Catching up...

There is an awful feeling when you know you're so far behind on something that you don't have time for in the first place...but that you need to do anyways...

This blog is my only journal. It forced me to really reflect on things my kids did/said and blessings and trials in my life. If you've followed it, you know I'm pretty open to my feelings. And, I've got lots of them. I've held a couple hard things back because, well, some of my greatest heartaches are people. And chances are if you know me, it would take you 3 seconds to draw lines from one dot to the other. And, I am ignorantly naive. I like to convince myself that there is the chance at redemption: perhaps 'Susan' or 'Tommy' will decide to play nice, and then wouldn't it be lovely if the world didn't know that Susan and Tommy were ever anything short of wonderful?

Well, sometimes I just wish I could out Susan and trip Tommy.

But realistically I know that I am expected to show grace and forgive. So, for now no Susan and Tommy stories...but I assure you, they'd be entertaining :)

Life is such a kaleidoscope of emotions for me. There is probably no one who fully understands how much I struggle to reconcile myself to God. I tried desperately for a long while to never say anything sassy or fun...to really temper my responses, and my best friend of many years told me I wasn't any fun anymore. But, if I spend my whole life worrying about whether I should have said that...and if I should have done this....(and believe me, these things haunt me). I want to please God. And I struggle to think he's pleased with my spontaneous responses, and sassy outlook on life. Does he want *complete* submissiveness? Because, I fail.

There is nothing in this life that I value next to my family. I want ONLY that my children and husband know who they are, what is expected of them, and that I love them. And, I was raised knowing that my toes would be held to the fire if I let my parents down. Teenagers are a nauseating experience for me. They are hysterical. And fun. And like buddies. But they are terrifying, because they use their own agency more than toddlers. And they are sassy(because they're mine). My littles are wildly funny, but full of my ornery and Nate's energy. The combination is enough to drive a girl to drink. And, thank goodness for the Word of Wisdom(look that one up if you're not of my faith) because what a tender mercy I never got started on the stuff! There is no greater high, and no bigger hurt, than the ride with these children. And how I wish they knew that my first and last thoughts each day are for them.

Tonight, when Eli was getting naked for his shower, he tossed his underwear at me and said, 'you might want to wash those. It's been like 8 days.' The horror as I realized he wasn't saying for effect...and that I'd not actually seen those particular skivvies come through the wash lately. Yikes.

If all our struggles were so uncomplicated. A little Tide, the turn of a dial.

Tonight I feel pretty overwhelmed by my inadequacies. It is the start of tax season for me tomorrow. And, it scares me a lot that I've not even started it yet and feel like I've messed something up. Does anyone ever feel like they've got it down? Will there ever be a day where I'm confident that I didn't say something or do something wrong?

I certainly hope so.

Inside my head...

It's not a pretty place. It's not a place I really think most people should be. Because I wonder how many people really know the war that rages there almost every single day.

Am I good enough? Have I done anything good today? Will my child hate me forever? :) Why am I so exhausted? Are my  kids 'getting it'? Are they firmly planted in the knowledge of God so that their choices reflect it? Is Nate happy?

Unless your name is Holly Ann, or mom...you've maybe seen glimpses, but you don't know how fierce this struggle has become. How I feel that every single role I fill, be it mom, wife, accountant, friend, sister, maid, cook or whatever...I come up short. I know Satan uses this as one of his greatest tools against me, because by reminding me of my inadequacies I lose focus on what I'm trying to do.

But tonight I offer a brief glimpse inside my head. And, if you've read much of this blog...you know I''m pretty open when I decide to be.

We are about 3 weeks away from getting on a plane to go pick up our new son, Mack, from the orphanage he knows as home. He is six, and down syndrome. And we are thrilled. But, I'm also terrified. I know that this is going to be difficult. In fact, I've played the worst-case scenarios over in my head to myself so many times that I'm going crazy. I just want the whole trip thing to be done. Skipped. Just mail him to me, so I can get on with transitioning and settling in.

My emotions are high. .

