Looking from a window above

Thoughts before bed...

2012-02-12T19:50:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Google Cloud, I can see the world through Eric's eyes while he's away. Pictures pop up in iphoto and I have to stare at them for a few moments to connect the image with where I know he's been. I think this is a view of an N.Y.C. street from the Highline.

Right now he's on a plane back to the West Coast. At first I thought I had the hard job, staying home with the kids while he ate steak for dinner every night. Then we tagged along on a trip and I realized I would never want to trade places. Can you imagine selling yourself and your work for an entire day, from the time you wake up in the morning until you go to bed at night? Then doing it again, and again, and again? Also- he's gained ten pounds.

The kids and I were late to church this morning so we had to sit in the foyer until the sacrament was over. I wanted to shout with joy when a woman in an electric wheelchair approached the front door and Eric popped up of his own accord to open it for her! Out of the corner of my eye I caught Brigham staring intently at her as she buzzed passed. I couldn't resist asking him, "You're thinking how great it would be to have one of those motorized chairs to ride around in aren't you?" He smiled and admitted that he was.

After dinner we had a family meeting, during which it was mentioned that Brigham needs to work on flushing the toilet more regularly. We planned playdates this week and made snickerdoodles to have for after-school snacks. Then we talked about the possibility of making homemade lunchables to take to school. We hit an impasse over the cheese- Brigham is anti-unmelted-cheddar, and Eric is anti-provolone. I might try making my own little pizza crusts for the pizza version. They both like mozzarella.

For some reason, my heart is so full tonight. My sweet children and my dear friends here, our wonderful, crazy ward, this beautiful city, and a bright, wide future- all of it seems like too much. But I'm too tired to analyze it, so I guess I'll just leave it at that and say goodnight.

A Day

2012-02-01T18:41:00.000-08:00

I woke up.
I expressed my desire to sleep 10 hours a night for a solid month.
We went to the vital records office to finally get Eleanor Kathryn a birth certificate.
We drove Eric to work.
Marley asked me why he has to go to work and I said so he can get money for us, and she said ooooooohhhh....so he can get monkeys for us?
I finished a book.
We went for a run.
I noticed a stethoscope in our front yard.
We ate lunch.
Marley ate a second lunch (growth spurt).
Ellie took a nap.
I vacuumed all the bedrooms that didn't contain sleeping babies.
Marley decided she needed to play her princess piano and woke Ellie up.
I hurried and took a shower while Ellie was still happy in her crib.
The boys came home.
I accidentally made my neighbor cry.
I called Cindy and unloaded some thoughts about moving.
I picked Eric up at the train station.
We ate actual meat and potatoes for dinner.
The boys went to cub scouts/webelos.
I accidentally made my friend's baby cry and she didn't stop for an hour.
Everyone under 18 gradually fell asleep.
I ate three nutter-butters and a bowl of icecream (growth spurt).
We looked at pre-fab houses online.
I abandoned my desire to sleep for 10 hours in favor of blogging.

Travels

2012-01-29T11:53:00.000-08:00

This month has found some combination of our family crisscrossing the country over and over again. The kids and I are done with our travels, but Eric's continue this week with trips to NYC, Seattle, Sao Paolo and Newport Beach. The job search is on!

I had to check out this place for myself- just doing my due diligence, you know.

Maybe in a few more weeks we'll know where our new home will soon be. In the meantime, the knowledge that I can hop on a plane with all four of my kids, by myself, and with only one day's notice has changed my life....not that I'm ever going to do it again....but it's nice to know I can:).

Good things

2012-01-10T18:32:00.000-08:00

This morning I was talking with Lindsay about the strange peace I've felt for the past few months. I was saying how amazing it's been that I've been able to love this life we're living in Atlanta, even as a possible move lurks around the corner. I wondered what had caused this unexpected bout of emotional health in a situation where I would normally be falling apart. I don't like leaving people or places, and I don't like new and different, and yet here I am, starting down both with a smile on my face, without having made any deliberate effort to do so.

Tonight I was feeding Eleanor and it hit me. It's her. Having a child is like meeting a part of yourself you never consciously knew was there. Each of my children has introduced me to myself in some new way. And Ellie's greatest gift (in my opinion, at least), her contentedness, has taught me by example.

If I could sum up Eleanor's life philosophy it would be this: Trust the universe. Someone will feed you and clean you up, eventually. Someone will give you hugs and kisses. Interesting things will cross your field of vision if you just stay still and wait for them. Your eyes will adjust to the darkness. You will finally wiggle your way over to that plastic dinosaur. You will learn to like yogurt. It will be okay- all of it.

She is extraordinarily happy, this child. It's a mystery to me, especially after her fireball of a sister (in whom I see much of myself). She's changed me- she's changed all of us. We smile more because of her. We take more deep breaths.

We know that good things are coming our way.

Resolved: Enjoy life

2012-01-04T19:31:00.000-08:00

Eric and Brigham, eating the good stuff, with S and K from across the street.

On New Year's Eve I was not a very good wife. Eric got sick and begged off going with me to a neighborhood party I'd been looking forward to. He looked bad- I could tell he felt awful, and yet I flounced out of the house without so much as a backward glance when I learned he planned to spend the evening in bed (I did apologize for this later....kind of....sorry sweetie:)).

When we reached the party house, the kids were ushered down to the basement where a sitter and a wide array of crafts, food and movies awaited them. Upstairs there was music, shrimp cocktail and fascinating conversation on every side. I met an entire family who'd just moved to the neighborhood from Bhutan. And a woman who'd just returned from a medical mission to Kenya. And an Indian man who, when I told him I had four children, handed his wine glass to the person next to him and bowed before me. It was kind of an awesome night.

When I got home, all I could think about was how completely relaxed I'd felt. No children underfoot, talking with old friends, making new ones, learning new things (like that there's a country called Bhutan!?), eating shrimp, being a grownup.

Last night, after Eric had belly-flopped on the bed next to me, I rattled off my New Year's resolutions. I mentioned a resolution to enjoy life more. He said, "yeah, like the other night when Eric was at a friend's house and we spent an hour playing legos with Brigham?". There was a long pause, then "uh.......no.......not like that." Because I love Brigham, but I'd kind of rather poke myself in the eye than play legos. Playing legos falls into the category of things I feel guilty about not liking to do. Just being honest.

What I meant by enjoying life was figuring out things that make me feel happy and relaxed and energized and doing them more often. Even if it seems selfish. Like going to parties (having a party?), or walking the dog for two hours on a Sunday afternoon, or talking to a friend on the phone while swinging in the hammock. Crazily, when I make time to do those things, I'm a much better mother and wife, so it's not so selfish after all. I might even have it in me to play legos for a little while:).

It's not that I don't do these things. It's just that I do them approximately. I unload the dishwasher and fold laundry while I'm talking to that friend, or I take the kids along to the party and on the walk. Which is fine- sometimes, but sometimes it's like eating fat-free ice cream. Better to go for the good stuff, even if it means having it less often.

I don't know- we'll see how it goes....

A-town Christmas

2012-01-01T09:50:00.000-08:00

Christmas was a whirlwind. Filled with get-togethers at church, in the neighborhood and at school, incoming and out-going treats, present-making and mailing, phone calls to family in far-flung places, singing, car- buying, colds all around and a lovely visit from family to top it all off.

A family in our neighborhood had a life-sized Santa statue on their front porch, and while driving past one day Marley asked me, "Mama, what's that monkey over there?" She didn't quite get the whole Santa thing, which, quite honestly, is fine with me. But it was still cute to see her and Eleanor sit on Santa's lap at the ward Christmas party.

I spent a LOT of time driving Eric Jr. to and from his rehearsals and performances with the Atlanta Boy Choir. This is his second year in the choir, but both the music and the time commitment have grown more serious this year, as he's graduated from the training choir to Choir I (which is a step below the touring choir- who are going to Russia this summer!). During the holiday season they sang in five languages at the State Capital (below), a Monastery, a Basilica, and a Cathedral.

As for me, I'm pretty sure I've earned a reputation as a totally inadequate "choir mom", after incidents including a forgotten robe, a broken-down car (right smack in front of the Capital building), an unintended detour resulting in a late arrival, wrong-colored shoes, a hysterical phone call when I couldn't find the pick-up spot, and a car often bursting with children, usually including one or two tag-alongs from the neighborhood.

Poor Eric- I tell myself it builds character. We were so pleased to see that his confidence was even strong enough to sing a duet with his father in church on Christmas morning. They sang the first verse of Silent Night in the original German (because the Boy Choir had sung it in German, and Eric didn't know the words in English). It was beautiful and so amazing to watch him do something I would never in a million years have been brave enough to do.

Christmas Eve was chaotic and exhausting, and I was once again SO grateful for our tradition, inherited for Eric's family, of the annual fondue dinner It's special, delicious, all my children eat it, I get lots of cheesy kisses, and it takes 10 minutes to make. If only it were less expensive.....

I was so happy with how our Christmas Day unfolded (so happy that I apparently didn't take any pictures). Last year I regretted giving in, as always, to the impulse to buy my children's happiness with lots of presents that ended up being quickly forgotten in a sea of wrapping paper and over-abundance. This year we implemented the 3 gift rule: each child's Santa presents were limited to something to wear, something to read and something to play with. When added to the gifts from extended family and friends, I think we hit the sweet spot between not-enough and too much.

One thing I did regret was not having time to make the kids something more special from me- the past two years I did bathrobes and money banks, but this year all I managed was to print out some quotes I thought they would like and stick them in frames we already had. I've noticed that the bathrobes and money banks are treasured possessions that have long outlasted Legos and Star Wars figures, so I'll have to start earlier on my homemade gifts next year.

The best part of our Christmas was a visit from Eric's sister, Erica (I know:-) ) and her family. We had several days of lazy mornings at home in PJ's, followed by afternoon adventures in the city and cozy dinners at home. My favorite stop was the Martin Luther King Center in the Sweet Auburn neighborhood of Atlanta, where Dr. King grew up. We missed out on the tour of his birth home (yay home birth!!) due to the crowds, but we did get to learn all about his life in the museum, and then visit the historic church where he was pastor. It was truly inspiring, and made me proud to be a resident of the city where he was born and grew up.

We also spent an afternoon at the Atlanta Fed (no pictures allowed), watching though a giant window as robots carried cash around the vault and learning about our country's banking system. My favorite part was chatting up the guards (who actually aren't guards at all, but law-enforcement agents for the Federal Reserve Police force). Despite the massive rifles at their sides, they're the nicest policemen I've ever met- I even learned that bank employees can sometimes score a tour of the cash vault itself- one more reason to come visit us here!

We also took in a basketball game at Emory one night. Free admission...court side seats...free popcorn....I love my Blue Devils, but as far as a family activity is concerned, this beat out Cameron Indoor Stadium in my book. Eric Jr. got to see his coach from basketball camp score a few points and even talk to him after the game.

My cousin is one of the dearest people on earth to me, so the sight of my children enjoying their time with their wonderful, sweet, fun cousins warmed my heart. We're already plotting our summer fun in case this time of living on the same coast is brief.

So that was our Christmas. Now it's time to turn our thoughts forward to a new year. If 2011's exit is any indication, 2012's entrance is bound to be sweet.

Dr. Aldrich

2011-12-08T11:23:00.001-08:00

Fall in the City in a Forest

2011-12-04T15:30:00.001-08:00

Fall in Atlanta is stunning.

There's a tree on our running route that turns the most incredible color of yellow in the fall. Weeks ago, as we passed under it, I pointed up and told Marley, "There's my favorite tree!" She said "Oh". Then, "Who gave that to you Mama?" That's her thing these days- always wanting to know who gave her what. "Who gave me these shoes? Who gave me my pink bear? Who gave me my bicycle?" I laughed at her asking who gave me a tree, but then I said, "Heavenly Father did."

The air turned balmy at the beginning of November. For days the girls and I explored the Olmstead park on our way home from our daily runs. When the boys came home we wandered the woods behind their school and the nearby Fernbank Forest. One day, on the way to the grocery store with all four of my kids and two of my neighbor's, I made a u-turn in the middle of the street and pulled over at a playground. The kids ran and jumped and screamed at the top of their lungs in the indian summer evening.

Was all of this here last year? Between the homesickness and the morning sickness I hadn't noticed the beauty of an Atlanta fall. I'd missed the damp gray of the old mansions of Druid Hills against the warm fire of fall leaves. The smell of wet tree trunks and the laughter of my children playing late into the afternoon.

My old friend, an uncertain future, has been my constant companion this fall. When the days first started turning cooler, applications were going out, visions of new homes in new cities were filling our heads, and my anxiety level was high. But as the leaves turned, my heart turned to a brilliant present. As I spent every extra moment outdoors with my kids, I felt God's love surrounding me in this place I was so sure I could never call home. It felt like a gift from a Father who knows me well enough to know that I would need extra support in this time of flux and change.

As I sat in testimony meeting this morning a thought formed in my heart, as clear as the blue Georgia sky. The gospel is my home. The savior is my home. Wherever we go, he'll be there.

Boo

2011-10-29T12:16:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, in a de-cluttering frenzy, I cleverly decided to store all the boys' outgrown Halloween costumes in a garbage bag in the garage. One state and two houses later- it's gone. Fortunately Brigham hadn't outgrown our family Halloween heirloom- the Chewbacca costume. Made by my mother-in-law, Eric wore it as a child, followed by his two sons, and now, as you can see, one daughter.

Some might go for a more feminine theme- a Disney princess, a ballerina, even a witch. But this girl was more than happy to rock brown fur. She even attempted a little Chewbacca roar.

Are you dying?

Here's a picture of Eric Sr. as Chewbacca all those years ago...

Happy Halloween.

Today

2011-09-19T18:37:00.000-07:00

It was a day without a Dad, like a lot of these home-stretch-of-the-PhD days. Afternoon loomed, evening lurked, bedtime menaced. I had extra kids in the mix because my dear neighbor is sick. So I called Mary- she and I bonded over mastitis at church one Sunday- and we went to the park.

We laid the babies on blankets in the grass and talked and talked while our kids ran wild. Our conversation covered the state of Oklahoma, a documentary about sheep, and sloppy joe's. When Marley started rummaging around in my bag looking for crackers, I pulled out my Jimmy John's menu. Fifteen minutes later a sweaty man on a bicycle handed me a box filled with sandwiches and bags of chips.

The kids devoured their sandwiches and begged for sips from my water bottle. I made them go to the drinking fountain. It was too nice a day for floaties in my water. When they asked, do we have to go home soon? I answered, No. We're staying here until bedtime. And they all cheered.

At seven we picked up the blankets, babies and bottles, and herded our dirty, exhausted children to the parking lot. Anticipating a rocky bedtime, I stopped at Wendy's for five orders of compliance in a paper cup. Otherwise known as frosties. By 8:30 I had a silent house.

Lots of days I feel like a mess of a mother. Today? Nailed it.

Days when the rains came

2011-09-05T18:45:00.000-07:00

(Photo by Lindsay)

Today we had rain for the first time in weeks. Sometime in the late afternoon, the kids and I all migrated across the street to our neighbors' house for dinner. They mentioned the tornado sirens. Tornado sirens? I've never lived in a place that had sirens for anything- how exciting! Later, as I walked home to get some napkins, I heard them for myself, and couldn't suppress a huge smile. Tornado sirens! (No one seemed worried, and our neighbors are from Oklahoma, so I figure they know when to be scared.)

Back at home, in the middle of father-less bedtime chaos, the phone rang. My cousin Laura was on the line with her parents, the three of them driving back to L.A. from a weekend at Joshua Tree national park. I told them my exciting news of the tornado sirens and my Aunt asked if I had gotten naked and locked myself in my closet. That's when I decided I had to tell the story of the great tornado of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina....

---------------

It was late summer, and my cousin and I were just finishing up a several-week stint with our grandparents at their beach house in the Outer Banks. We were probably eight and ten.

It was late afternoon, and we had on our matching sparkly black bikinis from Belk's. We floated on our backs in the ocean and pretended not to hear Grandmom's calls for us to come on in, it was time to go home for supper. Realizing we were hungry, we eventually made our way to shore, just as a woman walked past, relaying news of a tornado watch in effect.

Laura and I looked up at the sky and saw black clouds moving in. Panic took over in our little-girl minds and we forsook our towels, flip-flops, even our beloved grandmother, and sprinted for the beach house. Grandmom ran behind, shouting "Girls! Girls! At least put your shoes on!", but we paid her no heed, now fully caught up in our imagined drama.

Back at the house I, being the older, wiser cousin, divined that it would be safest to head for an upstairs closet (not sure what my logic was there). We locked ourselves in and commenced crying and carrying on. At some point, Grandmom knocked on the closet door and insisted that we take off our wet bathing suits or we would catch cold. We obliged, opening the door a crack, tossing them out and quickly slamming it shut again. Now we were soaking wet, naked and carrying on in a dark closet.

About this time it occurred to us that we couldn't account for our grandfather's whereabouts. We heard the water turn on, and were able to infer that he was stubbornly taking an outdoor shower in the middle of a life-threatening clamity. This allowed us to work ourselves into an even greater frenzy, complete with wails of, "Grandaddy, please, COME INSIDE!!! YOU'RE GOING TO DIE IN THE TORNADO!!!"

"GRANDMOM, GO AND GET HIM! HE'S GOING TO DIE! TELL HIM TO COME IN THE CLOSET WITH US!!!"

"WE WANT OUR MOTHERS!"

And so on.

Eventually we got bored in the closet. The rain stopped, and we came out and put on dry clothes. We had many more happy summers at the beach with our grandparents before they sold the house my sophomore year in college. I haven't been to the Outer Banks since. But thinking back to this afternoon's sirens, there's still a bit of that little girl in me, who loves to drama of a good storm.

Fortunately I now keep my clothes on:).

Tired

2011-09-04T12:55:00.001-07:00

I'm tired. Not I-didn't-sleep-well-last-night-tired. Or I'm-getting-over-a-cold tired. Or we-just-got-home-from-a-trip tired. Or even waking-up-in-the-night-with-the-baby-good-thing-she's-so-cute tired. In fact the baby, bless her sweet heart, has been sleeping through the night for over a month now.

This is more like a chronic, life-is-moving-really-fast-and-I'm-stumbling-behind-trying-my-best-to-keep-up tired. I won't bore you with the list of things on my plate- I'm sure they're familiar to you. And I'm sure things will settle down and/or my capacity to handle them will increase. But sometimes I wish I had my own giant purple Bumbo that I could climb into and just zonk out. Must be nice.

Going for a joggle

2011-08-30T10:04:00.000-07:00

Before school started, we spent one last weekend on Isle of Palms. My mom is leaving the country in a few weeks, so this was our last chance to see her without having to cross an ocean. My brother, Adam, flew out from California and my grandmother came down from Baltimore.

We slept, played on the beach and talked until late. We celebrated upcoming birthdays and arm-wrestled. Adam, Eric and I (still sometimes referred to as "the children") watched Don't Tell Mom, the Babysitter's Dead. We visited the Piggly Wiggly (always a favorite) and gave in to the boys' pleas to drive the golf cart. We even met a talking bird down the street. (I was walking along and heard a squawky "HELLO!" from the front porch!)

Sunday morning found us at my mom's church downtown before driving west on I-20 back to Atlanta. That's a joggling board that the kids are sitting on...

There is something magical about the Lowcountry. We'll miss it this year while my mom has her Turkish adventure...

The warned us about the crowds...

2011-07-27T18:04:00.000-07:00

...so we took up our positions in the air conditioned comfort of Eric's office. It was a pretty good place from which to watch the fastest member of our family participate in one of Atlanta's most celebrated traditions: the Peachtree road race. It's the largest 10K in the world!

Here's the star of the day- posing for a pre-race picture in front of a bunch of his maniacal scribblings on the whiteboard....

He preferred to hang out with the faster runners and avoid the beer-guzzling, cartwheel-turning, body-paint sporting back of the pack, which meant got up reaaaaaally early. Look at those puffy eyes....

Brigham and Marley stayed home with a good friend (good enough to come over at 5:45 A.M.- that's good!). Eric Jr. and I passed the time taking pictures and going from window to window, trying to spot Ryan Hall and the other super-stars runners leading the pack. Oh, and Eric, of course! Sadly, we were too high up to be able to pick him out of the sea of bodies....I suggested that next year he do something conspicuous, like paint himself gold.

