I have ever laid eyes on. Each of us were handed a used candle with a BYU catering services plastic cup around the middle and terror struck my heart when I realized they were actually lighting these candles in this tightly packed group of hair-sprayed, coifed co-eds. My sons pleaded to have their candles lit (they are 3 and 2 years old) and Carrie and struggled to join the march back down the million stairs without setting anyone or anything on fire. My favorite moment was when the group started the march and began singing LDS church hymns. I couldn’t join in. First I felt too stupid and then I couldn’t stop laughing. I just kept hoping that either Martin Luther King, Jr. could appreciate the good if not slightly misdirected intention in all this or that he had chosen to attend another memorial service that night. I laughed the whole way to the Wilkinson Center where we attended a meeting that was really quite good although the Black Student Choir that sang actually had more white students in it than black. I’m not sure what my 3 darling, rambunctious children took away from the whole experience but I was grateful we were there. I realized it wasn’t about having "multicultural" experiences as much as it is having really "human" experiences. I hope my children will spend their lives seeking out people and experiences that challenge them, enrich them, and uplift them. I hope they are never afraid to carry lighted candles in a march or laugh at all the silly moments life hands us. I hope celebrating Martin Luther King Day will always be important to them and that they will remember the crazy although well-intended experiences their mom tried to give them.
Anyone know a good place to celebrate President’s Day??