Again, I am reminded tonight of the confirmation I have been given multiple times in this process. My anxiety will take off on a jog and before long it's in full-sprint mode. I was trying to prepare for my part of tomorrow's ward conference assignment at church, and I stumbled onto a 'Mormon Message' by Elaine Dalton. She talks of running in the Boston Marathon, and how half way through she was tired, and panicked...she started crying and people from the sidelines cheered her on. And she prayed for strength...just I've done so many times....and the answer to her prayer filled my heart with gratitude for a Savior who knows ME. Because her answer was mine. Again. The words to my favorite hymn, beautifully scrawled in caligraphy on my dining room wall..."How Firm a Foundation" came to her mind. The words are:

"I'll strengthen thee, comfort, and cause thee to stand, upheld by my righteous Omnipotent hand."
And then she relates how she knew she could finish...and all would be well!

We are going to love this boy. We are going to know such happiness. And struggle. And triumph. And laughter and tears. Just like with our other children. How grateful I am to know good and bad in all aspects of my life.

Tomorrow....

As I sit here tonight I can honestly say I've been dreading tomorrow...December 28th, I hate you.

Two years ago tomorrow Nate and I were blindsided when Russian leaders banned the completion of our adoption. It began one of the most difficult, defining trials of my life. I have never encountered a trial of such heartache of a personal nature. This was it: my refining fire.
I would love to say I've responded gracefully. But I haven't. I still question the 'why' of this nightmare. I still cry. I still pray for her every day. I think of her. I wish I'd have been faster with the process. One night, I sat upright when she called for me in my dreams, "mamma". I wish...

It hasn't been MY grace that I've noticed at all.


Not my grace at all.

Last week my visiting teachers(in the LDS faith, you are 'assigned' women to visit and tend to your needs monthly) came. The message was on gratitude for the mission of the Savior. One of my visiting teachers happens to be one of the close friends I have made here. She said something about taking the blessing of a Savior for granted sometimes. And while I'm sure that I don't perfectly APPLY the gift of the Savior...not a day goes by that I am not thankful for it. Because I'm a lousy swimmer. And there are alot of times I feel like I am treading water. There is only one constant in this life...and it is Him.

So, tonight, I'm feeling a bit discouraged, and heavy hearted. Because I think this is an anniversary that will haunt me. And I cannot imagine what good will come of the ban on my sweet Dasha...MY sweet girl. But, good things are coming. In the next short bit...we'll bring home a boy. One meant for our family. And I won't lie, when my kids fight or the schedule is crazy my heart races and the voice of doubt sings in my ears. But nights like tonight I am sure of one thing: I'm coming. I'm bringing you home. I'm SEALING you to me for this life, and ETERNITY. You will not wait in this place forever little man. 

I love you Daria. And I hate tomorrow.

Nothing but time...