Here they are approaching the turn to the finish line....

Good race, good fun!

Numbering the days

2011-07-13T12:21:00.000-07:00

I was racing against the mercury this morning, rushing through my routine in an attempt to squeeze in a run before it got too hot for the girls to be outside. I paused to send a quick email to my mom about our plans to visit next week. When I looked up, Marley was buckling her baby doll into the swing-o-matic.

What is it about a newborn that makes you want to stop time? As Eric blessed Ellie on Sunday, I opened my eyes in surprise at the word woman. It was a reminder that my days of holding her limp, sleeping body against my chest are numbered.

But Marley, her baby doll, and my email reminded me of something: that when all of this is over- when I've read No, David for the last time, and had the last underwater tea party, and pushed my heavy-laden jogging stroller up the last hill....when the last lego has been stepped on, the last scout badge earned, and the last Halloween costume made...when the last prom dress has been altered, and the last college essay proofread....when all of that is behind me....

There will be grandchildren.

Scenes from the Northwest

2011-07-06T19:04:00.001-07:00

Lessons from the quiet

2011-06-22T22:45:00.000-07:00

Before I got pregnant with Eleanor, Eric and I had planned a trip to the Northwest. Neither of us had been back in the six years since we'd left for North Carolina, and it had been two years since we'd seen Eric's parents. Plus, it was Eric's fifteenth high school reunion. (Who goes to their fifteenth high school reunion? I could care less about mine, to be honest. But apparently when you go to a crunchy granola school in Portland with 40 kids in your class, you care. And apparently Eric was one of three who didn't show up at the tenth, so he needed to redeem himself.)

Soon after we planned the trip, I found out that June 2011 would not be a good month for me to fly across the country, as I would have a new tiny friend in tow. (Actually, let me be honest: my tiny friend would have been fine. I'm a terrible sport about traveling in the best of circumstances, and with all that post-partum sweating and hair loss going on? I didn't even want to think about it.) I also didn't want to think about being left home alone with a toddler and a baby, so I told Eric that if he still wanted to go, he had to take the boys and Marley with him. He agreed, and that's the story of how Eleanor and I found ourselves alone together for the past seven days.

I took naps everyday. I cleaned the house and it miraculously stayed clean. I had dinner with friends, ran errands, wrote thank-you notes, watched The Food Revolution and folded laundry. I remembered to take the trash out to the curb. I threw away old toys. I kept the house at 80 degrees. I took up the entire bed. I snuggled my baby. It was kind of amazing.

Except at night, when I would call to get the day's report from Oregon and remember the chubby cheeks I wasn't kissing, and the crazy comments I wasn't laughing at, and the little backs I wasn't scratching. That's when I would remember that those things are my real life, and this is just a brief vacation- a chance to catch my breath and gather my strength for a summer full of noise, mess and fun.

Still though- I've learned some things in the quiet moments of the past week:

1. No matter how many kids you have, they all need periodic time alone with you. And YOU need it! This time with Ellie has been incredible. I really, really need to do this with all my kids.

2. What I do each day is hard. Wow is it easy to keep a house clean with one immobile child. And to keep everyone fed when one of us takes all her meals in powdered form. And to run errands with no hands to hold as I cross the parking lot. The absence of children has helped me appreciate the very real burden that each one is. I need to remember that and give myself credit for invisible work I do each day.

3. I need breaks. I'm not holding my breath for another week-long hiatus like the one I've just had, but I think I've just figured out the solution to the fact that everyone in my family likes camping except me.

4. I love my family. Without them, my life is quiet, calm, and kind of empty. Real happiness comes from the bonds that form through service and sacrifice......and folding laundry.

Their flight lands in an hour. The floors are clean, the beds are made, the fridge is stocked, and every article of clothing has been folded and put away. I give it until ten tomorrow morning before every bit of it is undone.

And for once, I'll be glad:).

I remember...

2011-06-19T19:12:00.000-07:00

...your earliest days as a father. Racing home on your bike in between classes, you would take your infant son from me. Breathing hard from your ride, your cheeks red from the cold, you would plead "open your eyes...open you eyes...".

Can you believe that newborn is nine years old now? And that you stare into the eyes of a different newborn?

Thank you for nine years of holding, feeding, singing, playing, protecting, teaching and giving your whole heart to these four children of ours.

Eleanor's birth

2011-05-29T12:30:00.000-07:00

Eleanor was born at home. I guess the pictures of her on my bed, only hours old kind of gave it away. It was a very personal decision for us, and one that we didn't share with many people before her birth. We researched and read, then pondered, prayed and searched our souls to find that a home birth was the right thing for this baby and this mother. Uncharacteristically, once our decision was made, I never had a moment's doubt that everything would be great, and it was....

On Sunday, May 15th, Brigham was baptized (and I'll write that story soon!). We'd had an incredibly busy weekend, to end an already packed month. Little Eric ran a local kids 3K on Saturday morning, beating the little girl across the street by a hair's breadth, to his very great relief. Then we headed to the bowling alley for Brigham's birthday party- cake and icecream getting ground into someone else's carpet- worth every penny. In the evening we put on our best and sent Marley across the street so we could attend the Atlanta Boy Choir's spring concert, featuring (he was the main feature to us, at least:) little Eric. So after the baptism on Sunday night, I said to several people, "Phew! Now I'm ready to have this baby."

Sure enough, soon after going to bed Sunday night contractions began dragging me from sleep. About 2 A.M. sleep ceded the battle and I got up to check email and let it sink in that our baby was finally on his or her way. At 3:30 I woke Eric up and we passed the wee hours of the morning tidying up the house, doing laundry and making lunches for the boys. At 6:00 I called Claudia, our midwife and told her I was in labor. She must have thought I was a little too calm, because she said she'd call me back after her shower and coffee. I was worried about traffic, and on that second call I was a little more firm, telling her, "I really think you should come".

She got on her way while Eric woke the boys up for school, telling them they would have a new sibling by the end of the day. They came into the living room, sleepy-eyed and bewildered. I'm not sure what they were expecting, but they seemed relieved to see a normal-looking me lying on the couch, smiling. Claudia arrived just as they walked out the door to school.

I moved to my bed while she set up shop and Eric got Marley up and ready to go next door. He lifted her on to the bed and she gave me a gentle hug and kiss. Claudia checked me and I was dilated to 5 cm, which disappointed me, because I felt like I'd moved past that point. But I reminded myself that sometimes the body takes a while to register the work it's been doing, and I'd probably get to a 10 pretty quickly from there.

Claudia's assistant, Audrey arrived and, per my wishes, the two of them sat in the living room and read while I laid on my side in bed and breathed through contractions. Eric was there next to me, looking appropriately concerned and jumping up to get me whatever I asked for. Mostly, all I wanted was quiet, calm and him. Claudia and Audrey would come in every thirty minutes to check the baby's heart rate. Claudia told me I needed to let her know when a contraction began, because I was so quiet and still- I silently thanked my hypnobabies training for that little ego boost:).

Sometime after 10 I called for Claudia to come in the room because I felt like I might be wanting to push soon. She checked me and sure enough, I was 9.5 cm dilated and cleared to go ahead whenever I felt the urge. Urge is not quite the word to describe what I feel when having a baby- it's more like an all-encompassing compulsion the strength of a thousand boa constrictors. I pushed gently through a few contractions and mistakenly though that maybe I'd be able to "breathe the baby out", as they advise in hypnobabies. That hope was crushed by the next contraction, which was long and accompanied by some sort of howl that I'm sure all the neighbors heard. I felt that old familiar burning and heard a sudden commotion as Claudia, Audrey and Eric (who was holding my leg) all realized the head was about to come out. I was urged to "slow it way down" so I wouldn't tear, so on the next contraction I did my very best to breath and not push so hard, which resulted in more interesting sound effects for the neighbors, but didn't stop the baby's head. Right away I heard a cry, and everyone started laughing, saying, "That's what you call a 10 on the the apgar scale!" Another huge push and suddenly I was holding my purple, slippery, angry-looking baby. Eric told me it was a girl, and I just couldn't believe it. TWO DAUGHTERS!!! A SISTER FOR MARLEY!!! In that moment I felt like I had everything I could ever ask for.

Once the placenta was out, Eric walked over to the school to tell the boys they had a new sister. They both wanted to cut the chord, so they held the scissors together and did it in sync- a sweet moment. While Audrey examined the placenta, she explained to them what it was and how it had kept their sister alive while she was inside me. Some people might think that's gross, but I loved seeing that my boys still had that wonderful curiosity intrinsic to childhood and didn't seem to notice the gross factor at all.

It was....perfect. That's all I can think to say about it.

Gee, we think she's swell!!

2011-05-18T05:35:00.000-07:00

Eleanor Kathryn Aldrich

Born May 16th, 2011

8 lbs. 0 oz.

Temple thoughts

2011-05-04T18:57:00.000-07:00

Eric and his family after being sealed in the Seattle temple.

Last Sunday the Atlanta temple was rededicated. It had been closed for two years for renovations, and for two weeks before the rededication, it was open to the public. Normally, even members of our church can only enter after age twelve, and if they're living certain key principles, so this was a special opportunity for us to take friends, neighbors and our kids to see the inside of a place that holds sacred meaning for us.

We went to the open house on a very crowded Thursday evening. I think we arrived at 6:45 or so and didn't get inside the temple until after 8:00, thanks to my total failure to remember that I actually have a good excuse to request a handicapped spot (and Mormons, bless them, are so wonderful to pregnant women). We had brought our three children, our neighbor's 9-year-old son (who is a member) and our wonderful neighbor across the street and her three daughters (who aren't).

At the Washington, D.C. temple with our friend Kadest, from Ethiopia, just after we were married.

The tour started with a video explaining some of why we hold temples so sacred and as I sat next to my neighbor, a newly-single mom, I had a flash-back to what it felt like for me, twelve years ago, to hear Mormons talk about their families. My parents were in the middle of an unpleasant divorce, and thoughts of eternal bonds and loving homes were like water to my parched sixteen-year-old soul. Oh how I wanted those things for myself.

Now they're mine, and though the hard work and sacrifices required were more than I'd bargained for, so too have been the joys. As I sat in that crowded chapel next to my neighbor, I knew she could feel the same promise I had felt more than a decade ago.

At the Nauvoo temple open house with 6-month-old Eric.

Inside the temple was crowded and chaotic, not at all how we're used to experiencing it. There were so many people there that night that tour groups and guides went out the window and we were left to navigate the rooms and crowds at will. The children were so excited, they couldn't keep their hands off anything. They touched the crystals dangling from the wall sconces, the stained glass windows, the leather benches, the hand-stitched lace altar-covers, the gilt frames of the paintings- all of it. And I let them- knowing that volunteers would painstakingly clean every surface before the prophet's arrival in a few days, and knowing too that the Savior must be smiling down at all this energy, exuberance and wonder in his normally hushed house.

We came to the sealing room, where couples are married for eternity, and showed them the mirrors reflecting into each other. When the boys sat down to rest for a minute on the couch at the front of the room, I told them that the next time they sit on one of those couches might be their wedding day.

Over the following days I thought constantly of my little eternal family- what they mean to me and what I mean to them. During runs through the park and evenings at the kitchen sink the spirit taught me something I hope I'll never forget: that it is not my privilege, or my responsibility to shape or mold these children I've been given. They are themselves, whole and complete, and my imperfect intentions and limited understanding have no business weighing them down. Rather, my opportunity as mother and wife is to shape this family, the bonds between the five (almost six!) of us, and to nurture and influence the feelings of love we have for one another. It's through that influence that my impact on their lives can and should manifest itself.

The temple is quiet now, the fingerprints gone, the frames straightened and the sconces gleaming. There are countless lessons left for me to learn within its sacred walls, but I'll keep close the one that came amidst the crowds and the laughter of my children.

A tale of three dates...

2011-04-28T14:36:00.001-07:00

In a house without boys...

2011-04-11T17:43:00.001-07:00

The furniture stays put
The sofa cushions stay on
The laundry hamper and dishwasher fill slowly
And the baby sleeps longer
But it's too quiet
and too clean
And not quite right without them

Today we got our boys back. They spent five incredible days in California visiting their Aunt Laura and Uncle Adam. They were the first kids in the entire universe to see a brand new Cartoon Network show. They ate a different kind of sugar cereal for breakfast each day. They rode their very first roller coasters and took their first surfing lesson. They took in Lego Land with Harry, one of their oldest and best friends. They met Sponge Bob. The Sponge Bob (or his voice, at least).

They came home dressed in sunglasses and checkered Vans, utterly exhausted and laden with new treasures: toys, buttons, tattoos and the like. They shared their bounty with the entire neighborhood, who gathered on our front lawn to welcome them home when school let out. One child said to me, as I pressed a wet rag over his temporary tattoo, "I wish I could be in your family. When we go on vacation we just go to people's houses and a bunch of stores!"

We had breakfast burritos with root beer and brownies for dinner. (I felt the need to show I could serve fun food too). We had a short family home evening and they fell asleep almost as soon as their newly clean heads hit the pillow. They had showered a total of one time in five days and, inexplicably, almost all their clean clothes returned home unworn...the mark of a truly good, parent-free vacation. I told them I'd let them sleep late tomorrow because they're still on California time. I can just see them telling that to all their friends when they saunter into class in their Vans at 10 A.M.

We got a lot of surprised looks when we told people where Eric and Brigham were last week. Though I worried just a tiny bit, I know my cousin and my brother and knew that they would be extremely well-cared-for. At least emotionally, if not nutritionally:). The flights went off without a hitch- one of the benefits of living in Atlanta= non-stops to everywhere. It was the adventure of a lifetime, and I think they'll remember it forever.

More details of their exploits to come, when I get the serious-camera pictures....

To Marley-

2011-03-17T18:20:00.000-07:00

(Picture by Lindsay)

Tonight I left you with a head of wet curls resting on a pillow borrowed from my bed while your own is in the wash. You picked a piece of fuzz from your binky before putting it in your mouth and pulling your purple blanket up to your chin. I closed the door and turned on the fan to protect your sensitive ears from the getting-ready-for-school rustlings of your brothers in the morning.

I have dreams for you, sweet girl. Not of degrees, travels, honors, or even husband and children. My dreams for you are of smiles that start on the inside and spread to your face, earnest tears, questions asked fearlessly, and love given and received with an open, trusting heart.

The rest is yours to choose. I'll be here, watching and learning.

Love,
Mama

Make a wish

2011-03-10T10:15:00.000-08:00

I lived through nineteen March 10th's before I knew what a special day it was.

That first year we were still dating, and I called his mom to find out his favorite meal and what birthday traditions they used to have at home. I gave him an orange shirt because that's my favorite color on him. It was way too big, but he's kept it all this time. I made him Texas straw hats for dinner- we haven't had it in years, thanks to our veg-head children. I decorated a plastic cup with paint pens (I was nineteen- remember?) and our initials inside a heart- we use it to dump water on Marley's head in the bath.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. When look for the evidence of God's love in my life- first, and always I see you.

Shift

2011-03-02T18:47:00.000-08:00

Eric and Brigham, with assorted neighborhood children after a visit from the ice-cream man.

I read today that my baby can dream. What do you suppose a yet-to-be-born baby dreams of?

As for me, these days I dream about the fruit trees I will one day have in my yard...of sleeping on my stomach...of baking pies for my grandchildren...of sewing sleeves on Marley's prom dress...of pushing a double jogging stroller again. Those are the dreams fit to print, at least- we all know that pregnancy dreams can get a little freaky...

A friend who just had a baby gifted us with two packages of newborn diapers on Sunday. Before bed tonight, Marley clawed open one of the packs and pulled out a tiny diaper. I had my mouth open to ask her to stop, but the words got stuck. I had forgotten, already, how impossibly small they are. I showed it to the boys, who seemed unimpressed. Then Marley put it on her baby doll and hugged it close while I sang goodnight songs.

It's been said that "when a child is born, the whole universe has to shift and make room." (Stephen Gaskin).

Day of Love

2011-02-18T12:33:00.000-08:00

Eric asked me to marry him (in a pretty awesome way) on Valentine's Day, so I try to make it special. This year, instead of hunting for a sitter and angling for a reservation, we stayed in.

The boys came home from school clutching their Valentine teddy bears that the fifth grade class had offered for sale as a fundraiser. Thinking I was being a super-cool mom, I ordered one for each boy. As it turned out, there were only a handful of kids who didn't get them, which kind of wrecked my vision of myself, but made me quite relieved my kids hadn't been among the sad few to go home bear-less!

When Eric arrived home from work, he brought chocolate for the boys and separate bouquets of flowers for Marley and me (hers were the pink tulips in the picture below). It melted my heart, but Marley was a little confused when I took her flowers from her, put them in a vase and then shrieked at her every time she tried to climb up on the table and play with them.

We fed the kids an early dinner of heart-shaped grilled cheese sandwiches, chocolate-covered strawberries and Biltmore grape juice in special red glasses. They ended their evening with chocolate-peanut butter brownies and a dramatic reading of my journal entry from that fateful night eleven years ago.

While Eric got them to bed, I put the finishing touches on my special surprise dinner just for us: Pad Thai. (I had told Eric that he could request a "genre" of food, and he chose Thai.) I had never made it before, and was a little nervous since I was using an "authentic" recipe, but it turned out to be a perfect choice because most of the labor-intensive steps could be done in the afternoon.

Maybe it's pregnancy-induced agoraphobia, but I loved our home-bound Valentine's Day. I think we'll make it a tradition.

Week's end

2011-02-12T12:25:00.001-08:00

A few weeks ago Eric and I snuck off on a little getaway with our dear friends Brian and Lindsay. We met halfway between our two homes, in Asheville, N.C., where we spent the day at the Biltmore Estate. It is a magical place. In my pregnant state, I loved getting to see the room where Edith Vanderbilt gave birth to her daughter Cornelia, and where Cornelia later birthed her own two sons. Wouldn't it be incredible to be able to stand in the very place you entered the world, preserved exactly as it looked then?

Photography isn't allowed inside the house, but we spent some time walking around the grounds, which were designed by Frederick Law Olmstead. From Seattle's Volunteer Park, to Durham's Duke Gardens, to Atlanta's Linear Park, Olmstead's parks have strung the cities of my life together. I'm guessing a lot of people can say the same. The whole trip, though just a little over 24 hours long, was restoring.

We returned home with gifts of old-fashioned candy and Biltmore grape juice for the kids, who had had their own adventures next door. I've decided that I'm definitely a short, but frequent person when it comes to getaways. No more weeklong trips every two years- I'll take handful of stress-free overnights anytime.

__________

Last night both boys had a birthday party to attend, so Eric, Marley and I seized the opportunity to go eat some meat without our two little vegetarians in tow. We headed to one of Atlanta's most famous places to eat: The Varsity.

When you walk in, you're confronted by a counter-full of impatient cashiers shouting "what'll ya have, what'll ya have!?" right in your face. Apparently that's the draw...I'm not sure why, but we had fun just being out together as a threesome.

Marley and I shared the double hot dog and fries meal, and Eric had the chilidog/ chiliburger combo with a side of onion rings. Then I remembered that I had once promised myself I would never again eat a hotdog while pregnant. Thank goodness for Tums...

After dinner we took Marley to Kohl's to buy her some much-needed new shoes. We scored the CUTEST little boots ever for 12$, thanks to my procrastination and Marley's willingness to wear sandals and flip-flops through half the winter. To top it all off, as we were paying for the shoes, I spotted a maternity store and "quickly ducked in" to look for some tops. Thirty minutes later, I emerged to find my very patient husband asleep on a bench with Marley running circles around him. I really do like him :).

We picked up the boys and everyone rushed to bed, so that Eric, little Eric and I could be well-rested for our "Sole-mates" race this morning. It was a 5K where, in honor of Valentine's Day, you could combine times and ages with your spouse. Eric and I had a combined age of 62 and a time of about 46 minutes, 28 of which were mine (and the baby's).

Little Eric AMAZED us with his speed! I reassured him at the start that I would be waiting for him at the finish line...but he was waiting for me! After I managed to catch up to him at the 1-mile marker, we ran together for most of the race, until he surged ahead at the end for a time of 27:27. He shaved FIVE minutes off his PR (the one other 5K he's ever raced), back in the fall. All in his Vibram 5 finger shoes- adorable:).