It seems as though the last few weeks have been full of nothing. I've spent them hooked up to my ice machine, with the cold frosting everything below my waist...with the heat pad shoved up my shirt. I am bored with HGTV, and even though I detest cooking, I have taken to watching the cooking channel. I am disappointing that way, I suppose.It's something I do horribly with no intention to change. To me cooking will always mean someone is unhappy with what's on the table that night. Its a "perk" of having so many kids...there's nothing to please them all. And I can't make myself spend hours in the kitchen for a process that inevitably invokes tears from some...and is over in minutes. Not when we can spend the same amount of minutes there...tears and all...over a casserole.
Lately my little munsters have been blessed to eat the makings of people in my ward again. As I was laid up, my friends from church brought in the first week of meals for us to eat. Amazingly, while we get meals that are things I've never attempted...and some that are regulars at our table...NOT ONE KID complained. Except for when I declined additional meals to be brought in. Then they complained :)
No worries...I picked up the slack.
I really do not like certain things about myself. You hear a lot of people describe others and say 'they are always so cheerful' or 'they never complain' or 'they did it with grace'....and I think: I am a failure. One of the people I admire and love most in the world today stopped me at church and asked how I was...I gave my honest response...a big sigh, followed with an "I'm ok." He pushed me a little, and then asked, "was this surgery worth it?"
Let me just tell you that we continued that conversation, and that I left feeling uplifted. Because this exact question has run through my mind a hundred times these last two weeks. And he couldn't have known that...so he certainly didn't know how very much the things he said to me mattered. But they did. I spent a bit of time the other night on my knees, talking things through with Heavenly Father. I would have loved an instant answer to things...but I continue to be amazed at how he answers me. He sent a friend...who spoke the exact words that I had offered to Heavenly Father...then offered a few laughs, genuine concern...and the reassurance that I'm loved.
I don't do things gracefully. I complain. I cry. I do things I shouldn't.  I always end up seeing God's hand in things...realizing blessings I'd not had before...but not without a little melt down first. Why do I do that? Why can't I really handle what is given me...when it's given...without having the ugly moments? I am not a pity-party thrower. I am not a pessimist. But I typically say it how it is..if its hard, I say it. I don't think this doesn't mean I am ungrateful, or that I am not looking toward God.
I like to read others' stories of struggles and victories. It renews my faith. I can see heartache, and recognize joy. And I can empathize. And I think all of these things are gifts from my Father, opportunities to grow closer to him.
I am incredibly grateful for the season we are entering...there is nothing better than an added focus on the Savior's life. Who doesn't benefit from more mention of him? More recognition that he lived, died and resurrected?
I am grateful that this focus is just what I need right now...to right myself...line myself back up...and be happy with what comes my way. Because the majority of what comes is good. It is joy. It is tender mercy. It is happiness. There's just a blurp of struggle here and there...just enough to remind me how good I've got it, and what's important.
So bring it. Bring on the Christmas Spirit...I am way more than ready for more of it!

I'm a crier....okay?

I am a very emotionally driven person. I am probably equal parts stubborn and cry baby...

So this weekend was HARD for me.

I found out two weeks ago that I was being asked to fulfill a different assignment within the 'local' branches of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. For the last several years, in fact, MOST of my adult, married life...I have worked in the Primary organization. This is the program that teaches the babies from 18 months to children age 12. For the last 3 and a half years I've worked as the Primary President...so we have worked to staff and oversee the kids on Sunday during our worship time, as well as the Cub Scout program and Achievement Day program, both specific to girls and boys age 8-12 on Wednesday nights. It was the best job in the world. I worked with some of the best people...I developed friendships...strengthened attachments... and absolutely fell in love with these little people. Kids are the best. They are sponges, eager to be reminded of the great truth their spirit already knows: They are children of a loving God. He has a plan. He wants them to come home to Him again.  They say the funniest things. They accept. And I was the one who benefited from this chance to serve.

So, needless to say when I found out I was passing this job on to someone else...I was super sad! I will miss the kids so much. The new President is darling. Love her tender spirit...her funny whit. I'm forgotten already.... :)

Yesterday the kids were told that my counselors and I were asked to move on...and so the song leader had them singing some of my favorites as a goodbye...and I was a mess! Of course they belted those songs out with all the gusto they had...and I was touched by the Spirit, reminding me of God's love for these little people. But it wasn't just sadness. There was also some feelings over being overwhelmed by what awaits. My feet are big...but not this big.  As I sat there yesterday, listening to the children testify of God in song....I was also very aware of the nudgings in my heart that God loved me...knew me...and was ready for me to stretch again.

So...here it goes. I'm going to be working with the Stake(the organization that oversees the smaller divisions of our church in separate towns: Our stake covers half of Great Falls, Cut Bank, Shelby, Browning, Choteau, Conrad, Fairfield, and Sun River. I've been asked to be the 2nd counsellor in the Young Women's Organization, which is SORT of a continuation of primary...just the girls, age 12-18.
This is MORE than a stretch for me. Because teenagers are a whole new game. They aren't quite as 'sponge-like'...they have a few more life experiences, some attitude :) and are really searching to figure out just who they are. And this was NOT a favorite phase in my own life. I went to my first stake dance the other night and we giggled at the painful dancing...and it sort of transported me back to those feelings during high school. So here goes. Its my goal to make sure girls figure it out before I did. I want them to be confident, and Christ seeking. I want them to be ready for the temple, and excited for their futures. 
And I want to prove God's trust in me...

Change is not my friend. Its uncomfortable and emotional. But I am grateful for the chance to grow.

Seasons of life....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8nczw6xHJ0I
I'm hoping you watched the video from Elder Holland. Its my all time favorite. I love this great man.

When I first stumbled onto this Mormon message over a year ago, I was pretty much a wreck. Our little venture with a Russian princess has shaped my life in ways that I would have never imagined. I absolutely invested my heart into that adoption, totally falling in love with her and planning the rest of this life being her mom.
Even typing this I am emotional...its something I don't understand...something my heart will never recover from.
This message from Elder Holland was my go-to....for MONTHS. You keep walking. Don't you give up. Good things to Come.
Sunday afternoon my family was sitting down watching some of the Mormon messages, which are SUCH a good family activity by the way...if you're needing something to do....I scrolled through the various titles and saw this message. So...obviously I felt pulled to watch it.
And the tears just flowed down my face. But for a reason so entirely different than when I needed that message last year. I was impressed with an absolute gratitude for the seasons of this life. Hard times. Good times. Joy. Sorrow. I thought about how different my position is today than it was a year or two ago. And I absolutely acknowledge God's hand in this.
I do not understand my need for that experience, but as we get closer to bringing home our sweet little man I fight my heart not to commit too wholly yet...to hold back...to guard myself against possibilities of hurt. But how can I do this?  I am so eternally grateful that I seem to be on the backside of this particular life experience. Good things are coming.

Food "speaks" to me...

I met Nathan in January 1997. My first impression was that he was kind of a jerk. He was the 'new' guy in the apartment complex where some of my good friends lived, and when I was visiting them after returning from Christmas vacation, in breezed Nate. Honestly, I don't remember much else about him from that first encounter other than I wasn't that impressed. He didn't seem interested in meeting ME either. 

It was a few days until we saw each other again. In fact, I wasn't paying a lot of attention at all. I'd already proclaimed, very loud and clear, that "I would not be one of those girls who married the first boy she dated", something I loathed about the reputation of the church college I was attending. 

The next week I needed groceries(I told you....) so I hitched a ride with Eric...MY friend, and Nate's roommate. On the car ride home Eric worked to convince me to go on a date with Nathan. I agreed to go that Saturday...

Saturday was a little over committed :) My roommates and I were heading to a nearby town to visit one of my roomie's family. It wasn't my fault that we were FOUR hours late for my date...when I finally showed up I did feel a little bad, but that only lasted a few minutes. They'd rented a movie to watch...Schindler's List. Really? for a date? 

I stayed about 10 minutes. 

I realize now that I am incredibly blessed that he followed me. We sat under the stairs of my apartment complex, propped up on the bike racks...and talked for hours. HOURS. And from that night we were pretty much inseparable. 

I tried to dig through the garage this morning to find his journal so I could PROVE this story...but, alas...no luck. Take my word for it.

Nathan was obsessive about his studies. Me, not so much. He studied non-stop. As finals were approaching that semester, which was probably only 6 weeks after we started dating(and we'd already talked marriage) he was seriously blowing me off. To 'study'. Bleh. One night I went to the little cheapie Chinese restaurant there in town that catered to the masses of poor college kids and picked up two 'Number 4' meals. I thought perhaps he'd pay some attention to me if I brought food, and it worked! He gave me about a half an hour of attention before I could tell he was getting anxious to get back to his test preparation. Before we threw the garbage out, we decided to open our fortune cookies...I have no clue what mine said. It must have been entirely ordinary. Nate's however, was PERFECT. 

Stop searching for happiness. It is in front of you. 

Last month I was cruising through my list of errands in Great Falls, kids in tow. We argued over which nasty fast food place would be better...and I made the executive decision: Taco Bell. After we'd finished up, and I was cleaning our table off, I grabbed one of the packets of hot sauce the kids had played with. There was some bold, scroll writing on it that grabbed my attention. 