Dear Patty,

2011-02-04T06:07:00.001-08:00

It's been years, but I thought of you yesterday. I know you've long since moved on from being camp nurse to 100 girls in the Virginia mountains, and heaven knows I'm not the skinny, bug-bitten ten-year-old you comforted during her first summer away from home.

But yesterday was one of those days- and I remembered the Sunday afternoon of parents weekend that first summer. I was so sad to have to say goodbye to my family for another three weeks. My counselor noticed something wasn't right and asked me if I was feeling okay. I silently shook my head and the tears spilled out.

I lied and said that my stomach hurt, so she sent me off to the infirmary, where you gave me a hug and a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol and let me take a nap on one of the red bunkbeds. When I woke up I felt better and went back to my cabin and friends. At the end of the summer, of course, I cried when it was time to go home.

Let's just say that yesterday, my stomach hurt. And oh how I longed for a nap and a hug (I'll pass on the Pepto this time) to make it all go away. But the memory was almost as good.

The putting back

2011-01-22T11:28:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday our neighbor's eleven-year-old son came over to stay with Marley while she napped and we went to a meeting with the Stake President. Since it was Sunday and I couldn't pay him, I asked if I could make him a treat- anything he wanted. He asked for brownies and I prodded...what kind? Mint? Cream cheese? Caramel? He answered mint, and I smiled and sent him home.

When the door closed, Eric asked, "Why did you do that to yourself? He would have been happy with plain brownies from a mix." And yes, he would have been, and I could have made brownies from a mix, and might have, under different circumstances. But just then, I wanted to make something special, because I could, and because even an eleven-year-old can taste love and time and care.

When you're a mother who devotes her talents and energy to raising children and making a home for them, you have to trust this. That they know. As small as they are, they can taste and feel and sense the thousands of small things you do each day to ease their lives. The wiping of the counters. The sweeping of the crumbs. The putting back...the endless putting back. Just before they close their eyes at night and finally surrender to the perfect oblivion of child-sleep, the warm assurance settles over them that things are where they belong, or will be, soon.

One thing I know with all my heart is that these things I do each day are important, significant. Even the putting back- especially the putting back.

Isn't it what we all long for in our deepest hearts? To be gently, lovingly set back in the place where we belong- with God, in his loving, accepting presence? Our lives are a journey back to that place, and when we get there, we'll have tales to tell of the time we were almost tossed in the trash, and the long months spent under the bed, with the dust-bunnies.

Housebound

2011-01-12T12:09:00.000-08:00

This being iced and snowed into our home is causing me to slowly unravel. It shines a bright light on all my weaknesses and failings. How I don't do well without little pockets of quiet time throughout my day...how I despise serving three meals a day to three children- the never ending refilling and rewashing and face-scrubbing...how guilty I feel that our generous neighbors welcome our children into their homes for entire afternoons and I'm tired of the noise and chaos after twenty minutes...

But one of my still-forming resolutions for the coming year is to spend more time in the middle. To stop saying "I always" and "you always" and say instead, "sometimes." Sometimes leaves room for the whole picture, which is the truth.

Sometimes I'm cranky with my kids and insist they finish their lunch, even when they're full, because I don't want them to come asking for food in another hour. Sometimes when they argue I pick a side and realize later that it was the wrong one and I hurt them both by trying to choose. Sometimes I get so tired of telling them to be quiet while the baby naps that I give in and let them play computer games all afternoon. Sometimes I stare at the laptop instead of playing scrabble.

But sometimes- sometimes I make chocolate chip cookies for them and sometimes I let them help. Sometimes I bear my testimony of eternal truth at family home evening. Sometimes I scratch their backs to help them fall asleep. Sometimes I let them feel the baby kick and tell them about when they were babies. Sometimes I hear them hurt each other with their words and I let it go and trust them to work it out. Sometimes I thank them for taking their dishes to the sink.

Sometimes I get it right, and someday I'll look back and be able to understand perfectly why I needed to have these weaknesses and these children. And someday the ice will melt and life will get back to normal. Please say it will.

Storms

2011-01-10T18:04:00.000-08:00

Yesterday in church I had a big fat cry-fest (why does church always bring out the tears?). A storm was churning inside my soul- confusion, frustration and anger over some important decisions that have to be made soon. Decisions that will reverberate inside my heart and mind for the rest of my life, and I so desperately want to make the right choice.

Then in the early evening I walked across the street to the school for an emergency PTA meeting. The neighborhood is up in arms over a redistricting proposal that would break off a big chunk of our community and send them to a different school. I wasn't sure how I felt- we would not be affected directly, but the chunk in question happens to be very wealthy and very generous to our school. In the end I signed the petition, and am hoping, more for the sake of the cohesiveness of the community than anything else, that the proposal doesn't go through. We live in one of the only areas in the city that is a designated national historic district, so it seems a shame to divide it. And okay, I kind of like the privately funded art and science teachers paid for by other people's donations.

As I walked home I could feel the air heavy with the approach of another kind of storm- the ice and snow kind. Sure enough, we're ankle deep in it this evening. I'm anticipating no school for the rest of the week, since temperatures are supposed to stay low, and I'm pretty sure the city of Atlanta doesn't even own snow plows.

Amazingly, amidst all this, I stumbled into several hours of quiet this afternoon while Marley napped, Eric worked in the spare room and the boys went to the neighbors' to play. I pondered, planned and prayed, and as I did I felt the storm inside me calm.

Tonight I'm awash in feelings of clarity, gratitude and peace. We are warm and have everything we need: each other and a Heavenly Father who loves us and answers our prayers, even if sometimes the answers come on the wings of a cold, snow-filled wind.

* Last night I was looking through pictures, trying to calm my mind, when I saw the one above of Mount Ranier, taken when we first moved to Seattle.

The real New Year's Day

2011-01-04T18:37:00.000-08:00

Every mother of school-aged children knows that the new year doesn't begin until school starts again. When Christmas break began I was craving sleeping late and homework-free afternoons...but today, with it's early start, quiet house and regained structure, was like a breath of fresh air.

I decided that although I'd been treated to two delicious holiday meals, I needed to cook one all by myself so we could enjoy the best part- the leftovers. I roasted a turkey, made french bread, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, cranberry sauce, gravy, and pumpkin pie with whipped cream. The boys were at school, Marley was down for a long winter's nap and I had all afternoon to clatter around the kitchen and think deep thoughts.

I thought about our family home evening lesson last night, where I got all organized and creative and introduced our family theme for the year: Take care of each other. I made a banner for the mantle and put everyone's initials on empty coke bottles (take-homes from our trip to Atlanta's own World of Coke last week). We all sat down together and wrote about the highlights, good and bad, of the past year and our hopes and dreams for 2011.

For the month of January, each time you make progress toward a goal, you get a bean in your bottle. If we can all fill our bottles by the end of the month, we get a reward. I told the boys they could choose the reward and little Eric came up with the idea of buying a new DVD and watching it while eating "those dinners you're supposed to eat while you watch TV." How could I say no to that? Oh, and everyone gets their own soda that they pick out. Sounds good to me...I'm going to lobby for Shrek Forever After, since we still haven't seen that.

I thought about my own hopes for the coming year and decided to make half-year resolutions, since the end of May is bringing me another precious little plan-destroyer and I don't want to set my expectations of myself too high. As I thought about the baby and the things I want to work on before he or she gets here and this is what I came up with...

1. Make consistent, healthy dinners. I struggle most with the consistency part of the equation. So I came up with a plan I'm hoping will keep me on track and prevent burnout, which has long been my enemy in the kitchen. Two nights a week will be fun, possibly new, involved recipes- things I've seen online or had at friends' houses and want to try out. Two nights will be simple, easy stuff- like spaghetti, or oatmeal pancakes. Two nights will be leftovers and one night we'll eat out. I gave myself a big handful of beans in my bottle for tonight's dinner!

2. Learn to go to bed by 10:30. This is a modification of one of my resolutions from last year- notice I said learn to. I've come to accept the fact that I'm just not an early-to-bed girl, and it's probably going to take more than simple resolve to get me to sleep earlier. So I'm viewing this goal as a journey- permission to experiment with different ideas of how to lure myself into bed: subscribe to a bunch of magazines so I always have good-but-not-too-good reading material? Buy flannel sheets? Crank down the thermostat at 9:00? And if I fail, come May I'll be a sleep-deprived zombie anyway, so there's not a lot at stake.

3. Kids in bed by 8:00. This one is equally hard for me. Since I like to stay up late, I feel bad making my kids go to bed early, and I just don't start thinking about bedtime until 8:30 or so. Then I pay for it the next morning when I have to drag sleepy kids out of bed, and they pay for it when they drag through the day at school. My downfall here is scouts and basketball, which keep Eric Jr. out until almost 8:30 two nights a week. I already have a plan to lobby for an earlier start-time at scouts (our troop consists of Eric and one other boy), and I'll just have to get creative with my incentives for taking a quick shower on basketball nights.

4. Regular date nights with Eric and the boys. I'm really excited about this one! I worked out a swap with our neighbors wherein we get to go out every other week. On the off weeks, we watch their kids one night, and the next night their 11-year-old will babysit Marley at their place for the low rate of 3$/hour so we can go out and do something fun and toddler-free with the boys. Some weeks we'll split up and each take one and some weeks we'll stick together, depending on how everyone's feeling. (Swapping babysitting was one thing I said I was done with when we took this job, thinking that it would be nice to just hire a babysitter, no strings attached. I was wrong- it's expensive, we wind up going out less, and I stress about getting home since every minute is costing us. I'm excited to get back into swapping and get a regular routine going.)

5. Worry less about the future and past- live in the moment more. This one is my favorite and most-needed change. One of the things I've learned about myself over the past year is how deeply I value stability. But I also learned that change brings its own gifts and that I can handle it better than I thought. The next year is going to be a limbo year for us- a year of uncertainty about the future, but also a year full of opportunities to find joy in the moment.

This New Year's has been one of my best-evers. Our new life in Atlanta finally feels comfortable, and I'm starting to see the strengths and insights that were gained through the painful process of moving. I can tell it's going to be a good year.

Ugh. Is it really 10:28 already!?

New

2011-01-01T17:53:00.001-08:00

It rained all day today. I always (ever since reading Our Town in the tenth grade) consider that a good omen on a first day. I tried to imagine the challenges, trials and fears of 2010 washing away, soaking deep into the Georgia clay of our front yard. It was a year of change, and I don't relish change, ever. But I made it through with my head held high and my sanity (mostly) intact.

2011 will have changes of it's own- big ones, with eternal consequences, in the form of a new person in our family and in the world. Eric will once again put his life's work on display in the hopes that someone, somewhere will want to pay him money for his thoughts. We'll celebrate a baptism. We'll buy a new car. We'll go to the movies in June and watch the credits to see the name of someone we know. Maybe I'll get out my sewing machine, or my knitting needles, or plan a trip to Disney World.

Lots of resolutions are floating around in my mind tonight, and I'm not sure yet which ones are the important ones, aside from this one:

To make it through an entire year without running out of gas once.

A tough one, but I think I can do it...

*Picture by Lindsay, who I think took it because of her many memories of our gas-less mishaps:).

Not calm...but bright

2010-12-26T18:28:00.000-08:00

When I talked to my family on Christmas morning, it was 10:30 and they were just finishing opening their stockings. We, like many of you, I'm sure, had been up for hours and had already opened presents, put presents together, played with presents and eaten breakfast. Having gone to bed at 2 A.M. on Christmas Eve, Eric and I were ready for nap time. But there was bread and apple pie and cranberry sauce to make for dinner. And there were movies to watch, games to play and wrapping paper to squash into the recycling bin...so our naps were put off until the children are grown.

When Marley opened her new pink and red purse I could read her smile in an instant. It said I'm like mama now! Within minutes she had hooked it to the new toy stroller Santa had brought and was pushing her baby doll around the house with a confident air.

Brigham retreated to his bedroom to put together his new Lego ship and didn't resurface until almost 3:00 in the afternoon. We found that in his intense focus, he'd eaten nothing but a pack of gummy lifesavers all day. Eric Jr. spent most of the day bouncing his two new basketballs around the house and playing catch with his new baseball mitt.

At five o'clock we walked next door for a lovely, chaotic dinner with our neighbors and two other families. Snowflakes dusted our shoulders as we walked back home with tired, happy children.

--------

After a good night's sleep, I spent some time today thinking about our Christmas. Interspersed among the beautiful moments were many hours of stress, indecision and general not-being-the-mother-I-want-to-be. So here, more for my benefit than anyone else's, and in the hopes that I can do a little better next year, is my Christmas after-action review:

I decided at the last minute to help the boys make presents for each other and their sister, so they would have something other than getting to look forward to on Christmas morning. Unbeknownst to Eric and me, my cousin had taken all three children to a pottery store and had them make presents for us, which they were excited to see us open (and we were excited to receive!!). The sibling gifts, not so much. They had made them hurriedly on Christmas Eve, after being spoon-fed ideas and instructions from me. Next year I'm keeping that tradition, but will start much earlier and give them less input, so they feel like the gifts are really coming from them and are more proud and excited to give them.

We all loved our Christmas Eve dinner of cheese fondue, a tradition inherited from my mother-in-law. It's a favorite of everyone in the family, and it's special, fast and easy to make. I could maybe do without lighting the dining room table on fire for the second year in a row, but really, that table is dying a slow death anyway. And I like the kisses I get each time someone loses their bread in the pot:).

Family presents are always a quandary for me. A lot of families I know, being large, have some sort of sensible system for keeping gift-giving manageable, like drawing names, only giving to kids, etc. My extended family is just small enough for that not to work, but large enough to break my budget every year by a significant amount. This year, as in years past, I resolved to keep my shopping to a minimum and go small on gifts. And this year, as in years past, I felt a little pang on Christmas morning opening thoughtful, generous gifts and knowing that I had not quite reciprocated in kind. But a budget is a budget, and if I die trying, I'm going to learn to stick to mine! So, I decided to fix the shortage of energy and money by getting ready for next Christmas starting now. My plan is to use rainy days and the occasional family-night for projects and crafts that can double as Christmas presents. I hope this can help us all focus more on giving and showing our love to our family and friends, rather than scrambling around for gifts at the last moment. With a new baby on the way, I'm really going to have to get a jump on things, but what better time than now, when ideas of all the fun things we didn't have time to make are still fresh in our minds?

The last big change in our Christmas plans is a sad, but inevitable one. About a week ago I overheard the boys' friend ask them if they believed in Santa Claus. Brigham's response was "eh- half and half," and Eric said "I'm not sure what to believe." So we knew that Santa's days were numbered, but we decided not to broach the topic until the weather warmed up and thoughts of Christmas were far from the their minds. Then tonight at dinner, Eric turned to me and asked me directly if Santa was real. What could we do but break the news then and there? Brigham took it well, but I caught the well-disguised disappointment in Eric's eyes. I asked them when they'd started to doubt and he said about a year ago, when he realized there was no such thing as magic, reindeer couldn't fly and Santa was too fat to fit down the chimney. But I could tell that he'd held on to a tiny spark of hope until a moment before when I had stomped it out. He was quiet for a minute and then asked, "but what about the letters we get from him every year?" I croaked something about my mom sending them and then let a few tears slip out. Then everyone laughed at me and we moved on to happier subjects.

So that leads me to the next big change I want to make in the way we do Christmas. Each year I watch my kids' faces light up when they pull the wrapping paper off of their heart's desire, only to set it aside five minutes later to open the next toy, and the next. After a while they're so overwhelmed with good things that they lose their ability to appreciate them. I like the idea of Santa bringing each kid three presents: something you need, something to read and something just for fun. Then I'd like to make one gift for them and buy them one gift and let that be it. When you add in all the gifts from family and friends, plus the fun stuff in their stockings, it's more than enough. I think I'll wait a while to let them absorb the Santa thing before I lay that one on them, though.

This morning, in lieu of church (it's Georgia, and a snowflake touched the ground!), our neighbors came over and we read Luke 2 together. What stood out to me was the way in which everyone- Mary, Joseph, even the Savior himself, had to figure things out as they went along. Which is what I feel like I'm doing all the time, which is just fine.

Even though she was a cow...

2010-12-14T17:17:00.000-08:00

Marley currently has an obsession with one of my favorite books: The Story of Ferdinand. As I was reading it for the third time today I tried to soak up the wisdom in the simple story.

Ferdinand was a peaceful bull who, rather than run and jump and butt heads together with the other bulls, preferred to sit just quietly under his favorite tree and smell the flowers. His mother worried that he would be lonesome all by himself and asked him why he didn't want to run and play. He told her he liked it better in the shade, under his favorite tree and (this is my favorite part):

...because she was an understanding mother, even though she was a cow, she let him just sit there and be happy.

Each of my three children is Ferdinand in their own way. They each have ways of being happy that are foreign to me. Eric prefers to keep his emotions mostly inside his own heart and head. I would explode. Brigham sometimes breaks away from the group he's playing with because whatever they're doing doesn't seem fun to him. Togetherness would trump interest for me, every time. Marley sleeps naked. I'd freeze.

I'm not there yet, but I'm trying to learn that they are the ones with the maps to their own happiness, not me. My best moments as a mother are when I can remember to stand back and cheer on their daily efforts to be true to themselves.

Maybe someday it will be said of me: she was an understanding mother, even though she was a cow. ;)

Race Report

2010-12-13T10:13:00.001-08:00

When we arrived at Kiawah Friday night the air was balmy and breezy, music was playing and the island was crawling with smiling runners. After getting Eric checked in we headed to the condo we were sharing with my mom and Jeff, chatted for a bit and then turned in early.

I woke up at 5:45 to the sound of rain outside our window. Eric downed some peanut butter toast and farmer's market eggs, I made plans to meet my mom later and we bundled up and walked down the street to catch the shuttle to the starting line.

They took off with the gun at exactly 8 A.M. under still drizzly, much chillier skies. I took off in the opposite direction on a quickie run of my own to burn off some of the empathetic stress. The race clock was at 1:10:00 when I made it to the turn around point with Eric's gloves, a bottle of water and two nutri-grain bars. While I waited I talked with a sixty-something mom whose three kids were all running, and a twenty-ish looking woman from Florida who was cheering for a friend. I mentioned that I had planned on running, but had gotten pregnant instead, and she asked how many kids I had. I said this was my fourth and waited for the usual shocked reply. Instead she smiled and said, "that's great- I have six at home." I was the one with my jaw on the ground for a change. I was dying to know if she was Mormon, Catholic or just crazy, but didn't have the guts to ask. I love talking to people at races- so fun to hear their stories and make new friends, if only temporary ones.

Eric rounded the turn at 1:31:00, looking strong, but cold. He downed everything, put the gloves on and got back on the road while I turned around and headed to the finish line to look for my mom, who was running the half. Thank goodness for the double-loop course or I would have been in trouble!

I practiced my iphone unlocking skills (not so easy when your fingers are numb!) while I waited to snap a picture and cheer her on to the finish. My favorite part of watching a race is the faces of people crossing the line. They range from smiles to tears to total incredulity. My mom looked focused and relieved when she came around the bend. After getting her some food and a bathroom break, we went back outside to wait for Eric.

3:10:59 clicked by on the race clock and my heart ached a little for him, but I knew he would finish strong and use this as another learning experience on the road to accomplishing his goal. Plus I was having so much fun I didn't mind the thought of doing it all over again in a few more months, as I knew I would be. He had stayed on pace until almost mile 23, when he realized he would have to completely destroy himself to make in it on time, so he took a few walking breaks and relaxed his pace, crossing the line at 3:19:57.

We hopped on the shuttle back to the condo, showered and packed up. We ate lunch with my mom and Jeff at a little pub where we watched the Duke game on the TV behind the bar. Then we got in the car and drove back to our little ones, who were not snug in their beds, but happily waiting up for us. We gave them the treats we had brought back, tucked them in and collapsed into bed.

Maybe it wasn't our lucky day, but it felt that way.

3:10:59?

2010-12-09T12:15:00.000-08:00

Eric and I are sneaking away tomorrow afternoon for a quick trip to South Carolina. Eric is giving his Boston dreams another shot in the Kiawah Island marathon. I have high hopes- the course is said to be flat and "easy" and perfect temps are in the forecast (kind of important when you're not wearing shoes).

I've written a multi-page email to Leslie and Greg who will be staying with the kids, cleaned the floors, pre-made dinners, washed the sheets and all the running clothes.

I feel like I've run a marathon already...

To Do-

2010-12-07T11:26:00.000-08:00

Pigs flying and other recent happenings

2010-12-01T12:08:00.000-08:00

We had a lovely Thanksgiving respite in Durham, filled with laughter, relaxing and lots of food and friends. Being with dear friends always charges me with energy and reminds me who I am.

Some highlights from our trip...a pre-Thanksgiving Tessem feast of delicious grilled pizza...a visit to Shady Lane featuring dinner with the Straubels and dessert with the Spences...a return to Easley to see beloved teachers and friends, playdates for Eric with his buddies Brayden, Liam and Ben...Eric and the boys' visit to one of Eric's favorite Duke professors who is recovering from cancer...1 A.M. almost every night- Brian and Eric begging Lindsay and me to stop talking and let them get some sleep...an incredible Thanksgiving dinner with the Alders and Larsons that ended with Eric stepping in what he termed a "poop crumb" on the living room carpet*...and finally, a Mexican feast at the Rays', just in case we hadn't gotten enough to eat the rest of the week.

Thank you everyone- we miss you more than ever.

We had such a wonderful time, in fact, that I dreaded our return to Atlanta. As we pulled into our neighborhood I thought of our old house on Shady Lane, looking just the same, even hung with the Christmas wreaths we had left up in the attic. But then, when I opened the front door of our little old rental, an unexpected feeling settled into my heart. I breathed in and thought,

It's good to be home.

I thought of Eric in the kitchen on Saturday mornings, making eggs to order for all the neighborhood children. And of Jen's piano music floating through my bedroom window on Sunday nights. And downtown Decatur, all lit up for Christmas. I guess my plan of not getting too attached here isn't working after all, and I have to say, I'm kind of glad.

We slowly settled back in over the weekend and managed to unpack and decorate for Christmas while battling nasty post-vacation colds. All that bed-time-flaunting and overeating catches up with you in the end, doesn't it?

Now onto the flying pigs: little Eric cut his hair. We made a deal- if he would cut it short, we would not say the word "haircut" for an entire year. The best reaction was from Marley, who stared at him for several minutes, trying to comprehend the fact that he actually has ears.

After school today I nonchalantly asked him if the other kids had said anything about his new look. He told me lots of boys said they liked it, but that he "didn't hear any comments from the girls." Then he added that he didn't want to hear any comments from the girls.

I can tell it's going to be a good December.

*As far as we could tell it was an escapee from a squirming toddler diaper change gone wrong.

A few things...

2010-11-19T08:58:00.000-08:00

First, Marley would like to publicly thank her personal seamstresses, Eryn and Cindy. Eryn made the adorable brown dress pictured below. Cindy made the precious white dress in the picture from the last post. What did I ever do to deserve such kind and talented friends?

Last week it was time for the 2nd and 3rd grade musicals at the boys' school. I guess not many people have kids in consecutive grades, because they repeated the same performance twice- 2nd grade at 6:00 and 3rd grade at 7:00. Eric made us close our eyes and plug our ears while the second graders performed his class song, which we did, even though I think the parents sitting next to us were slightly offended. It was a "garden" theme, and each class dressed up and sang a song about a different kind of plant. Brigham was a weed and had a cool rap to sing. Poor Eric had to be a "lovely flower" and do ballet moves to the music from Waltz of the Flowers. I had to question the music teacher's sanity on that one, but he was a good sport.

The following night was Eric's 9th birthday party, for which he decided to invite friends over for pizza, cake, and a movie. All went well, aside from one child having to go home sick and another one trying to kick in our kitchen door just as all the parents were arriving, big Eric scolding him, and his mom showing up while he was crying hysterically on our couch. Kind of embarrassing, but a fun night was had nonetheless.

Eric really wanted a chocolate cake with black frosting, so tried my best and used up my entire jar of pro-grade black gel food coloring, but it still looked brown. Oh well, it tasted good and he didn't seem to mind.

And finally, I discovered that my worries over Marley's glasses covering up her cute face were totally unfounded. She's even cuter than before, if that's possible. Every now and then I catch her trying to put them on top of her head, like she sees Eric do with his sunglasses, but other than that, she's kept them on!

We're headed to Durham for Thanksgiving...can't wait to see old friends, visit old haunts and eat delicious food. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving:).

In a strange land

2010-11-15T06:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday during sacrament meeting I had a moment. I was sitting between the boys in the very front pew, watching Eric give a talk while keeping one eye on Marley who was running wild in front of the stand. I pictured the scene in six months, with another little person on the pew and realized that we are on our way to taking up our own row.

My mind wandered to a time when I was six or seven and one of my friends told me that my Dad talked funny. I still remember my feelings of utter incomprehension- he talked perfectly normally! It was years before I was able to hear the heavy Egyptian accent that was obvious to everyone else. I was just so used to it, I never even noticed. Even now that I can hear his accent, I still have to occasionally ask him what a word he just used meant- his vocabulary is better than mine.

The other night we got a letter from one of the young men in our old ward. We've been writing to him while he's on his mission in Denver. He told us about a sixteen-year-old girl he's been teaching who's getting baptized in a few weeks. It took me back to when I was sixteen, feeling a small part of what my Dad must have felt when his plane landed in New York thirty-something years ago.

The church seemed like a parallel universe I had never known existed. A place where we make macaroni and cheese from scratch*....and where we sit in a sunlit room on Wednesday nights listening to all kinds of advice about living the gospel and write notes in a cute little journal....where families pray before they eat....where we all have relatives who live in Utah....where women (and men) think of staying home to raise a family as a career (huh? there's more to life than getting into a good college and then going to graduate school!?)....where we watch Disney movies even though we're teenagers and everything around us is rated-R....where we go to dances with actual decorations where boys actually ask girls to dance....

I could go on, but my point is that it was all foreign to me, and I watched it, riveted, totally convinced from the almost very beginning that I wanted to live there, in that parallel universe, with those amazing people. At first I didn't think about being one of them, I just knew I wanted to be there, because I felt loved and supported.

I realized soon enough that there were things I would have to sacrifice to live in that world, but I decided it was worth it. As the years passed I began to change, bit by bit, so slowly I hardly noticed it. I got married and had my own beautiful children. I went to church Sunday after Sunday. I met friends who showed me behind the scenes of those incredible families I first knew when I was sixteen. That they were human, with human weaknesses, that their houses weren't always clean, and their macaroni and cheese wasn't always from scratch...but that it's normal and okay to have weaknesses and imperfections, because they help us to be humble, compassionate, more like the Savior. I even had in-laws in Utah!

Sitting in church yesterday I realized that I'm not a stranger in that wonderful land anymore. Those women that I looked up to, who cooked and cleaned and sewed and served and prayed- I am one of them. Minus the sewing. And my children don't hear my accent. And that elusive goal- taking up your own whole pew at church- it's within my grasp:).

*It's not that I'm saying that only Mormons cook from scratch or do any of these things for that matter, it's just that, honestly, I had not been exposed to those things before I was introduced to the church. Once in college, I was suprised when my friend Carrie, who wasn't a member of the church, brought me dinner. She reminded me that "Presbyterians do nice things too!"

On a good note

2010-11-11T18:35:00.000-08:00

When we moved to Atlanta, life grabbed me by the collar and gave me a good spin around the room. Before I knew what was happening we were involved in all kinds of activities, from velodrome racing to choir, to chess club, to 5K's, to art lessons, to cub scouts. I guess I got a little overexcited about the fun opportunities of living in a big city.

Over the past few weeks several of those activities have wound down for the winter and life has returned to a slightly more relaxed pace. But I've noticed something disturbing: during those months of running ragged, after days of getting lost on roads I didn't know, racing from activity to activity, frantically checking homework and slapping dinner on the table, I had formed a pretty consistent habit of tossing Marley into her crib, collapsing on the couch and then shooing the boys off to bed without much of a goodnight routine. And those were the nights I actually participated, as opposed to watching from the couch while poor Eric handled it solo.

As I thought about this I decided that there are certain points in the day that make a lasting impression on my kids. I pride myself in my ability to always look (and usually be) ecstatic to see them when they wake up in the morning. Or....when I wake up in the morning I should say:). I usually send them out the door with a smile and a kiss and a genuine wish that they have a wonderful day. When they get home from school I'm ready with snacks and inquiries about their day. My favorite thing to ask is "did anything interesting happen at school?"- that always gets them talking.

But then. Sometime during dinner prep I fizzle. By bedtime I'm totally out of steam and feel like I have nothing left. But the other night, as I plunked Marley in the crib and turned to sneak out, her sweet, soft "night night" tugged at my heart and pulled me back into the room. I sat down on the floor and started singing. Half an hour later I heard her breath in that way babies breathe when they've just fallen asleep- mothers know it. I smiled to think of my voice carrying her safely to dreamland. Then I went into the boys' room and read them a chapter from their book and kissed them goodnight in their beds. And even though I was still tired and still drained, I felt so good. Like I had really done my job that day.

From now on, I want everyday to end that way. I can't be a perfect mom all day long, but I can end the day with songs, stories and kisses.

Date Night

2010-11-08T05:54:00.001-08:00

The other night I realized that in the three months we'd lived in Atlanta, we had been out on exactly one date. So Friday night we shooed the kids over to the neighbors' house and took off into the city.

The plan was practical- I had some things to return at Ikea, so we would head there first, eat in their cafeteria (disgusting, in a yummy kind of way) and then hit the Apple Store for some advice from the genius bar on why the nano I got for my birthday won't turn off...

On our way we had to drive through midtown, where Eric works. The tall buildings glittered in the dark and my mind wandered to what it would be like if we had just met. If this was our first date and he was impressing me by pointing out the different buildings and landmarks in the city. I was pretty sure we wouldn't be headed to Ikea for 3.99 Swedish meatballs.

So when we passed a swanky Thai restaurant and Eric mentioned that someone at work had told him it was the best Thai in the city, I proposed we ditch our plans and eat there instead. We made the detour, stopping first at a bakery down the street from the bank to pick out a dessert for later.

Dinner was lovely. After finishing every last crumb on our plates we walked back to the parking garage and opened the tailgate on the Volvo. We sat and talked while we ate our desserts- a chocolate tart for Eric and a bacon cupcake for me. Back at the bakery I had taken one look and snatched it up. I can think of two reasons why a woman would do such a thing: She's either a relentless adventurer, or she's pregnant.

I've never been very adventurous.

Scenes from a new beach

2010-11-03T05:40:00.001-07:00

As summer wound down we decided to go exploring on the gulf coast. It was our first true family vacation, all by ourselves, and our first time on the gulf.

Day one brought back memories of my childhood summers on the Outer Banks, with biting black flies out in force. The three boys were a bit disappointed to see that St. George Island, Fla. looked pretty similar to the Carolina coast. I had promised "sugar white sand and clear emerald water" and I think their imaginations got the best of them. You COULD see to the bottom of the ocean.

On day two the black flies decided to get their kicks on some other beach and we relaxed and enjoyed the sun and sand. Eric swam out to meet the dolphins passing by but never got close enough to really swim with them. I was watching from the shore, trying to direct him when I saw a huge SHARK swim past. Of course that didn't phase him at all.

The night before we went home we drove across the seven-mile bridge to Appalachicola, a beautiful victorian fishing town on the coast. We had an amazing seafood dinner in a gazebo on the water.

Sunday morning we woke up early and headed back to Appalachicola for church. There were five cars in the parking lot and about twelve people inside. Of course I had remembered to pack everyone's church clothes but my own, so I stuck out like a sore thumb. The service was beautiful and we even stumbled upon some old friends from our UW days who were in the area on a camping trip. Small world!

Back in the car, we listened to Peter and the Starcatchers all the way home, and Marley even held it together until we hit the city. Amazing what a few days at the beach will do...

Happy Halloween!

2010-10-31T12:11:00.001-07:00

We did the candy bit yesterday at the church "trunk-or-treat", and tonight since it's Sunday, we're staying home to answer the door. The kids are disappointed, but I'm secretly looking forward to cozying up, munching on pumpkin pie made from real pumpkin and letting the neighborhood come to us. Although that's one more opportunity to see inside the brick house that's slipped through my fingers (that picnic last weekend- outside, dang-it!). Oh well- there's always next year...... I'm off to carve jack-o-lanterns!

Eye-eye-eye

2010-10-26T19:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I picked Brigham up from school and took him and Marley to our new eye doctor here in Atlanta. I built in a few extra minutes for my favorite ritual of getting lost whenever I drive somewhere new, and we were making good time until we hit I-285. I should mention that it was raining. Apparently in Atlanta that means we lose the ability to drive and traffic comes to a complete standstill. When there were five minutes till our appointment and my directions said we still had 14 miles to go I called to office to tell them our situation. They were wonderful and seemed unfazed so we continued creeping along.

When we arrived (45 minutes late) I remembered that I hadn't ever called our old eye doctor to have Brigham's records transferred. I called Lindsay in Durham to get the number and soon had instructions to fax them a release form along with a promise that the records would be faxed right back.

Meanwhile the doctor came in, sweating and looking stressed. I apologized for our lateness (I have to say I give pretty good lateness apologies, having had lots of practice) and again, he was totally understanding, because of the rain. He said everyone was late and he was just trying to catch up. Then he mentioned that his wife had just given birth last week and though I tried really hard to suppress the words I just couldn't help but say, "Bless your heart!". He did the drill that we've been used to having a tech do, put drops in both kids eyes and sent us back out to the waiting room.

Back in the exam room an hour later we raced through more pictures, charts and procedures, with Brigham cooperating like an old pro and Marley taking her sweet time, covering her face, playing peek-a-boo and hiding in my shirt. The mechanical clown clanged its symbols and Dr. Elliot waved his Donald Duck toy and I trilled and clapped and coaxed, until all the hoops had been jumped through and it was time to get to the bottom line.

Briggie's vision is the same as it was a year ago, despite how hard he's worked to wear his patch two hours a day, six days a week, just like they told us. I had a choice to make: either stick with the old plan and accept the fact that he'll never have better than 20/40 vision in his right eye, or to up the patching to 7 hours a day and see if we can get those last elusive 20 points.

I wanted to cry for him. Brigham has been patching almost every day since he was four and a half. He probably can't remember life before the patch. I thought back to when he was three and started closing his right eye all the time. At the park one day Lindsay gently suggested that we have his eyes checked. I wrote it off as a tick. Eric had ticks and it looked exactly like a tick to me. Then one day we were at McDonalds and Eric asked Brigham to tell him the letter he was pointing to on a sign. He couldn't read the letter without closing his right eye.

I know that patch is itchy, sweaty and horrible. I know it must be frustrating for Briggie to have to use his "fuzzy eye" when he's doing school work. I know kids look at him funny sometimes. I know he gets SO TIRED of answering the oft-repeated question, "What happened to your eye?". But he never complains. I wanted so badly to throw a patch-burning party, buy him a huge present and call it quits.

Then I thought of his happy little face when I pick him up from art class every Tuesday afternoon. I pictured him hunched in his bed at night doing origami by the light of a flashlight. I remembered the pride in his eyes when he told me his dragon picture had won the class vote and would be the design on their field day t-shirt. My heart told me that Brigham needs both eyes to be able to fully express the creativity that pulses through his veins. So this morning when I pressed the patch over his eye, making sure to close all the gaps, I reminded him not to take it off until he got home.

Back in the doctor's office there was more news to digest...Marley has differing degrees of farsightedness in each eye- what the doctor termed "a perfect set-up for what her brother has". We'll start with glasses and hope that's enough to convince her brain to keep using both eyes. I'm ready to pray like crazy for help in keeping the glasses on her head and in one piece. I know it's vain, but it breaks my heart to think of her beautiful brown eyes covered by thick lenses. But I am so, so glad we've caught it early and that we have the ability to help her.

So...more appointments, more patching, more time spent searching the house for lost glasses....

What can say except, bring it.

Dinner plans

2010-10-22T11:35:00.000-07:00

There is this house in my neighborhood that I'm obsessed with. I met the woman who lives in it while we were waiting for our kids at the school one afternoon. She had a B.O.B and I was thinking about getting one, so I asked her if she liked hers. I asked where she lived and she named the street, specifying, "next to the blue house".

The blue house is like the pretty blond cheerleader that everyone loves: cute in an obvious sort of way. But the house next to the blue house is like the girl who doesn't immediately stand out, but once you get to know her a little, you think she's pretty. (I use this analogy for a lot of things: towns, schools, teachers, houses...it's very versatile.) Anyway, personally, I always go for the less obvious- the diamond in the rough- and that's what this house is. It's long and low, with a faded brick exterior. The yard is a plain, flat expanse of grass with little in the way of bushes or flowers. There are no curtains in the windows, no pumpkins on the porch. I imagine the interior being equally plain and unadorned: white carpet, very little furniture, mostly blank walls. It's peaceful and uncluttered in a zen sort of way. I love it.

I spent the day putting the house in order and cleaning the bathroom, which included the sinkful of broken glass I found when I woke up this morning. It took me ten minutes to figure out that a light bulb above the mirror had somehow shattered and landed in the sink. For a moment I imagined Eric deciding to change it in the early morning darkness, but that just didn't seem likely. Later I asked him and he said he'd heard it explode spontaneously in the night.

Brigham went home with a friend after school and Eric and little Eric are heading to the airport soon to meet our dear friend Paul for dinner during his layover in Atlanta. Which leaves me and the girl for dinner and just try to guess where we're going?

The brick house.

They're Indian and they're hosting a dinner for the International Friends club at the school. And I'm half-Egyptian and I'm dying to see inside the house. We're taking pumpkin bread because I never have the time to learn how to make stuffed grape leaves. I'll probably walk, with Marley riding in the B.O.B. of course:).

Cleaning day(s)

2010-09-30T10:46:00.000-07:00

I'm cleaning house today and tomorrow and thinking of a book I read a few years ago about a community of Orthodox Jews living in Tennessee. My favorite parts were just before the holidays (and it seemed like there was one around every corner), when the women busied themselves cleaning and cooking. You could feel the anticipation and excitement rising from the pages.

My heart was light as I pushed the vacuum cleaner under the crib to suck up dust bunnies and the odd silly band. I imagined my clean, peaceful house on Friday afternoon, ready for the words of prophets and apostles to echo through its halls. I thought about how messy and cluttered my life and my heart sometimes get, and how nice it is to get to cleaning day and know that everything will be put back in its place, and the floors will smell good and the bathtub will shine.

That's a nice feeling.

Evening on East

2010-09-20T19:01:00.000-07:00

Before we left Durham we took a few minutes to right a ten-year-old wrong. Let me just sum it up by telling you that at one point on my wedding day I overheard the well-intentioned, but socially awkward photographer we had hired asking my Dad to "Please step away from the tripod, sir." The pictures were- how do I put this- devoid of any speck of artistry, interest or personality.

One day I was reflecting on this as one of the great regrets of my life (in all seriousness) and Lindsay said, in all seriousness, "Why don't you just redo them?" I had recently unearthed my wedding dress for my friend Cindy Lynn to wear at her wedding and my hair was even close to the same length it was when we got married. Why not indeed?

Melissa agreed to take the pictures, so on a sweltering night a week before we moved we reenacted our wedding day on East Campus under the magnolia trees. Even though it's not where we got married, Duke is the place where our marriage was born. We met there, made our first home there, and it felt right to be there barefoot and weighed down by white satin.

By the time I saw the pictures we were long gone to Atlanta, and the sunlight shining through the giant trees with all the memories they hold made me cry.

Then I remembered that I got to take that handsome guy in the pictures with me and I felt better.

I would follow him anywhere.

Old at last!

2010-09-12T15:00:00.000-07:00

(Me on my twentieth, with friends Kelly and Carrie)

Today is my thirtieth birthday. I've watched a lot of friends turn thirty over the past few years, and it never looked like very much fun. Here I am though, welcoming thirty like a new friend I already know I'm going to love. Maybe it's because I so frequently (less frequently now, come to think of it) get told I look like I'm nineteen, which would be a compliment, if it didn't imply that I'd had my first baby at age eleven, but I'm relieved to finally be able to answer: "I'm actually thirty years old thank you very much!"