You have chosen wisely. 

My mind instantly went back to that fortune cookie. And while the conclusion you might reach from this random tale of coincidence is that perhaps I should stop eating out so much(you're right...I should)...I smiled. Grateful for the 17 years that have been mine.

Today marks the day I chose to marry Nate. I thought I was 'giving myself' to him. My perspective has shifted so much that it doesn't even resemble my 19 year old self. Today marks that day that I struck it rich. Rich in ways that aren't countable to the outside eye...rich in ways that I am forever thankful for. 

Nathan Pitcher is the most unromantic person you'll ever meet. He doesn't EVER plan for things to win me over. He pretty much stinks at buying presents. He hates to snuggle and can't take my feet touching him in bed. And, unless I'm watching some sappy love movie, I'm coming to terms with that :) Because other than these flaws....he'almost perfect. He is good. Honest. Constant. Dedicated. Hard working. Faithful. God loving. 

Mine.

So happy this man has given 17 years to me. Today I think that I will let my food remind me of one of God's greatest blessings in my life:  Stop searching for happiness. It is in front of you. You have chosen wisely.

Grateful he was mine to chose. 

Its time...

I don't know if my husband will agree with me, but I think its time. The only reason I think its okay to do this without his permission is that it was my heart we were protecting from the start.

Just over two years ago we began something that has indescribably, indefinitely changed us. And for the sake of this particular 'blog'...I am just going to speak first person, though I'm sure my sweet husband's emotions mirror so many of my own.
My heart is weary and tired of hanging onto the hurt of this trial. Part of this heartache I don't get the luxury of letting go of: its not mine to undo. But hopefully, this entry into my 'journal' will allow me the freedom to get rid of the ugliness that I've allowed to linger...to fester, and color my outlook on life.
So many times I've stood to bear my testimony in church and I can only control my emotions so long...and I ramble...and I never really get to say what's in my heart. So, here goes:
When I say the past two years have been hard, its largely an understatement. Believe me when I say that I am not a baby...I do not focus on only the negative. I have fought  to see with grateful eyes...and thankfully, and mercifully, I DO! I am blessed. I am loved. And, I love...so many things, so many people.
But, like I've said a thousand times...I don't understand. But this statement is probably something you don't understand...because I don't use it to encourage sympathy. I don't use it to explain my heartache...solely. I really don't understand. But, I am so thankful for the tender mercies that have given me glimpses...
When Nate and I began the process of adopting our Dasha from Russia over 2 years ago...I was terrified. Mostly, about the money. How in the world would we do it? Well, everyone I'd met in our place was fundraising. It was uncomfortable, but I could lose my pride and do it...right?
Oh, and my favorite, "don't you realize you have five kids already?"
I don't understand it. We entered a journey that terrified us. And suddenly, voices who'd had NO authority to plan our family size with the addition of previous children suddenly felt powerful and entitled. And I was devastated. Betrayed. But, determined to bring home this little girl. My mother begged me to tell the story. That 'they'd understand'...I've come to know they never will. And, I've got to forgive them their ignorance. Because hopefully by recording this, I can finally move on...forgive. Be forgiven.
Nate and I fasted and prayed. We went to the temple. I cannot tell you how many times we prayed about this. And...how the absolute confirmation that we were to pursue adoption of this child was undeniable. How else could we keep going? Every decision...minus those trivial ones like, black sweats or blue sweats?....we try to base on prayer. And faith. And we aren't perfect. But we're trying to do what's right...
But I don't understand...I never will. How did we stumble on a child that LOOKED like she was ours? And why is the pride and evilness of one man able to keep her from the blessings of an eternal family the happiness of normal everyday life in a home? That is something I will never reconcile in my heart. But with faith, I know through examples in the scriptures, that sometimes the choices of others cause suffering for those around them. This is my Dasha's fate.
I love this little chicka. I pray for her every night...that she'll remember our hugs and kisses. Remember being held. And wanted.
And I put my faith in God that he'll cover the rest.