I've been thinking a lot about the past decade of my life and its twists and turns...I began married life, learned to cook, became a mother, finished college, moved across the country and back again, bought a house, got a dog, raised chickens and made friends I hope I'll have forever. My twenties were full and productive, marked by constant change. Although I know there will be flux in my thirties, I'm looking forward to less of it. I want to find a place where we can put down roots, work more on becoming the mother and wife I want to be, add to our family if we feel right about it, and eventually go back to school to prepare for a career I will love and that has meaning for me. I'm sure there will be plenty of surprises along the way, but I feel like I can face them confidently, knowing I can rely on the Lord for help.

The past decade was focused on building foundations- of our family and of my own testimony of the Savior. As we sang the second verse of By Still My Soul in church today, I decided to make it my "motto" for my thirties:

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake

To guide the future, as He has the past.

Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;

All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

My experiences during my twenties have helped me develop the kind of faith that allows me to act on what I think is God's will for me. But beyond that is the kind of faith that brings peace and confidence when everything seems to be falling to pieces all around you and you forget for a moment that there is a plan and you're doing your best to follow it so everything will be okay in the end. When I look back on my thirties, I want to be able say I've got a little of that kind of faith too.

San Fran vs. Hotlanta

2010-09-03T15:37:00.001-07:00

While the rest of my family is doing this:

...out in San Fransisco while visiting my brother and my only cousin, I just got my long run out of the way and stocked my house with bananas. We're getting ready for a visit from our very favorite people:
(minus Russ...unfortunately, because we would love to see Russ too- especially if he would make us breakfast!) The Alders are making the drive down 85, because a whole month is way too long for us to not see them! We're planning a trip to the Georgia Aquarium, dinner at our new favorite restaraunt: Farm Burger, and for Lindsay and me, a visit to Ikea. I can't tell you how much I need to just sit with my best friend, who knows me inside out, and not have to explain anything- just sit and talk, like old times. And even though I'm missing being with my family in California this weekend while they wander the Sonoma valley, I'll be with family here in Atlanta. And I won't even have to be a designated driver:).

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go clean the one bathroom that all 10 of us will be using for three days, put sheets on the guest bed, and take a nice long shower.

Happy Labor Day weekend!

P.S.- The bananas are for Carson, who is four, and loves bananas. And me- he tells me all the time. Probably because I give him bananas.

Monday, 7:51 A.M.

2010-08-30T18:13:00.000-07:00

Waking up to the alarm this morning felt like coming out of a coma. Or what I imagine that feels like anyway. I lured Brigham from sleep with the promise of mustard toast- don't ask- and started sorting go-gurts and pretzels into lunchboxes. Eric was already at his usual perch on the living room sofa, staring out the front window as kids with parents who are morning people walked past on their way to school.

I forget what they fought about over breakfast, but I know they did, just like I know they put their shoes on and brushed their teeth and combed their hair. The hatred and the rage that they regularly feel for one another is a part of life now, so common I only notice it when a plaintive maamaaaa rises above the raucous. Some days I wonder if they'll ever speak to each other again when they leave home. Truly.

Then the moment- me in my pj's in front of the open door, one eye on the dog doing his morning business, one eye on the two of them as they mosey toward the crosswalk. I open my mouth to shout at them to look both ways and that's when I see it: Brigham starts to cross and, almost imperceptibly, Eric lifts his arm, stopping him. The car passes and they're walking with the crowd, leaving me in my pj's in the front yard, holding the dog's leash, wondering just how much I know about those two and their little boy hearts.

This gives me hope.

Live from Atlanta:

2010-08-17T17:58:00.000-07:00

One last peck around the yard before moving to their new home at Don and Emily's

Holy Cow. That was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Worse than wedding-planning and birthing children. Emotional and physical exhaustion like I have never known. But the worst of it (I think, I hope) is behind us.

I think I can now call myself an expert in stealth packing. Two days before we moved our house was in showing condition. That made for about two hours of sleep the night before we left, but it payed off when we signed a contract for sale literally 10 minutes before we hit the road.

It's all a blur now, but a few things stand out: Kathleen scrubbing cabinets like her life depended on it and ducking into the bathroom to cry. Eric bringing Marley home from Kim's, bathed, fed and wearing Aubrey's PJ's. Eric S. drenched in sweat and swearing up and down that he loves helping people move. Russ's breakfast fit for a king. Ann showing up out of nowhere and cleaning the oven. Becky calling "I love you" over her shoulder. Clint taking our picture on the front porch. Pam folding the load of laundry I didn't have time to dry. Crying into Lindsay's voicemail while driving down 85. My wedding dress on the seat next to me. Watching Mustang lay his head in Marley's lap in the rear-view mirror.

I kept my eye's locked on that yellow moving truck carrying my three boys and everything I own for 7 1/2 hours. We finally arrived to an eager crowd of young men from church ready to move us in. Our new neighbors took the kids to their house for pizza and cartoons. Jeff, Eric's old hall-mate from Duke, brought pastries and stayed until midnight putting together our beds. We slept the sleep of the dead.

The next day the landlady needed to come in the house for something while we were out returning the truck. I thought our house on Shady Lane was small, but this house is smaller. She called later to ask, in all seriousness, if we could really fit everything in, and to assure me that if not, she would not mind us breaking our lease. I tried to convey, in as non-hysterical a voice as I could muster, that I was not budging from this house for at least two years, I don't care if I have to take everything I own, including my Grandmother's fine china, to Goodwill. Just kidding- I don't have my Grandmother's fine china- luckily she's still using it- but you get the picture.

Two weeks later I'm amazed at how our things have taken to this little, old, quirky house. With a lot of purging, a little maneuvering and liberal use of the attic, we fit perfectly. I'm learning how to manage without a garbage disposal and getting used to the 8:00 school start-time. I can get myself to Publix, the train station and Ikea. Oh, Ikea, how I've missed you!

The neighborhood is unreal. The only way I can describe it is to say is that at 5:30, moms start knocking on doors looking for their kids. My little house alternates between sleepy silence and a cacophony of popsicle-wielding children, overexcited golden retriever and no-longer-napping baby. One day last week the four-year-old from next door came over while no one was here and watched Finding Nemo for an hour while I cleaned floors.

Mustang survived his initiation to city life: a close brush with a tractor trailer while running along busy Ponce de Leon. Marley and I stay busy during the day organizing (and un-organizing) the house, while Eric thinks deep mathematical thoughts and goes for barefoot runs on his lunch break at the Fed.

My heart is still aching for everything we left behind, but I think that maybe we can make this work...

Change.

2010-07-18T18:23:00.000-07:00

Church was kind of rough today. Every time I turned a corner I saw a face I'll miss. I sat on the floor in nursery during Sunday School while Marley cried and clung to me. My phone rang once and I leaped up to answer it, with the hope of seeing 'central showings' in the caller ID. No luck.

We came home and ate bruschetta with sparkling grape juice by candle light while dark clouds and thunder rolled in. Change flickered in the shadows as we talked and laughed shooed the dog away from the table.

After dinner I sat on the sofa with a marker and a pile of school supplies. Year-round school starts tomorrow here, and the boys decided they wanted to go for the two-and-a-half weeks before we move. I'm sure this will only make it harder to leave, but somehow it feels like the right thing to do.

Eric put the baby to bed and read James and the Giant Peach to the boys while I swept the dog hair from the kitchen floor and wiped the counters. Put everything in its place. Straightened the lamp shades, set out the lunchboxes.

I thought about the coming changes. I thought of Eustice and his dragon skin. And how this is the one chance I have to live a mortal life and learn all that I can from its challenges and trials. If I could choose between an easy path without growth and one that will test and stretch and prod me, I know which one I would pick.

And anyway, I don't get to choose do I?

What happens when you leave home for a week...

2010-07-15T12:14:00.000-07:00

...and leave your children in the care of an opthalmologist.

...and neglect your garden.

Eric had a conference in Rome a few weeks ago, and since it was our tenth anniversary I decided to go along. It was lovely. Eric lost his phone (which was doubling as our camera) to either a pickpocket or the back seat of a cab, I'm not sure which, and so we have no photographic evidence. But we did go- really! And it was lovely! Basically, we ate amazing food, saw amazing art, met amazing people and Eric unwittingly joined in a gay pride demonstration. Standard stuff, pretty much.

I think I've discovered, or maybe confirmed something about myself, though. I'm not a traveler. I don't like physical discomfort of any kind, be it lack of sleep, dry eyes, stiff legs or an empty belly. If I'm uncomfortable, I'm unhappy and there's just a certain amount if discomfort inherent in traveling. And boy do I hate power-trippy airline employees.

When we came home, we spent an absolutely insane week working to get our house ready to go on the market and now that that's been done, we're enjoying a few days of respite while Eric's Brazilian friend, David, is in town.

THIS, I like. I like that when he walked into our house he touched the walls and asked what they were made of (apparently there's not a lot of drywall in Brazil). I like that while I was making dinner last night he was outside taking pictures of our neighborhood because he thinks it's so beautiful. I liked hearing Brigham ask, in a slow, deliberate voice: "WHERE WERE YOU BORN?" and when it was clear that this had not been understood: "WHERE DID YOU COME OUT OF YOUR MOM'S TUMMY?"

I like hearing about Brazil, where a nanny is called a "baba" and makes in a day what I would pay a 14-year-old to watch my kids for one hour. And where they eat dinner at 10 o'clock at night. And where it's normal to shower 3 times a day. I like our new Havaianas. I like listening to Eric speak Portuguese- my favorite language.

So I guess I'm not a total provincial American boob. I do like other cultures, I just like learning about them in the comfort of my own living room. Maybe I won't show my kids the world, but I think I see exchange students in our future....

Leaving on the midnight train

2010-06-23T19:15:00.000-07:00

When I woke up this morning I was missing a child. Eric had taken little Eric with him to school, where they watched the U.S. World Cup game instead of Eric teaching his class. It's hot. Too hot to teach, too hot to run, too hot to do house work, too hot to pack up your life.

We took a little trip to Atlanta this weekend. We visited the Atlanta Federal Reserve, who wants the rights to my husband for the next two years. I'm reluctantly -VERY reluctantly- handing him over, in exchange for a decent salary, health benefits and a shot at teaching position at a good school when he's done. Which he promises will be in two years, three at most. But I've heard promises like that before.

While Eric was being fingerprinted at the Fed to make sure he's not a crazy Arab terrorist (I tried to tell them I'm the crazy Arab in the family but they didn't listen), the kids and I watched through a glass wall while little robots with names like Abe and Felix wheeled huge amounts of cash up and down a dreary hallway. We learned that the Atlanta Fed shreds ten million dollars worth of unfit currency every day. I sometimes feel like that's what they're doing to my life, but I didn't tell them that.

We drove around Atlanta looking at house after house, trying to find one that I could actually see myself living in for the next two years. After two days, our best option had a rent double our mortgage here and, brace yourselves:

The front door opened into a closet.

Really, really.

Eric is still wishing we had snapped it up, but I had to draw the line somewhere. I will give up my home, my friends, my everything here in North Carolina but I WILL NOT ENTER MY HOUSE THROUGH A CLOSET. No, no, no!

Needless to say, I've done a lot of crying over the past few days. I'm a roots girl. I hate travel, I hate moving, I hate the end of the school year, all of it.

Someday I'll sink my roots down deep and never have to dig them up. That's what I keep telling myself, at least.

Teacher of my heart,

2010-06-07T09:50:00.000-07:00

*This year, just like every year, I have cried and probably will cry a lot more over the end of the school year. I decided to write something that would express at least some of my feelings for the incredible teachers who have blessed my children's lives thus far.

Please, forgive me for the inadequacy of the little wrapped package in my son's backpack this morning. I know you must have lotion and candles to last you several lifetimes.

I wish I could give you a gift worthy of the one you have given me. I wish I could give you a room full of trophies, ribbons and framed diplomas. Except, instead of commemorating degrees and honors, there would be one for every moment of triumph when a reading concept has clicked; one for each argument you have compassionately helped settle, one for every tear you've dried, and every confidence-restoring hug you've given.

I wish I could give you a crystal ball that you could look into and see my son as he moves through the defining moments of his life. The day he gets his driver's license; his first day of his first job; the first time he holds his very own baby. You will be there, in all of them, because of the imprint you've made on his heart in one short school year. You did more than teach- you valued, you encouraged, you inspired.

I wish I could give you a paycheck that could compensate for all the early mornings you would have rather stayed in bed; all the expensive sweaters you never bought, all the dinner party conversations that passed you by because your job was not high-powered or prestigious in the world's eyes. You saw beyond that. You chose to listen the voice inside you that said your life's work was the most important thing in the world- the work of nurturing, guiding and shaping human beings.

There were days and weeks that I was not what I should have been for my son, when I fell short in my fulfillment of the sacred duties of motherhood, and on those days you were there- a refuge, a safe harbor, a wise friend. Where my words of praise were taken for granted, yours rang truer because you didn't 'have' to love him, and his confidence has blossomed under your care.

Of course I know that no tissue-wrapped present can ever repay the sacrifices you've made and the gifts you've offered. There is only end-of-the-year present worthy of a beloved teacher, and you have that already. It's the pure love that only a child's heart can feel.

Thank you, from the bottom of my soul. Though his memories of you will blur with time, the love and acceptance you have shown him is a part of him now. And I will never forget that.

Cluck

2010-06-03T12:36:00.000-07:00

Brigham went out to gather eggs the other day. I noticed he was wearing only underwear, so I wasn't surprised to hear Eric stop him at the door. He told him to put shoes on...

Let it never be said that our hens lead an uninteresting life. And do let it be said that they are fabulous pets. Yummy eggs every day for very minimal effort and almost no cost. We have two loyal customers who buy the extra eggs and just about cover the cost of the feed. Eric built the coop out of free scraps he found around town. And they're such fun to chase around the yard! Plus it adds to our aura of quirkiness- always a good thing.

Did I ever mention that I took a pottery class in January and February? It was fun and now we have some cool things to eat and drink out of. I think I'll make that a yearly tradition- a fun class to bring a little joy to those dreary winter months.

Did I also mention that I tried my hand at gardening this year? I picked a patch of dirt where weeds seemed to grow extra fast, poked some holes in the dirt, threw in some seeds that my cousin sent me in the mail and see what happened?! They grew!! I'm already dreaming of next year's garden...

Two revelations and an explosion...mother's day at the beach

2010-05-26T10:43:00.000-07:00

The first full day of our beach trip was mother's day. Eric silently removed the baby from the room so I could sleep in. Then no one brought me breakfast in bed. They know me so well. I passionately hate eating breakfast in bed.

Later, in the midst of the chaos of five families getting ready for church, the boys brought me their presents: a painting of a flower, a flower, a handmade card. I thanked them and hugged them and stretched my smile as far as it would go. Then the hustle and bustle faded back in and I turned my attention to other things.

We went to church right next to a Marine base. Both of the speakers were soldiers. It reminded me of my love of military people, developed in my R.O.T.C. days. At the end of the meeting, each mother was handed a giant chocolate bar. Enough for us to share with our kids and still have some left for ourselves- brilliant.

In Relief Society where there was a lesson on prayer. I remembered something that happened to me a long time ago in Seattle. Brigham was a week old and I needed to take him to his first doctor's appointment. It was probably my first time leaving the house with two kids. Nothing big, but it seemed big at the time. I was running late, and something happened with the car. I couldn't find my keys, or it wouldn't start- I don't remember, except that I didn't have a car to get Brigham to the doctor, and my toddler was probably crying, and I was probably hungry, and sore, and exhausted, and scared to death of how I was going to do this everyday on my own. I guess I figured it out, because I have a memory of sitting in the doctors office eating a peanut butter and honey sandwich later that day.

That night I went to return something to my neighbor, Danielle. We talked on the doorstep for a few minutes, and then she said that she wasn't sure why, but she felt like God had put it in her heart to tell me that they hardly ever used their second car and anytime I needed it, to just ask. In fact, she would be fine giving me a set of keys. I was confused. Clearly my Heavenly Father was mindful of me and the situation I'd been in earlier in the day. But why prompt my friend that I needed her car if it didn't lead to me actually using it? I never did use their car.

As I sat listening to the lesson, the spirit whispered the answer to the question I'd had all these years. I never asked for his help. I was probably too frustrated, too tired and too overwhelmed to even think to pray at that moment in my life. But he wanted me to know he was there, with a plan, ready to go. I think he wanted to bless me. To make my very stressed life a little easier in that moment, but he can't give me what I don't ask for. He won't violate my agency that way. And he is patient enough to wait seven years (almost exactly- Brigham was born on mother's day) for the right moment to teach me that truth.

Then we went home and it was my night to cook dinner. I made cinnamon rolls and one of the glass pans exploded when I set it on the counter. Miraculously there was still enough for everyone to eat their fill. The children all sang a mother's day song and someone put them to bed. I don't know who, just that it wasn't me.

We grownups stayed up late talking, so that it was past midnight when I reached for the lamp beside my bed and my eyes caught on the card little Eric had made me. I picked it up and looked at it, really looked, for the first time. I saw how he had written the words Happy Mothers Day! in pencil and then traced over them in marker, a different color for each letter. There were two butterflies with little M's on their wings (for Mama I think). Two hearts and a carefully drawn sunflower. Inside was a message: Roses are red, Pansies are white, I think that you are such a delight! More hearts, and on the back: Moms Rock! In my mind I could see him at his desk at school, head bent, biting his tongue, carefully drawing, tracing, considering, hoping. I cried myself to sleep, and then the next morning I went and told him how much I loved his card- really told him.

That night I prayed: Please, please. Help me to pay attention. To see. To see past the defiance, the smirking and the acting out, to the lovingly traced letters and carefully drawn butterflies.

Re-entry

2010-05-18T17:18:00.000-07:00

That's my friend Cindy's word for coming home after a wonderful vacation and having reality come crashing down on you. Laundry, phone calls, emails, errands, lessons, school, work.... Miss Marley keeps the mood light though- by squirting me with some of Eric's cologne this morning, so that I smelled like him all day long. And Eric entertains me by eating crickets. And the boys, well, all they seem to do these days is fight. My neighbors told me they bought a van when their two boys were this age so they could each have their own bench. I asked them when it got better and they said when the older one got his driver's license. Which didn't make me feel any better.

We had a wonderful week at the beach with wonderful friends, some of whom we hadn't seen in a year. We woke up each morning to sunlight reflecting off the ocean through our balcony window, and fell asleep to the laughter of the West coast contingent, still not adjusted to North Carolina time. Mothers' Day left me with a profound realization about my firstborn. The kids had endless hours of fun on the beach and endless access to snacks and cartoons. Amid runs to the pier (okay so I only made it to the pier once), delicious communal meals, afternoon gospel discussions in the hot tub and quiet moments of reading and journal writing, I found so many inspiring little glimpses into my friends' lives. One inspired me to be more creative in my solutions to problems (by fashioning a window shade from a baby blanket and a coat-hanger); Another reminded me of the sweet joy of using our talents to bless others (evidence of this to come in a future post); Another impressed me, as always, with her unfailing patience and love for her children; And still another taught me the importance of living in the moment and taking the time necessary to care for myself and my family without feeling anxious that I'm missing out on interaction with friends.

In next few days, as I finish sifting the sand from our clothes and towels, I'll be sifting these insights, pondering which ones I'm ready to try and bring into my life, and which ones are best admired from afar for now. I've learned that expecting myself to instantly morph into the good examples I see all around me is ineffective and diminishes my self worth. I need to have respect for my own unique nature and draw from other people only what I'm ready to receive.

Updates...

No news from the potential job in Atlanta. WE'RE NEVER GOING TO HEAR ANYTHING FROM THEM FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES! THEY'VE FALLEN OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH! Ahem...I mean, maybe next week?

Brigham has been thrown over by his first girlfriend- because he's too short. He's taking it pretty well.

Little Eric likes his new haircut (oops- I forgot to post pictures...coming soon).

Marley has learned to say 'nice' and to hit.

Big Eric ate a live cricket on a dare. Evidence below:

I really like this (if you can't see the whole thing, click on the link at the top of the box):

The "token goat"

2010-05-03T10:53:00.000-07:00

Because the title of my last post was grossing me out every time I opened up my blog (which functions as my google reader page), here is my to-do list before we leave for a week at the beach on Saturday:

1. Clean house.

2. Not scream at kids when they wreck house between the time I clean it and the time we leave.

3. Buy sunscreen and swim diapers.

4. Go to library and check out fluffy beach books.

5. Look for library card which I haven't seen since the last time Marley played with my wallet.

6. Fill i-pod with beachy running/relaxing music (which will most certainly include the entire soundtrack from Wicked, which I saw this weekend, which was so amazing. So if you're vacationing on the North Carolina coast next week and you see a crazy woman leaping over tidal pools and singing Defying Gravity at the top of her lungs, just look the other way and let her have her little moment. Thanks:).

I think I need a little time away. Yesterday in church I didn't have the energy to take Marley out in the hall when she got loud so I gave her my sunglasses, which she broke. Then I gave her the pearl bracelet that Eric gave me for graduation and she broke that. Then, while Eric went to his meetings and I tried to shepherd the kids into the car to go home, little Eric told me that Brigham had just relieved himself in the bushes RIGHT in front of the church. (How did I not notice? No idea.) I sighed and told him it was not okay to do that and that next time he should go across the parking lot to the woods to pee. Then Eric helpfully suggested, "oooor, you could use the bathroom inside".

And I was like, oh- right, do that Briggie!

Definitely time for a week at the beach....

Scrambled eggs and bloody toes

2010-04-30T10:04:00.001-07:00

I live the sort of life in which things happen, all the time, that I don't understand. I've come to accept this. Sometimes I try to figure it out, and sometimes I just let it go.

As an example, the other morning I was in my kitchen and I happened to look up at the ceiling. Eric and I put a lot of blood, sweat and tears into de-popcorning our ceilings, so I was distressed to see a large area covered in pale yellow splatters. I climbed up on the counter to check it out and quickly identified the substance as scrambled egg........which made perfect sense. When my grandmother was visiting I woke up one morning to find that she had decided it was a good idea to make herself some scrambled eggs.....in a mug.....in the microwave. Didn't know you could do that? Read on.

When they were done, she took them out and went to stir them with a spoon, and they exploded all over the kitchen, so that when I happened upon the scene I found the dog licking egg off the floor, my grandmother fluttering around looking for a rag and talking to herself and Brigham taking it all in with a look of silent glee that could only belong to a child who has witnessed an adult making a very big mess. That was the end of that mystery and it fit perfectly into the puzzle of my life- I am the kind of woman who would have eggs on her ceiling. I embrace it.

But this has really got me stumped:

I'm a slow starter in the mornings. Usually by the time my teeth are brushed, my bed is made, everyone's been fed and the kitchen is relatively clean, Marley and Mustang are running around the house, frantic to get outside and go for a run. So I open up the front door and let them frolic on the lawn while I get my shoes on, update my podcasts, etc.

Lately, by the time I make it outside, both of Marley's big toes are bleeding. And she seems totally unaware and un-bothered by the fact. What is she doing in the three minutes between my opening the door and being ready to go??? Maybe I'll have to crouch in the bushes tomorrow and spy on her....

Thoughts?

A few pictures from the big day...

2010-04-21T19:46:00.000-07:00

This is the only one I have of them together, and I'm thinking of calling it: Duke won! Where's the bathroom?!

This next one provides the explanation for why I spent almost thirty dollars tonight...

There was the haircut (his first in over a year) and the short-term bribe of a pack of gum and a bag of skittles (and then of course, a pack of gum and bag of skittles for his brother), plus the promise of three bakugans upon my return from Target tomorrow afternoon.

Worth every penny- because temporary tattoos, a basketball jersey and a sideways hat when you're eight years old? Mmmm....okay. But all that plus long, sweaty, shaggy hair? Too much. Just, too much.

Many thanks to Ashley- our friend from church who was the only person Eric would agree to let perform the momentous task. She's got tattoos- I think that's what did it for her. So now Eric has his own personal-stylist-named-Ashley, a la Cjane.

He's fast asleep in bed, dreaming of his big field-trip to the zoo tomorrow, but I'll post an "after" picture sometime soon. They're leaving at 7:15 sharp. He asked me three times today to remember to wake him up early so he won't be late. They're going to ride on a coach bus. He asked me twice how big a coach bus is. I really hope it lives up to his expectations. And I hope that alarm goes off.

Goodbye day

2010-04-13T17:30:00.000-07:00

Today was a Goodbye day. I remembered it as soon as the alarm went off at 7:30. Even though my grandmother was only here for two days, I knew the house would feel empty when I got home from passing her off to my cousins for the second part of her trip this afternoon, especially with Eric out of town. I shuffled around in a sleepy daze, putting yogurts into lunch boxes, issuing orders to put on socks and glasses. Goodbye followed me around like a shadow.

Grandmom came in my room while I made the bed and tried to decide what to do for the morning. She said she didn't care- we could go the quilting morning at the church, to the library, take the tour of historic Stagville, whatever I wanted. I said I would call Lindsay to see what she was doing and she said, "Lindsay is just the dearest person in the world." My throat closed up and I thought, yes- that's exactly what she is.

In the end we stayed home and Grandmom drew me a family tree and told me stories of my ancestors while Marley emptied my bathroom drawers. Then we took Marley to Lindsay's and went to the museum for lunch. I saw an old professor and stopped to talk. He said he remembered me, which I doubt. While we waited for our food we called Eric in Atlanta but he didn't answer. Then we called my brother in California and left him a message telling him he ought to be awake by now. I thought I saw Goodbye out of the corner of my eye, but I looked away and took another bite of my sandwich.

After lunch we wandered through an exhibit of contemporary Chinese art. Grandmom obsessed about a giant painting of men in what looked like baggy speedos and I contemplated how fuzzy the Art History corner of my brain has gotten. I checked my phone and found it was time to get Marley and pick the boys up from school.

We drove to Chapel Hill and met my cousin at Trader Joe's. I wandered around and let the boys put cartons of chocolate soy milk and Gorilla crunch in the cart. I bought two hiacynths. We hugged goodbye at the car and I drove home thinking about the purple hyacinths my mom planted when we lived in our old house in Durham. I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of Goodbye in the way back. Eric called back to say his job interview went well. It seemed like a formality. They might make him an offer next week. I took a breath and tried to be excited for him, because he sounded excited- and happy. But it was hard, and I was glad when I had to tell Brigham to stop trying to kill his brother with his homework folder.

At home we ate frozen pizza from Trader Joe's. I fed Marley her bottle and did Mad Libs with the boys. When asked for a body part, I said "nipple" and they laughed so hard I thought they would pass out. I almost forgot about Goodbye, until I was standing at the sink scrubbing a cookie sheet. I thought of climbing the magnolia tree in my front yard when I was eight. Carrying boxes into my dorm on East campus. Kissing Eric on the quad with books spread out around us in the grass. Bringing my first baby home to our apartment on Central campus. Birthday parties for Brigham at the gazebo. Driving out I-40 to the beach. Friends that will be a part of me forever.

How do I say goodbye to all of that?

What dreams are made of

2010-04-05T21:24:00.001-07:00

Picture it:

You're eight years old. You love Duke basketball more than anything. And you happen to have the coolest Dad in the world. He wakes you up early, tells you to eat breakfast, grab your toothbrush and get in the car. When you're on the road he asks you if you could go anywhere, do anything tonight, what would it be? The game, you answer. He tells you that the game is in Indiana, ten hours away. You accept this. Of course that's too far to drive, too much time for your Dad to take off school. And you would need to take food with you, he says. And a toothbrush. You think for a moment and then your eyes widen and you smile incredulously. You drive all day and make it to Indianapolis with an hour to spare. They win by two points.

Does it get any better?

Incognito

2010-03-28T19:28:00.000-07:00

For a youth activity on Wednesday night we dressed in disguise and headed to the local mall, where kids from church had to spot people they knew amongst the evening shoppers. They had to get our signatures for points, and the group with the highest point total won a prize.

Briggie and I had fun wandering around while people whispered and stared. At one point two guys came out of a store and silently pushed a pen and paper at me. They definitely did not go to our church, but I think they thought I was famous since groups of teenagers kept asking for my autograph. I gave it to them, of course:).

Later on a lady took a picture of Brigham with her cell phone, which tickled him to no end. As we were leaving, Eric pointed to a woman sitting in the food court and asked if she went to church with us. I told him no- I didn't recognize her at all. Apparently one of the groups of kids thought they did and asked her to sign their paper, which she very nicely did!

Here we are in our get-ups:

Gamecocks Girl...

Marimekko Man...

Smooth criminal...

Disco Mama....

Little E had scouts so he missed out on the fun. We got a mouthful on that all the way to the church, but he had fun playing ultimate frisbee and gorging on cookies all night, so I think he got over it.

Our Young Women's president told me later that when the girls saw me they said, "Wow! Brother Aldrich must be lovin' life!", which, I'll be honest, made my week. Maybe my month.

Wardrobe check: Eric's shirt was made by my Aunt (from a curtain- is that true AR?) and used to belong to my grandfather, who wore it proudly- he was cool that way. The pink pants. Yes, well....okay I'll tell you, but you have to promise to believe me. I bought them on the Ave. in Seattle on a date with my husband. I needed something fun to wear to a Relief Society activity where we were all supposed to dress crazy. I got wind of some women who were planning to wear their wedding dresses, so I knew I had to go all out. It's how things are done in Seattle. I found a pair of pink leather pants at a second-hand store and have now worn them exactly two times in my life.

Now I'm craving icecream from The Mix.

Blackberry jam

2010-03-26T10:50:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I was at the doctor with Brigham. While we waited in the exam room I had a chance to peruse the walls, which were hung from floor to ceiling with degrees and awards earned by the doctor we were about to meet. Harvard. Duke. More Harvard. Associations. Leagues. Boards. Honored service. One was in Latin- I couldn't read it even though I took two years of Latin in High School. I felt small.

In my mind I saw the walls rise up on either side of me. I stood in the middle, shrinking, until I was only two inches tall. Un-showered, baby on my hip, defensively wearing one of Eric's Duke Econ shirts in an attempt to get a little respect. Having three kids, looking younger than you are and flashing a medicaid card doesn't always make for the most pleasant treatment at doctors offices.

Then the doctor came in. She was lovely and nice. She answered my questions and calmed my worries about Brigham's eyes and those stupid patches that I was beginning to think would always be a part of his life. I felt a little better when I left, but I kept thinking about the feelings I had in that room. Feelings of inadequacy. Of worry that maybe I'm not doing enough with the life I've been given to live. That's one of my demons. It haunts me all the time, even though I do have a testimony of the sacred importance of motherhood and family.

Then the other morning I was eating breakfast at the kitchen table. I looked over at Marley in her highchair. She had blackberry jam all over her face and she looked so beautiful that my eyes teared up. A word floated into my head:

Offering.

I've never seen my children as offerings- only as gifts, burdens, little tornadoes that tear up my house and teach me about life, forcing me to dive deep into myself and see what I'm really made of. But in that moment I saw an offering, and I knew in a quiet, calm way that my offering is acceptable to God.

I have no doubt the demons will return- we all have them and it's never that easy to get them to go away. Maybe that's why I felt the need to write this post- to have a tangible reminder of the whisperings of the spirit in a quiet moment at the kitchen table.

P.S.- Cjane says today:

I will never feel sorry for a woman who seeks the best of what this life is offering, even if what she finds doesn't look like what I have found.

Amen.

A letter to the Jet City

2010-03-23T06:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Seattle,

I'm missing you somethin' fierce today. The pear trees are blooming here- nothing, I know, compared to your spring splendor. Have the cherry trees exploded on the UW campus? Is everyone trekking up north to see the tulips? Are the sailboats out on Lake Washington?

I'm sorry I've stayed away. I just don't want to come back unless it's for good- I'm weird that way. Remember how fiercely determined I was to hate your guts? How I used to call Eric at school in the middle of the day for no reason other than to say "I'm not living here. I hate this rain. We're moving as soon as you graduate." But you won my heart. With your ferry boats and your sea planes and your Cascade mountains. Your Burke-Gillman trail and your John Kerry yard-signs and your Kidd Valley burgers. Your naked cyclists and your Fremont troll and your non-depressing zoo. Your wild blackberries and your Starbucks' on every corner and your beautiful, amazing summers.

How is my old apartment that used to take me an afternoon (ONE afternoon!) to clean? Does Bill the maintenance guy still turn the sprinklers on at 7 A.M. everyday? I'm doing fine here in North Carolina. When I go to the beach I can sunbathe and swim. It's only March and I have my windows open. And I do prefer loblolly pines to your towering trees. But part of my heart will always be with you. And who knows, maybe someday the rest of me too? Save me some blackberries...

Love always,
Katie

You

2010-03-10T06:20:00.001-08:00

Are a mystery to me.

The way you can push your body past the point at which most people would give up. How your brain knows it's way around complex mathematical equations that look like another language to me. The patience you have to film our daughter for 7 straight minutes while she trots around the church during Sunday school. The love you have for building things with your own two hands. The pure joy you feel at being able to see for miles atop a high vantage point. Your dreams of traveling the world to see the people and places you pore over in your National Geographic.

Wherever you came from, I'm glad you're here and that you're mine. Happy birthday sweetheart.

California Bound

2010-03-02T10:33:00.000-08:00

I'm going on a little trip out to the West coast to visit my friend Megan. I've never left my baby girl before. Will she be okay? Will she forget me? Will she start calling someone else Mama? Probably not, since she doesn't even call me Mama. A few days ago she started saying 'Mommeeeee' over and over again when she wanted something. I was excited until I finally figured out that she was trying to say 'Marley'- as in 'that thing is Marley's! Give it to Marley!'.

Eric just got home from a trip to Utah where visited his sister and her sweet kids, and then was wined and dined at BYU, but told that they're under a hiring freeze and probably will be for at least a year. This, added to the stories from friends on the job market this year who've applied to hundreds of schools and gotten 2, maybe 3 offers, is giving me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know we'll get a job somewhere, just please, PLEASE don't let it be in someplace scary like Iowa, or Maine, or Wisconsin. I don't think I could make it through the winter. I would have to run away to California for more than a few days.

In the mean time, I'll try to rest easy knowing that this imposing character is watching over my family:

Just this morning he was very angry with his brother and called him a "poop rat" as they were getting out of the car in front of the school. So you really don't want to mess with him...

Lollipop

2010-02-21T14:00:00.000-08:00

Marley made a discovery before our morning run. She was playing on my bed while I stretched. As I raised my head from between my legs I heard the faint but distinctive sound of hard candy clacking against small teeth. She'd found a heart-shaped lollipop somewhere in the tangle of sheets. (I always love to see what little surprises await me when I pull back the covers.)

She had quietly taken the wrapper off and crawled to the far corner of the bed so as to enjoy her treasure in peace. I left her to it while I finished stretching. She was on Eric's side anyway.

Sometime later I put her sticky arms into her purple coat, strapped her into the jogging stroller and away we went, lollipop still in her hand. She would suck for a moment, take it out, contemplate its sugary goodness, then suck some more. Repeated, until half-way through the run I looked down to see that she was sound asleep, her little fist still curled tightly around the lollipop stick.

It made me think. What a happy surprise it must have been for her to discover the existence of lollipops. Not unlike the joy I felt at discovering the existence of her, and all that comes with her: painting a room pink, shopping for babydolls.

Never mind the sticky drool and cavities. Hold on to your lollipop, baby girl.

Dear Valentine,

2010-02-11T10:22:00.000-08:00

You are so very, very easy to love. It seem like years ago that I wondered at the squirming lump in my belly and tried to imagine a real person. I think about you and my stewardship of your sweet, wild spirit. As I guide and shape you, you do the same to me. I love the way that you and I can be together, not saying anything, looking where we please, thinking what we please. Do you think we can hold on to that? I hope so.

Dear Valentine,

You and I are peas in a pod. Loving you helps me learn to love myself. I love your quirkiness, the way you have of doing your own thing, oblivious to others' presence. I love to watch your face contort while you have imaginary conversations in your head. I love your penchant for finding hidden treasures- in the gutter, on the floor of the checkout lane, under a pile of leaves. You are my treasure.

Dear Valentine,

You and I are trailblazers. You see my flaws most clearly-my jagged edges are still sharp enough to cut you. I know there is pain in this, but I like to think there's a special bond too. I think of us, faces smudged with dirt, machetes in hand, hacking our way through the jungle together. You turn to me for reassurance and I kiss you on the head. Then we plunge ahead. Oh how I love you.

Dear Valentine,

Do you sometimes get tired while building this house of a life with me? It's still covered in dust and construction debris, and maybe it will be for some time, but underneath I think it's shaping up to be a solid, beautiful structure. Thanks for holding the ladder steady for me.

Love,
Me

9 P.M. Tuesday

2010-02-11T06:35:00.000-08:00

*Picture from a year ago, since I was too lazy to take one last night.

Kids across America were in bed, except for those who live on Tobacco Road. We split ways last night, Eric taking Marley with him to little Eric's basketball game and me taking Brigham with me to the Church. When we converged at home I was met with fierce bedtime resistance from both Erics, who felt the strong need to watch the Duke/ Carolina game, even though tip-off was after the younger one's bedtime. I tried suggesting that he listen to the game on the radio in his bed, but I could tell I just wasn't going to win this one. So they settled in to watch, while I put Marley to bed and Briggie fell asleep on the couch.

I took the opportunity to paint my nails teal (keeping those New Year's resolutions!) and watch Mansfield Park so that we can move on with our Netflix queue. EXCELLENT movie, by the way. And Duke won.

This morning I entered to kitchen to find Big Eric giving little Eric a lesson in gloating, that he was no doubt planning to put to use with all the little Carolina fans at school this morning. I interjected- I'll concede bedtime, but not manners- to remind the boys about being gracious winners.

Only in North Carolina...

Morning thoughts.

2010-02-10T07:09:00.000-08:00

I'm much more of a night owl than a morning person. But after I've gotten over the shock of the alarm clock going off, had some orange juice and checked my email, I actually do like mornings with my kids. The boys usually wake up before me, but they know not to EVER come in my room when I'm sleeping unless it's to SILENTLY climb into bed with me. SILENTLY. They will busy themselves with some quiet activity in the living room like lego building or randomly clicking around on the computer screen until something fun pops up. This morning they continued last night's pre-bedtime activity: designing their own chucks on the converse website. I like their designs, but $45 for shoes? For my kids? Who don't even wear shoes?

At exactly 8:20, I emerge from my room and start issuing orders to get dressed, tell me what they want for breakfast, put socks on (you would think this would be part of getting dressed, but no), get glasses, backpacks, show-and-tell objects, etc. While they're doing all this I'm usually in the kitchen making breakfast (always one of three selections: toast, cheerios or oatmeal) and packing lunches. This morning Eric was eating his oatmeal while I made his sandwich. He informed me that yesterday I put his sandwich in Brigham's lunch. Eric likes a whole sandwich with peanut butter and jam, cut diagonally. Brigham likes a half-sandwich, just peanut butter, FOLDED IN HALF, not cut.

"My lunchbox is tall and black and Brigham's is short and black."

[short pause]

"And I'm the kid without the glasses."

Then I take them to school, come home and have a wrestling match with Marley that sometimes, but not always, ends with one or more clips residing in her hair for up to fifteen minutes. So I take pictures of her to document my efforts.

Then we're ready to face the day!

bzzzzzzzz.....

2010-02-08T09:27:00.000-08:00

Thanks to my new calling at church, I get to spend my Sundays with teenage girls for the foreseeable future. The boys laughed when I told them I get to teach the "beehives", which is what the 12- and 13-year-olds are called, especially when Eric told them that if I did a good job I would be promoted to the "wasp's nest" (he made that up).

Yesterday was my first day. I went to the Young Women's room after Sunday school and was given a phone list (almost every girl has her own cell phone, I was amazed to see), a birthday list and a calendar full of fun activities for the month of February. As I looked at the calendar I felt a familiar twinge of excitement. I joined the Mormon church when I was 16, so I participated in the youth program for about a year-and-a-half. I remember I would painstakingly transfer each scheduled activity into my day-planner and draw little pictures around them in marker. These goings-on were the highlights of my life. I looked forward to them so much. The little seeds of testimony that have grown and supported me throughout the last 12 years were sewn during those times. And now I get to help create those experiences for these girls.