But for the months after the ban on our adoption, I was done. No more. Never again....right? Wrong. Because truth was, Nate and I now craved the love and change that would come by expanding our family through adoption. And, we also knew something else...one silver lining in the sadness of our failed adoption. We knew this child would be down syndrome. And while I pleaded with God for understanding as to why we had been led to Dasha, on how we could be led down this path to only have to face such sadness...I didn't think I'd ever make sense of it.
I haven't, completely. But there is a tiny sliver of knowledge that has become such a comfort to me. One night I was crying to my bestie and she pointed out that perhaps the reason we were led to Dasha...was that another child needed us and that without falling in love with a child who fit so seamlessly...who looked like mine, and stole my heart so quickly...we'd have never considered adopting a special needs child. And she is right. So, so right.
So, we started over. We prayed. We knew. We acted.
I've let my hurt feelings and broken heart steal the joy that comes from this announcement. But...its time.
And I'm praying that sharing this openly allows my heart to heal in some way. Because we are WICKED excited...

You can find out a little about him on Reece's Rainbow...we did. But you don't get to bring him home...cause WE ARE. We better have him home in a few months! We had to start at square one...and I think we've dealt with every stupid person available in the process. But we've also had lots of help, and some of my adoption friends have a place in my heart that no one else will ever have. They've walked in my shoes! We are trudging along...he's worth it :)

My Mom

I expected to be able to sleep a very drug-induced slumber tonight. But Landri's tummy has been acting up all day, and I knew a little fun was coming. I snuggled her into bed, only to hear her whine a little later. I don't feel spectacular, so I was in bed too :) I got up to find a very groggy Lu at the top of the stairs. Nate was in the kitchen so he jumped up, kinda chuckling, and volunteered to take her to bed. He picked her up and she buried her head into his neck...and stinking puked all over him. I seriously doubled over I was laughing so hard. He just stood still and took it like a champ....because she really cleaned little tummy out on him!

I don't know if it was the hysterical fit of laughter, or the cleaning up process...but I'm stinking wide awake. So...what to do? Why not tell the world how much I love my momma.....

I love this woman for so many reasons.  She is kind. My mother would give you anything you asked for...and if she noticed a need she happily fills it without being asked! I can't think of how many kids my mom has tutored after school, not for pay...but because she was confident she could help them be successful where others had failed. I've seen her take on children at school/church that would make anyone a bit crazy...but she does it happily. And she genuinely loves it. She wants to help people: almost to a FLAW! So many times I find myself saying 'mom, you're enabling' or 'that isn't necessary'...but she does it because she knows its right. Over the years she has had alot of needy kids in her classes at school. She is always rummaging through our hand me downs...or asking ME to clean the drawers out, because someone needs something warm, something 'cool'...something. She is kind.
My mom is loyal. This doesn't mean that she buys into whatever you're selling just 'cause she loves you. Nope...its the real deal. She fights for what she knows is best for you, even if you don't know its best. She accepts struggle and heartache in our behalf, and prays harder. I don't know very many times I've ever heard my mom voice a  dislike of anyone...but I've watched her serve people tirelessly because they w ere friends of the family...this is a woman you need on your side.
My mom is a NUT. Seriously....we have a list of stories to tell at her funeral. She is ridiculously smart...book smart. But sometimes the things that come out of her mouth have you dropping yours in shock. Did she really just say that? Can she be that....blonde?
Ex: She has convinced the kids in her schoolroom for YEARS that she eats carrots to keep her hair really black. So when the greys are more than the dark...and she dyes it...and the kids notice...they say, "wow Mrs. Schenk you must have ate some carrots last night!" (hang with me...you will see where I say she's  a ding dong :) ) Well one day we were in the car and she made some random crazy statement and Kenna said, "Grandma, I think underneath that dye job you're really.....blonde" to which my mom replied instantly...seriously...and half panicked....' WHY?! Do I need to dye my hair again?' She totally missed the fact that Kenna was making fun of her, which made Kenna laugh all the harder.
This week Jon and I were talking about some kid in track...high school.... it who dang near gets lapped in the 100. And he just keeps at it, losing badly. We are a bit miffed by this, because our pride couldn't handle it. Props to this kid. But Jon said kind of off-offhandedly..."maybe the kid should try a new race....like long jump" Mom, dear, dear mom....
She looked at Jon seriously and kind of like he was slipping and said, "Jon, the long jump isn't a race." Whooofta. Glad she cleared that up. We all busted out laughing, and had to explain it.
My mom is the world's best grandma. She's the replica of MY grandma...her mom. You know where her paycheck goes? The Store. It buys countless malts, York mints...Mike and Ike's...hot chocolate and diet pop. And gas. Because she comes in and out of town at every grandchild's pleasure and whim. Devotion.