The best part is something that I had totally forgotten about- Young Women's is all about building up. During our lesson yesterday we were given a treat with a little reminder to:

Forget your "worldly" value- Remember your true "werth". You are an "original" and unique daughter of God! He loves you!

(Can you guess what the candy was? So creative!)

Even now, my eyes fill with tears at that beautiful, simple message. I think we all need frequent reminders of our true worth.

Then I learned that I need to be able to text and be on Facebook in order to keep up with my girls. I think I can learn how to text, but Facebook...I just can't. Sorry girls.

*I awoke to these little critters yesterday morning...little Eric rediscovered this book that my very fun and creative aunt and uncle gave him a few years ago.

Snow: FAIL

2010-02-02T19:33:00.000-08:00

Does this look like a happy face to you?...

Or this?
If you could see this one, it would not be happy either...
It turns out that we're not snow people. We had nine inches here on Saturday and there's still enough of it hanging around that school has been out all week and they have tomorrow off. We spent the weekend hunkered down at home- church was even cancelled on Sunday. We played monopoly, ate homemade pizza and soup with friends and watched movies.

Saturday morning we spent a good twenty minutes padding everyone out, but when we reached the front yard Brigham took a snowball to the eye right off the bat and started to cry. Marley refused to let me put her down, and you saw for yourself what was on the dog's mind. Eric and Eric are the most cold-hardy among us and even they were happy to go in after about fifteen minutes. In our defense, we own a total of two real winter coats, three pairs of hand-knitted mittens (not warm, but very cute!), and zero pairs of boots.

The kids and I basically spent yesterday and today inside our house. Removing all the magnets from the fridge and scattering them around the house. Dribbling the basketball in the living room. Attempting to microwave rocks. We've also had some lovely moments. We've read books, done projects, snuggled, baked and just talked. But we're all starting to feel a little cooped-up, you know?

I reached my boiling point this afternoon while waiting for Eric to come home from school. He walked in at five o'clock sharp and I took off with the dog for a chilly run. At one point I was navigating a patch of ice when I saw two off-leash dogs up the road. They saw us coming toward them and started to trot over. I just started yelling like a mad-woman. They got the hint and veered off in another direction. The last thing I needed was my stir-crazy dog taking off on a joy romp through the neighborhood, dragging me behind him through the slush and ice.

I averted that disaster, came home, showered, ate dinner and escaped again to Target, where I bought lollipops, valentine-making supplies and a Hello Kitty toothbrush for Marley. She has an obsession with toothbrushes:

She gets it from me and I get it from my mom, who gets it from my grandmother. We really like to brush our teeth. I brush mine at least three times a day. I take a long time to brush, and I get bored staring at myself in the mirror, so I wander around the house talking to people while trying not to dribble toothpaste slobber on myself. It drives Eric crazy, but I can't help it- it's genetic. I mean, look at this:

Basically, we're ready for the rest of the week. Bring it, school system! Call me again- go on, do it. Tell me school is cancelled another day, and another, and another. We have stuff to do anyway- 46 pipecleaner bees to make and attach to valentines (bee mine- get it?)...yellow snow to make...toothbrushes to collect...

Forward.

2010-01-25T07:15:00.000-08:00

Dear Eric,

I sent you to school this morning with my blue and orange Jansport backpack. The zipper on yours is broken, so I gave you mine. I used it for four years of college, and I can still remember the day I bought it. I had gotten a $50 gift certificate to the Container Store as a graduation present. I bought a red travel jewelry case and that backpack. As I stood trying to decide on colors, the song Nothing Compares to You by Sinead O'conner was playing on the store radio. I started to cry, thinking of my highschool friends, my home, family and school that I would soon be leaving behind. I was scared and apprehensive, but something inside me told me to move forward. Something told me there was something better ahead.

My freshman year of college was more fun that I ever could have imagined. I cried much, much harder when it was time to come home for the summer than I did when I had left. I counted the days until I could go back to school, back to my friends, my classes, my loblolly pine trees. When I did come back I fell in love, and I don't even have words to describe what that was like. I only know that for some people it happens gradually and for some if feels like being whacked in the head with a baseball bat, only in a good way, and that's what it was like for me. But getting married was like stepping over a chasm into another world, and I knew I would be giving up some things I might never get back. I remember sitting in the backseat as we drove away from the party the night before our wedding, next to my soon-to-be father-in-law. He patted me on the shoulder while I cried and wondered once again about all that I was leaving behind. Once again, something inside told me to move forward.

I thought about these things when I sent you out the door this morning with my college backpack. I miss your baby self. I'm trying so hard to let go of that baby and embrace the boy you, because I know that all too soon, he will be gone too. It's really hard, but something inside me tells me to move forward. I know that God only takes away that which is precious to us in order to give us back something even better. I love Elder Holland's words from this month's Ensign:

Faith is for the future. Faith builds on the past but never longs to stay there. Faith trusts that God has great things in store for each of us and that Christ truly is the "high priest of good things to come (Hebrews 9:11).

I love you! Take good care of my backpack!

Love, Mama

Rule Number One...

2010-01-23T10:02:00.000-08:00

Don't eat breakfast cereal that changes the color of the milk.

I saw that in an article on how to encourage healthy eating in your home and it made me laugh. I see the point, and I do believe in sticking to natural, unprocessed foods as much as possible (I make my own whole wheat tortillas, for heavens sake!), but I'm not giving up my Lucky Charms for dessert. It's okay anyway, because I've found a loophole: eat them with cream, not milk- it won't change color.

Yep. I do. And I pick out almost half the cereal to raise the marshmallow to cereal ratio. You know what? Life is short. I figure if a little sugar cereal brings me happiness, then a little sugar cereal it shall be.

Other weird things I eat:

1. Brownie mix, mixed with water and microwaved for 11 seconds so the chocolate chunks melt.

2. Tortillas filled with parmesan cheese and olive oil.

3. Pretzel sticks dipped in marshmallow fluff.

I think a balanced diet is full of two things: foods that feed your body and make you feel good physically, and foods that feed your soul and make you happy. Sometimes I can combine them, but sometimes not and I'm perfectly okay with that. Sorry Michael Pollan.

The pursuit of happiness:

2010-01-20T06:24:00.000-08:00

I had to laugh out loud when I saw this picture of Marley in her red silk kimono. First, because she's so darn cute, and second, because by some trick of lighting, my kitchen looks like something out of design*sponge! Maybe I need to add an asterisk to my blog title? In real life- my kitchen does not look like ANYTHING out of design*sponge, but that made me wonder...maybe the same is true of the actual houses they feature?

Eric's sweet little basketball team finally won a game on Saturday. I died. I have been to a few gut clinchers in Cameron Indoor Stadium, and none of them compare to the agony and joy of watching this game. It was mostly agony though. I have one question for the out-of-control parents who scream instructions to their kids and yell at the refs (in an eight-year-olds' basketball game!!): Why? Just- why? I've never even felt the urge to yell at my kid during a game. That's what you're paying the 75 bucks for the coach to do right? I leave the coaching to the coach and consider my role to encourage and praise. Do they really think their kid even hears or processes their repeated shouts of "GET THE BALL! TAKE IT! GET UP- DON'T CRY! REBOUND!" over all the other parents yelling and screaming the same things? Honestly, I don't understand it and I feel so bad for those kids.

Eric's team scored 18 points in the first half to lead by 17, but the other team rallied in the second half and tied the game. Poor Marley was screaming her little head off by this point, but no one could hear her anyway above all the parents' screaming. They got up by two with about 30 seconds left, when Eric randomly fouled a kid (he tripped over him) and the kid made his two foul shots. Poor Eric was devastated and trying so hard not to cry. All I could do was catch his eye from the sideline and mouth "It's okay!" as the second shot went in. Then Eric passed the ball to a kid named Peter, who made a shot with 6 seconds left on the clock. Bless that boy. I will love him forever, and if I have another son, I might even name him Peter. (That's not Peter in the picture though...)
On Sunday, Brigham picked out my jewelry for church. It was hard to get a good shot of myself, but it was the mood ring he had given me for Christmas, on a silver chain since it's too big for my finger, and then a ring my mother-in-law gave me on a string of pearls. I thought it was very inspired! I paid him a dollar a few weekends ago to re-organize my jewelry box, and ever since then he's been into picking out my jewelry. That kid:).
This is how he chose to watch the video on Martin Luther King that was our Family Home Evening on Monday...
I keep reading articles and hearing on the radio about "studies" that "show" that having kids makes you less happy. I'll agree with them- if you asked me to rank my level of happiness while doing different activities throughout the day, sure- I'll take a massage, or even a run, over playing Candyland. But they're completely missing the distinction between momentary happiness and lasting happiness. It's impossible to quantify the joy that children bring you. I guess I don't have much hope of a study ever affirming my choice to be a mother. Luckily, I have other sources of affirmation...

But I do sometimes worry that with all these studies floating around I might never get nieces and nephews on my side of the family. Don't listen to them you guys- have kids! Well, okay- get married first. And then have kids- they're awesome!

What I love about being a mom:

2010-01-14T06:42:00.000-08:00

My children think I invented cinnamon sugar.

When our carpool buddy, Trent, climbed in the car this morning, I could tell by the delicious smell on his clothes that his mom had gotten up earlier than I had and made him a good breakfast. When I asked he told me he'd had bacon, chocolate chip pancakes and juice. I wanted to get a handle on just how big of a slacker I am, compared with Trent's majorly pregnant mom, so I asked him if it was someone's birthday. He said it wasn't, so then I flat out asked him if he gets special breakfasts like that all the time or just some days. He said he usually just has oatmeal (phew!) with two scoops of brown sugar, to which Eric replied that that's what he usually has, except he has cinnamon sugar on top. Then he said:

"That's cinnamon and sugar mixed together. It's this thing we made up. Right Mama?"

I tried to skirt around the issue by saying that it was true that I did make the cinnamon sugar myself, but no, I didn't make it up. But I did make it though. From scratch. You may not know this if you didn't have a working mom who doesn't like to cook, but you can actually buy cinnamon sugar at the store. So I get points for that, right? And just the thought that my kids actually thought it was my brilliant idea was enough to make my day.

***Post Edit: They are not actually peeing into the pond in the picture. That is something I might be found letting them do, but I would have the sense not to take a picture while they were doing it!

What should I make?

2010-01-12T09:51:00.000-08:00

"My pottery class starts tomorrow."

silence

"What should I make?"

He looks at me, blinks. "Huh? What should you make?"

"Yes, in my pottery class!" I say, indignant.

"But you didn't say anything about your pottery class," he replies, and then laughs, telling me I mumble. Always have.

"Marley," he asks the baby, "What did you just hear Mama say?"

silence, then chubby legs kicking the carseat

"See?" he says, smiling. And I do.

Then, "Don't you think they'll tell you what to make?"

"Oh," I say. "No, I don't think they will."

------------

Imagine. Telling someone what to make. That wouldn't be right. Would it? I don't want them to tell me what to make. I want to tell myself what to make. My thoughts wander back to what I should make...

toothbrush holders for the boys...

a mug...

a pie plate...

------------

"A mouse," he offers.

"Oh. No. It's a wheel class- it has to be something round."

------------

a trashcan...

a vase...

a bowl...

A bowl, yes. A giant bowl that we could flip over and crawl underneath and live inside. It would be warm and echoey. And people who want things and need things from us, they wouldn't be able to get in. They would tap on the bowl, and wait for us to come out. But we would stay under, and laugh and talk and eat popcorn together...

But... I think, as the car rolls to a stop and the doors open and it's time to get out and go to baskeball practice...

It may be that they will tell us what to make.

Resolved.

2010-01-11T10:09:00.001-08:00

I keep reading blog posts about how people don't like January, and it's made me realize that January is actually one of my favorite months. I do love September, since it contains my birthday and the weather is perfect. Come to think of it though, the main reason I love September is that beginning-of-school, fresh-start feeling--very similar to January. I love to take down the Christmas decorations and have my house feel clean and uncluttered again. I love tackling projects at a leisurely pace (this year: clean out garage so I can park in it again!...organize pantry...sew pillows for sofa, in purple and hot pink because those were the fabric scraps I had...). I even love the dead, barren look of winter trees because I know that they've shut down to rest and regenerate for the coming spring.

I can't figure out how I feel about New Year's resolutions. I like to set them, but I never have much luck with the follow-through. One thing that the past year has taught me is that for me, lasting changes happen when they're ready to happen. Like for several years now I've wanted to start baking bread instead of buying it. I never got past the first loaf, which was always a disaster. Then Eric went ahead and took the bread-baking initiative, got us all hooked, and then sort of fizzled out (at least I'm not the only one!). So I took up the reins, got good enough that I actually like the bread I make, and I don't think I bought a loaf from the store all year. But had I set a resolution not to buy bread, it might have actually prevented the change from occurring in the first place. Does that make any sense?

Another thing: exercising less. I know how crazy that sounds, but every since I can remember, I've had an unhealthy dependence on exercise. Like I couldn't go on a trip unless I knew I could run. Or I would run even when I was sick. Or the week after I'd had a baby. It was confusing because exercise is obviously a healthy habit and regular exercisers get a lot of praise from friends, family members, doctors and society in general. The problem, of course, is when it's in control of you and not the other way around. Anyway, I happened to get injured this summer and was forced to take several months off from running. The misery that caused me was enough for me to realize I needed help- which I got- and now I have a healthier relationship with exercise. No New Year's resolution could EVER have broken that compulsion. It was something that drew from and reached into almost every area of my life and was much too complex an issue to be dealt with by a simple commitment or goal.

So the best thing for me, I've decided, is to set low-stakes goals that will give me something fun to work toward, but won't sabotage the natural process of deep change and growth that always takes place when I'm doing my best to live the Gospel. Like this...

Resolved: I will concern myself more with the state of my figer- and toenails. Specifically, I will buy at least four new colors of nail polish and strive to use them regularly.

Resolved: I will make over-the-top desserts in the middle of the week, just for my family, not because someone is coming over. I will suppress my frustration when Eric finishes off the entire dessert while cleaning up the kitchen.

Resolved: I will become a night-time kitchen cleaner. There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who clean the kitchen after the kids go to sleep and then go do productive things before retiring to bed early, and those who lie around on the the couch like slugs and then get up and read blogs, watch youtube videos and eat brownie batter until all hours of the night. I'm convinced that it all hinges on the decision to clean the kitchen.

Resolved: I will take classes in things that interest me, even if they have no practical application to my roles as wife and mother- like my pottery class that starts tomorrow- woohoo!

Resolved: I will teach my boys to open the door for me.

I think I can do those things, and if not- who really cares?:)

2009 Holiday Recap

2010-01-05T19:09:00.000-08:00

My blog is constipated. Since this is as close as I come to scrap booking, I've been nagging myself to post about Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. I can't write about all the other fascinating thoughts swimming around in my head until I do. And now all the thoughts are getting backed up and I have stomach discomfort!

So, in short:

Marley was the cutest little ambiguous gray animal you've ever seen for Halloween. Eric was a Duke basketball player and Brigham was Harry Potter. I tried to sew the wizard robe, but Lindsay had to bail me out as is our tradition.

Eric has worn that Duke jersey almost every day since Halloween. Notice the Michael Jordan pumpkin and the barefoot pumpkin....

This is what I spent my Thanksgiving morning doing. Not much cooking or cleaning, no. Creating some pretty darn impressive mowhawks, which were shown off at the ward football gathering...

We had Thanksgiving dinner with the Alders and the Engelbrights, which is why the next two pictures look strangely professional (thanks Melissa!). The kids rocked out to Owl City before bed and then we grownups watched Elf. I no longer hate Will Farrell.

This ornament didn't know it when it had its picture taken, but his days were numbered. Marley dismembered him soon after, along with a host of other ornaments...

I love these kids. It's fun to see Marley grow and become "one of them", so that's it's less and less "the baby" and "the boys" and more and more "the kids".

The only picture I have of our Christmas tree in all its glory...

My cousin Laura came to visit us for a few days before Christmas. She had the most INSANE time getting here and we lost two whole days of her visit to the snowstorm up north, but we still had a great time. Hopefully she's not taking notes from me on how to be a good mother, but I'm definitely taking notes from her on how to be a great Aunt. Let's see...what questionable television shows will I be exposing her children to?....:)

And, the BIGGEST EVENT OF THE DECADE: I sewed an article of clothing!! All by myself! Linds consulted extensively, but she never touched her foot to the pedal...
These bathrobes were my Christmas present to the boys. They love them. They sleep in them every night and try to get away with wearing them all day long (and who are we kidding-- sometimes they succeed). I made them enormous because I figured if I was going to stay up until 3 A.M. for the 3 nights before Christmas, I wanted to get some mileage out of them. They have pockets, collars, belt loops and everything. Eric made them a wooden castle, which they also love, but it's not completely done yet. We wanted to cut back on the materialism of Christmas this year, and we were mostly successful. My favorite moment? Opening my gifts from the boys: a little plastic teddy bear grasping a fake rose from Eric and a mood ring from Briggie. I'll cherish them always. Even though the mood ring is always purple when I put it on- and purple means I'm feeling romantic.....

A heartfelt bathrobe

2009-12-19T10:29:00.001-08:00

I absolutely should not be writing a blog post right now- I should by writing my talk for church tomorrow, or practicing my flute part for the choir program, or changing the sheets on Brigham's bed because he wet it again last night, so I'll try to keep this short. I was reading the Washington Post online just now while I ate my lunch and I saw this column by Ann Patchet. I hate all of Ann Patchet's novels that I've read because they have flat characters and unsatisfying plot lines (especially Bel Canto- I think I've never hated the ending to a book more), but her writing is beautiful and I love her memoir, Truth and Beauty. Anyway, in the article she tells about a Christmas present her father gave her when she was 10 or 12- he read her a short story over the phone. The reason she loved the present was because it showed her that her father knew her- that even at that young age she wanted to be a writer- and she imagined him reading the story and wanting her to hear it, so that she could learn something about what makes a good story. The gift was only evidence of the one thing that I think every child wants from their parents- to be seen, and loved for who they really are, and to be given help to become what they envision for themselves.

Those were the thoughts going through my mind at the fabric store this afternoon (I actually hardly ever go there, it's pure coincidence that I mentioned it in my last post!). I was picking out fleece to make bathrobes for the boys for Christmas. Marley was crying and trying to dump her bottle out all over the pattern table. I was getting hungry. The line at the cutting counter was growing. Bad Christmas music was playing. I needed to pick something and get out. Instead I stood in the fleece aisle for twenty more minutes, putting bolts in my cart, then taking them back out again. Eric's was easy- there were lots of basketball prints to choose from. But Brigham was harder- his talents and loves are not so easily captured on a $4.99-per-yard bolt of fabric. And I wanted his bathrobe to be just as reflective of his personality as Eric's. In the end I bought some with fire trucks on it, just because I liked the colors. As long as I show my children by my actions that I see them as they really are- not who I want them or need them to be- and I love them just because they're mine, I don't think the pattern on their bathrobes is going to scar them for life. Still, I hope that one day I can give each of my children a beautiful gift that is exactly their heart's desire. One that says- I see who you are and I love you and will always be here to help you to reach for your dreams.

26.2 in 32.0

2009-12-17T09:58:00.000-08:00

We spent last weekend in Charlotte, watching Eric run in the Thunder Road Marathon. He had a rough race and didn't meet his time goal, but still felt good about finishing. We got to meet his cousin Eric and his wife, who live in Charlotte the night before the race. Eric and Eric hadn't seen each other in more than twenty years, so that was fun...even though the boys did absolutely nothing the whole night but eat M&M's out of a decorative bowl like it was the first food they'd seen in days.

We stayed with our good family friends Connie and Charlie in their adorable house that I wish I'd gotten a picture of. When I grow up, and have a real house with an actual guest room in it, I want it to be just like Connie's. They even had a second guest room for Eric to sleep in by himself, which was a good thing because Marley decided to wake up at 2:45 A.M. and stay awake almost the whole rest of the night. I had no idea what to do, not being in my own house and not having a yoga ball at my disposal so I just let her bump around the room in the dark, whimpering and fussing.

We woke up at 5 A.M. and headed to the start line in downtown Charlotte. It was 32 degrees...

But apparently no one told this dude...