And I wouldn't have it any other way. My children adore this woman. She knows them intimately. What they're good at. What they struggle at. When the need some encouragement from someone other than mom...its her. They have no doubts at all that this woman loves them. And its why they seek her out. "Come drive with me." "Why hasn't she been her tonight?"

She has their hearts.

I love my mom because the last few years have been ROUGH. And, its just occurring to me as I write this...that perhaps this has been the silver lining in a few of my rain clouds. I have NEEDED my mom close so many times. She has scrubbed my toilets, made me soup(not in that order) cuddled me in bed, cried with me, shared her book of favorite quotes, been my confidant, my cheerleader...and dear dear DEAREST friend.

But I cannot pay tribute without mentioning what I admire most about my mother...and its kind of personal.Deeply. But my mother is my modern day pioneer. She is the truest example of faith and sacrifice. My mom's family is very devoutly religious. And I will forever be grateful for that. I knew from the time I was little that my grandparents were God loving people. Good people. Some of the best He's ever made! But my mother converted to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints when she married my dad. Not BECAUSE she married my dad: my mom won't do anything she doesn't believe is right...remember? And this choice has proved very hard. Because there is a sadness with her family, even to this day...over her conversion to our faith. And....I LOVE THEM FOR IT. It proves  THEIR devotion to her...and their faith. But...my mom truly converted. She has never looked back. She has done things alone because of this choice. There have been many struggles that she faced alone because of it. But I never heard her question God. Her faith is amazing. I hope that my children will one day appreciate the legacy of faith that started with she and my father. Because it is one of my dearest treasures...

And...finally...I love her because she is my mom. Some kids aren't so lucky. You probably weren't so lucky. Because while I'm sure you're arguing in your head that your mom is meeting the standard...she isn't. There's no way. Heavenly Father truly made one of a kind.
If you aren't of my faith, some of awesomeness of this song might be lost on you because the lyrics are from so many of the songs we learned as children...taken and woven together in a beautiful tribute. Its become one of my all time favorites...can't listen to it without crying.
Mom's who truly deserve devotion and praise for a job well done...don't NEED it. They have the adoration of their kids/grandkids to speak to a job well done...
So happy Mother's Day to my mom! I love you Neicy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mr8CGydPB5g

I am so super not sure why that won't post as a link...copy and paste it...its worth your effort :)

Listen...

I have to get these words out of my head. Because I've argued with myself so long over them that they are making me crazy. But the truth of it is this:

I should have listened. And acted. 

I firmly believe that if I'd been quicker to do as I was prompted...she'd be here now. She'd have made it out. She'd have a family who would treasure her.

Instead, she's forever stuck in a dumpy, stinky crap hole with no family. She shares clothes, pajamas, tights and everything else with any child that fits them. She gets her head bopped with a brush when she isn't sitting still to get her beautiful(hopefully still long) hair combed. 

And dang it...I can't wrap my head or heart around it.

Will I one day be able to apologize to this sweet child that I failed her? That I put off what I should have done? That its my fault for not listening....

Bleh. Today is one of those days where my heart just hurts...

My dad is SO much better than yours....

I love my dad...for lots of reasons. Not just cause he bails me out. But, he seriously does bail me out!