About the time that he ran by I started losing it. The boys were miserable, and very intent on making sure I knew it. We were at mile 13, standing next to a lovely woman from Minnesota who was there with her young daughters watching her husband run the 4th marathon in his quest to do one in each of the 50 states. She looked exactly like Cameron Diaz and was annoyingly patient with her kids- playing cute games with them to keep them distracted and getting them excited to cheer for their Dad when he ran past. Contrasted with me- shivering, sleep-deprived, snapping at the kids and not looking like Cameron Diaz in any way, shape or form. I think I looked more like this guy...

After spending an hour at mile 13 waiting for Eric, he finally came down the stretch, right on pace but not looking very good. He told me he was struggling, handed me his gloves and ran on. The kids gave half-hearted cheers and then went right back to complaining while I stood in the street staring after him, hoping he would be okay. He sort of has a history with racing and E.M.T.'s, but that's a whole other story.

I had promised the boys we could go inside the convention center for a little while to get warm, so we headed there next, me speed walking with the stroller and them half screaming/ half crying at me because they were so cold. After a few minutes inside I looked at the course map and realized that we didn't have much time to make it to mile 18, where I knew Eric would be looking for us (even though I had told him to remember who he was dealing with and not worry if we weren't where we were supposed to be when we were supposed to be there!). We ran the last few blocks and made it to the course just in time to see a guy in a jester hat run past, which made me think we had missed Eric, since I remembered this guy being behind him at mile 13. We stuck around for a few minutes, but didn't see him so we headed to the finish line.

The race clock said 2:35 when we got there, so we scouted out a place to watch Eric cross the line, not too long after 3:10, we hoped (because we wanted him to do well and a little bit because we were kinda cold:). But he called me when he passed mile 20 to tell me he was way off his pace and I had time to take the kids inside and warm them up. It turns out we had left the mile 18 corner just before he ran by. We ducked into a Baptist church and listened to them rehearsing for their Christmas pageant. When the race clock approached 3:30 we headed back outside to look for Eric. By this time the boys were warmer and happier so they were cheering for all the people who passed by, telling them to hang in there, that they were almost done. Finally Eric came down the stretch, somewhere around 3:40, I think. I was relieved to see that he looked tired and cold, but otherwise okay...

And you gotta love a guy who runs a marathon in his purple Lands End slippers!

We let him recover for a few minutes and then headed back to Connie and Charlie's. On the way home we stopped in Siler City to see my cousins, Janice and Fred. We had a wonderful dinner with them, and the kids were excited to get some early Christmas gifts. By about 8:00, everyone was turning into pumpkins, so we headed home.

I'm so proud of Eric for finishing the race even when he knew he wouldn't reach his goal. I think it was good for the boys to see him competing on a bad day. He usually places in his age group and has even won a few races, so I'm glad they could see an example of good sportsmanship and keeping your perspective when you're disappointed with your performance. Eric told me after the race that as he approached mile 18, he thought about dropping out, but he really liked the race shirt, and he wouldn't feel right wearing it if he didn't finish. Whatever works! Good job sweatheart- we love you!!

Eight

2009-12-16T06:37:00.000-08:00

“He’s fine, Katie…he’s with his Dad!”

I nodded from the backseat, on my way to the fabric store with two friends, my first outing away from my newborn son. I felt silly for worrying about my baby when I’d left him with his own father. So along with the panic and the guilt, there was vindication when I heard my name being called over the store intercom a half an hour later. I could already hear the tiny screams as I reached across the cutting counter for the phone.

I felt like a paramedic arriving on the scene when I walked through the door. Stand back please…I’ll take it from here. His face was red and sweaty from crying, his arms and legs moved frantically. I could feel him melt with relief as I nursed him, the sounds of sucking interrupted periodically by post-crying hiccups.

Years later now, when I ask for a hug goodnight he holds his body rigid and breaks away quickly. Shaggy bangs cover the eyes that used to gaze so unflinchingly into mine while he nursed. But we play a game sometimes. I lock my arms around him and ask for the password as he laughs and squirms. With each wrong guess I tighten my grip and he laughs harder. Tonight I drag the game out… “Not that one…wrong…nope, try again!” Concern flickers in his brother’s eyes. “I think that’s too tight Mama.”

“No,” he says through his giggles, “Tighter...tighter.”

In my kitchen RIGHT NOW...

2009-12-09T18:58:00.000-08:00

...you won't believe it...is a real-live Duke basketball player. If your name is Eric (big or small), you fell all over yourself preparing for this major event. Big Eric hurriedly removed the jumble of shoes, dirty socks and candy cane wrappers from the front porch so it wouldn't look, as he said, "so redneck". Then he swept the floor and shooed me out of the kitchen where I was in the middle of frosting Christmas cookies. Little Eric brought in his basketball from the driveway, combed his hair and hopped around saying "Is he here yet? Is he?". Brigham and I didn't know what all the fuss was about- I mean the poor kid is just a walk-on who needs help with his Econ final. I'm more excited about the money, frankly. But it was kind of fun to see them so excited. He was very gracious and sweet with the boys- Eric got his ball signed and Brigham offered him a menorah he had made out of tin foil.

This afternoon we went to the park with our good friends the Alders. As we were leaving another boy asked Eric and Brigham why they had two mommies. I laughed as his Dad explained that I was their mommy and the other lady was their friend. As I drove away I understood his confusion- Carson and McKenzie are just as happy to have me watch them do a trick on the swings as their mom. My kids will ask Linds to tie their shoe or show her a cool bug. Our friends are truly like family to us and we are so lucky. It seems like more and more of you are far away from us, but we think about you all the time...

Eric told me last night that he had gotten a $150 ticket for driving with expired tags. Which prompted me to think that I am also driving with expired tags (but least mine were good until October- his expired in August!). "They never sent me anything in the mail about it!" is what I said, which is verbatim what I also said to the police officer when this happened to me a year ago. When will I learn? Apparently due to cost-cutting measures, the DMV has decided to just stop sending out registration reminders and leave it up to drivers to remember when their tags expire. I say that's discrimination against people with bad memories. It's a MEMORY TAX!! That is so unfair.

Survival of the merriest

2009-12-06T15:47:00.000-08:00

Before recapping our weekend, may I just say that it's taking every ounce of willpower I have not to cut this child's hair in his sleep...

We survived the department Christmas party with our dignity intact- but barely. Basically I spent the whole afternoon rushing and snapping at the children so that we could be on time and actually have a place to sit this year. Honestly, us arriving on time anywhere is cause enough for a party...

THIS boy gave me a heart-attack, though it wasn't his fault...
He needed to go to the bathroom partway through dinner, and it being Eric's Christmas party, I offered to take him. As we approached the bathroom, Marley on my hip, I told Brigham he could just come in the ladies' room with me since I had to go too. A man standing in a nearby group of people interjected to say that he would take Brigham in. He looked sort of offended that I would take a six-year-old boy into the ladies' room. I demured, of COURSE, but he insisted and before I knew it he had taken Brigham into the bathroom. I had no idea what to do, so I turned and ran through the crowd until I found Eric and announced "IneedyouitsanemergencyamantookBrighamintothebathroomcomequickly!!!!" We both trotted as inconspicuously as possible back to the bathroom, which Eric found empty. That's when panic set in. Eric went back through the crowd to look for them and I ran outside, bouncing the poor baby's head all over the place, yelling "BRIGHAM!" I saw two teenage boys that I thought I remembered had been talking to the man. I ran up to them and asked if they'd seen a little boy. They looked at me like I was a crazed lunatic and told me he was inside with their DAD, looking for me. Then they indignantly informed me that he was a Duke professor and a father of three, so I didn't have to worry. I thanked them awkwardly and ran back inside where I imagined Eric was by now standing on top of a table yelling for everyone to help us find our son. Thankfully, he had found Brigham without having to resort to anything that drastic. We still don't know who the man was. When I got back to the table and calmed down I gave Brigham the third degree about whether anyone had touched him ANYWHERE, just in case. I thought about it a lot afterwards and decided three things:

1. Six years old probably is a little too old to be going into the ladies' room.

2. I should have firmly said, "No thank you, I'm not comfortable with that."

3. Had the man still taken Brigham into the bathroom I should have marched in after them rather than running off into the crowd.

Had this whole thing happened in a public place, I'm sure I would have done those things. It was the fact that we were at Eric's school party and I worried about making a bad impression for his sake that made me so confused and panicky. But I still think that man was being TOTALLY inappropriate.

But enough of that...Marley got to wear her Christmas dress to church yesterday! Cindy made it to match her daughters, Jenna and Rachel (the female two-thirds of her triplets). Have you ever seen anything cuter!?

You can just see how proud she is to be with the two big girls.

The baby doll shopping went very well, if you consider coming home with two dolls instead of one a success, which Eric did not. I couldn't decide between one that was a baby, and would simultaneously suck and blink when you put a bottle in its mouth, and another doll that was more of a girl, with long brown hair and long eyelashes. I knew that the girl doll was too big (practically the size of Marley) and too heavy for her to carry around, but I wanted that doll. Anyway, I realized that I could just get the bald baby for Christmas and wait and buy the hair-doll next year or for her birthday, but then I worried- what if the doll company that makes it goes out of business before then? You never know in this economy! So I bought them both. And I even made it back to the school to pick up the kids and then to Eric's concert FIFTEEN whole minutes early. What's happening to me??

My early Christmas present...

2009-12-02T10:50:00.000-08:00

All week I've been walking around with a general air of excitement without really knowing why. I tried to guess- is it the Pitchfork's Christmas concert this Friday, in which I get to see my cute husband sing while wearing a tux? Nope- love the Pitchforks, and my cute husband, but this event- several hundred people packed into Duke's Gothic reading room- not a single one of them with a small child on his or her lap, let alone THREE, is always more stressful than it is fun. Last year Brigham fell asleep in his chair next to an elderly woman in a fur coat and peed himself in such quantity that I, sitting two seats away, had to stop breathing through my nose for the rest of the concert.

No, not that then. The Economics department Christmas party at the country club? Um, no. Last year we arrived a few minutes late to find that every single chair at every single table in the club was taken, so we got our dinners and sat in the chilly lobby, where I proceeded to have to nurse my two-month-old in front of the entering parade of stuffy professors and their fur-coat-and-pearl-earringed wives. I'm sorry, stuffy professors. I do thank you for your efforts at educating my husband, but I'm just not looking forward to spending my Saturday evening with you. Let's see then........

Ahhhh, YES. This Friday night, before the concert, is the annual parent's night out at the elementary school. The idea is that we get to leave our kids at the school to watch movies and eat pizza while we moms and dads get a chance to do some Christmas shopping without them in tow. Since Eric will be doing vocal warm-ups and stuffing his pockets full of ding-dongs (don't ask) at that time, I'll have to do my shopping all by myself. And there's only one person on my list. Would you like to guess what I'm going to buy? A BABY DOLL!

Finally, I get to buy a present for my offspring that doesn't have a scowling mechanical face or the potential to be aimed and fired at my butt while I'm cooking dinner! It has to be the best baby doll in the whole world. And I want accessory bottles, one with milk and one with orange juice- the kind you can turn upside down and it looks like they're draining. And if they still make dolls that poop and pee into a little fake diaper, my daughter will have one! No, of course my mother didn't deprive me of just such a baby doll under the pretense that it was "tacky." Why would you think that?

Anyway, needless to say, I am very, very excited for my Friday night. Even though I have a small suspicion that Marley may at this point be more interested in stuffing the baby in the toilet, or down an air vent than she will be at feeding it a bottle. But we must start them young! All you moms of girls- any tips on where to find the best baby doll in the whole world?

Paris in the fall

2009-11-29T13:00:00.000-08:00

*I should note that all of the amazing photographs from France were taken by my very talented photographer-cousin, Laura.

We spent the second part of our trip to France in Paris. I'll be honest: saying goodbye to the boat was sort of a happy thing for me. It was fun, but it would have been much more fun without a crawling infant aboard. And...with a little more room. And...a normal toilet and a microwave. Nonetheless, we turned in the keys and embarked on Death March #2 toward Paris. I literally almost had my arms snapped off in the metro. I agree with the French that our health care system is barbaric, but so is their metro system! Eric literally had to pry the doors open to release my arms. Anyway, I'm sure we afforded the locals a good laugh with our huge group of people, bumbling ways and periodic shrieks of "WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN!?!?!" and "WHERE IS GRANDMOTHER?!?!?" I found that the best strategy for moving through the gates was to feed the children's tickets through for them and then yell "GO, GO, GO!!!" in a loud and urgent voice, while pushing them from behind. I'm sure we were very entertaining.

We finally made it to our hotel in Paris, which appeared deceptively clean and well-kept...more on this later. For the moment we were just glad to have normal-sized beds and showers that did not contain toilets. After doing a little celebration dance, we headed out to see Notre Dame and the Sainte Chapelle, two of my top priority attractions. The Sainte Chapelle was being cleaned, but even so, it was everything I had always dreamed it would be while sitting in a darkened Art History lecture hall in college.

We had a Joshua Bell moment in the subway, and after reading this article a few years ago, I insisted that we stop to listen just in case these were world-class musicians. I'm not sure if that was the case, but they sounded pretty amazing to me...

[The video of this special moment is the reason why it's taken me over a MONTH to publish this post!! I cannot get it to upload, so you'll have to imagine...violins...cellos...French subway- it was cool.]

The next evening Laura very kindly watched the kids for us while Eric and I went out to dinner. We rode Velib bikes to the Marais district and searched out the little restaurant where Eric remembered eating incredible chocolate mousse on his earlier trip. If I hadn't been suffering from post-baby level sleep deprivation at that point I think I could remember more details

One of my favorite days of the whole trip was the day we spent almost entirely in the Jardin du Luxembourg, which was right across the street from our hotel. The first thing we did was to rent a little wooden sailboat for the boys to push around with a stick in the fountain- surprisingly entertaining.

Then we stumbled upon the sweetest playground you've ever seen. Little Eric tried to join these two French boys in a game of basketball, but they seemed not to understand...(I'm working on figuring out how to shorten the video so I can post it)...

We substituted hot chocolate for lunch at a little cafe a block away and then returned to the park for pony rides (Brigham was disappointed that he didn't get the odd-looking pony with the big ears- actually a donkey, I think)...

...and a puppet show of which we understood about two words...

Then it was back to the Eiffel tower to see it sparkle close-up, where the boys got caught in a freak mini-monsoon. Laura, Marley and I were waiting on our dinner at a restaurant a few blocks away when we heard thunder and Laura decided to walk down to the tower and check on the guys, whom we'd left waiting in line. We thought maybe they would stop letting people go up in the event of thunder or lightening and she wanted to tell them where we were in case they needed to come find us. A couple minutes after she left the restaurant I noticed that tables and chairs were blowing past my window. She returned a half an hour later soaked from head to toe, to report that the tower was open for business and she hadn't seen the boys. Indeed, we found out later that they were up on the second level when the storm hit and had watched the wall of rain come toward and then engulf them. I think that might have been the highlight of their trip. Either that or the small snail they found in the subway.

We returned to the hotel that night happy, but exhausted and excited to be going home the next day. I curled up in bed and read for a few minutes while Eric checked our flight status in the lobby. Just as I was falling asleep, I felt something sting my neck and I quickly turned on the light to find a giant bedbug on the sheet. Well. After the worst night's sleep of my entire life (and that's saying something), we packed up our stuff and Eric headed down stairs with three sample bedbugs on a napkin, where he got the manager to give us our rooms for free. It was about this time that we all started to itch. After a long flight home, during which we entertained ourselves by mentioning our encounter with bedbugs and then observing the panic in people's eyes, my aunt and uncle met us at the airport in Baltimore with a box full of trash bags and a roll of duct tape. We sealed up everything except our wallets and car keys and a few diapers and drove home, where we faced the task of de-bugging everything. Anything that could be washed Eric took to the laundromat, and the rest of it we either submerged in soapy water, froze or heated in the oven, including the lap-top, i-pod and cell phones. I think it's safe to say by now that we're bedbug free, but I can tell you that I will not be staying in a hotel for a very, very long time!

So all in all, we had a great time. There were a lot of very human moments- some misunderstandings, some tantrums, some sleep-deprivation-induced snapping, but with the passage of a little time, those things seem to have faded, leaving us with lovely memories of smiles and looks of wonder on our kids' faces, incredible sights both grand and quaint, croissants, chocolate and boeuf bourgignon.

*My crafting-talented friend Cindy Lynn is starting an Etsy shop- check it out!

Welcome to France

2009-10-19T18:37:00.001-07:00

This picture sums up what it felt like travelling through France with three children. We were pretty much in a perpetual state of breaking some unspoken rule. Or spoken, as the case may be. The funny thing is that Laura and I could not figure out for the life of us what exactly was being prohibited here. Holding hands with kids? Kids in general?

We went to France to celebrate my Grandmother's 90th birthday. We drove to Baltimore on a Saturday to attend her birthday party that night at my Uncle Bill's house. We dined on crab imperial and baby lamb chops and a giant birthday cake made by my Aunt Rachel that actually had ninety candles on it. The cake was carried out, all aflame, and the guests began to give tributes. One man rambled on and on and on until we all thought the smoke detectors would go off before the candles could be blown out. Little Eric stuck close by my side the whole night, as did Marley, but Brigham worked the room. We kept hearing from people about how charming and entertaining they found him. Lucky us, we get to live with him all the time:).

We caught the 4 o'clock flight to Paris the next day. The kids did amazingly well on the plane. The only snag was that they wouldn't let (big) Eric on the plane because he (as usual) wasn't wearing shoes. It seems that you must be wearing shoes when you board the plane, but you're free to take them off during flight. (Uh...okay...) We actually had to have a baggage person dig our bag out from the bowels of the plane so that he could get his flip flops out. The plane was just about ready to take off and there was a lot of grumbling and evil eyeing directed our way.

We landed in Paris at about 2 A.M. our time and my inner monster- the one that hides inside me and comes out when I don't get enough sleep or food- started to grumble as we navigated the Paris Metro in order to catch a train to the small town of Corbigny. My brother accurately described this leg of the trip as a death march. I think his exact words were, "It wouldn't be a vacation with Mama if it didn't include a death march." My mother possesses the uncanny ability to not eat. Ever. Thus we did not stop for food until we reached our departure port late in the afternoon. Let me just drive that home: Red-eye to Paris...three children...two metros...two trains...two taxis....no food.

In Corbigny we settled into what would be our home for the next eight days: a houseboat, that we were to drive up the Nivernais canal to the city of Joigny. The nice French man from the boat company paced around muttering unintelligible instructions and occasionally doing little pantomimes while Laura and I looked at each other with a mixture of fear and hilarity, and Jeff, who was to be our captain, scrambled to write everything down. Fortunately, we did comprehend the most important lesson: how to flush the toilets. It was surprisingly involved...

There was a lot of switch flipping and pumping, so that everyone on the boat was aware when anyone flushed a toilet and would say something like: "Uh oh, Grandmom's dropping bombs again...".

The canal was beautiful. Along the way we passed through locks, where we had to hop off the boat, tie it up and help the lock keeper open and close the gates to raise or lower the water level. This is what we saw as we puttered along:

And here is a video of a lock filling up:

It was sort of incredible- the lock keepers lived in these beautiful little cottages with flowers and maybe an apple tree in front, and firewood stacked up against the side of the house. They would let you through and then drive down to the next one or two locks to open those for you, at which point the next lock keeper down the canal would take over. I admired the French for staunchly clinging to quaint tradition over efficiency and modernization. We picked fruit from apple, pear and walnut trees and stopped in all the tiny towns along the way, like this one:

My favorite memory from the boat was on the second morning, when Eric and I snuck off for a 5 mile run that took us through two medieval towns and up a hill to a 12th century church that looked out over the Yonne valley. I also liked falling asleep at night to the gentle rocking of the boat. And of course spending time with my wonderful family.

That concludes installment one of our trip to France...more to come!

*Left to right, top to bottom: Eric, my mom's husband Jeff (the fearless captain), my brother Adam, me, Marley, my Mom, little Eric, my Grandmother (the birthday girl), my cousin Laura, and Brigham.

**Post-edit: I just now realized the irony of writing about how hard it is to live on a student budget and then following it with a post about our two-week trip to France. I'm thankful for a generous Mom who loves to travel with her family!