Sunday night I was basically giddy excited that I had two work days left until the end of tax season. This year  had a little bit of an exciting start for me...and with all the check ups for my toe and hip, and the occasional sick kid...there were times I felt like I really let my employer down.

But I'd made it! 2 days. 16 hours.

And at a bout 3:30 am Monday morning I heard the sound NO mom EVER wants to hear. The sound of puke hitting the floor.

Seriously, so close! Normally I love to be the ones to stay with sick kids...but, like I said, its been a fun year. So I called in a favor to my dad. Would you keep my puking kiddo? And since you have him, can you keep Landri too?

I went to work and called for updates about once an hour. About 1 o'clock I got the call from  school no mom wants to hear: Kolbe tripped, they think he's broke his arm.

Its busy season at Nate's work...he's slammed...and short handed. So I called him and he took Kolbe to the local docs, who needed x-rays...in Choteau. Nate could do it, but I could see it made it difficult for him.

"Dad, how much do you really love me today?" He sighed..."What now?" He laughed when I told him.

Dad left Eli resting on the couch...and hauled Lu to Choteau to bring Kolbe for x-rays. I met them there...then sent them back home. Lu fell asleep in dad's car.

When he returned Lu to me later that night she was sporting his shirt (which she hasn't taken off-super cute). I asked why and she just blurted out, "oh, Papa let me sleep in his car and I peed on his seat."

Yikes. I think I may owe him a bit for that day's service. He can add it to my tab :)

I do love him...and I'm happy to report yesterday, the last day of tax season, was utterly boring!

Eeek

Apparently I am not a smart woman. The old adage that hindsight is better than foresight proves absolutely true with me...the problem is, you'd think I'd be able to predict a few things a little better! Experience should start to weigh in and raise little red flags.
But, nope.
I am left to my stupidity time and time again :)
My children have been in need of a few procedures for a while now. And, they've been postponed repeatedly due to my own issues and insurance issues, and work...I scheduled them for the first free day. April 16th. And I scheduled them TOGETHER...because that's what smart parents do!
Go ahead and insert sarcasm.
They squished Nate, Eli, myself and Lu into a room the size of a glorified bathroom. It was 1000 degrees in there, and things were late...so we tried to calm 2 children who were starving, thirsty and wound up with anxiety. The nurse brought in Landri's syringe of versaid (sp?) and I asked if it was for me....
Landri swallowed her sedative and we waited, and waited...for it to kick in. After 15 minutes the nurse popped her head in and was perplexed to see her still chattering away. We were amazed that in the few seconds it took to answer the last of her questions, Landri popped her hip out to the side, dropping her shoulder down and her head swung down. She looked over at me and I snagged her up...laughing, I asked if she was tired. Her speech got a little slurry, as I laid her down on the bed she drug out...'whhhhhhy yoouuuuuuu laaaaay meeeeee?????' And then she just went limp, very drugged. Amazing stuff, it is. She was blowing kisses as they wheeled her out...well, she was trying. It took a little longer to make the connection from one movement to the next. She would have never left that room of her own free will had she not been totally drugged!
The same doctor performed both procedures...so Eli chilled with us in the same tiny room while we waited for Landri.
I heard a child screaming. But it didn't sound like mine so I tried to ignore it...after like 10 minutes I asked a passing nurse when my Lu would be coming out...wanting to be there when she wakes up. I'd done this before...it is scary when they come to. The nurse looked at me, and informed me the distraught baby WAS mine. That pretty much unhinged me. I basically demanded they give her to me. I think they were very relieved at this, because the nurse struggled to bring me a half naked, thrashing, screaming beast that was very very VERY difficult to contain. I wrestled her for an hour. And Nate helped. We struggled to keep her free hand away from her IV line, and as she crocodile-wrestled in circles, we worked to free her from the tangled cords...Our tiny sweatbox was a torture cell.
After probably an hour, she proceded to rip her IV line out, causing blood to go everywhere. Nate and the old nurse worked to stop the bleeding while I pinned her kicking feet. She was totally out of it still...and in between the craziness Nate and I would meet eyes and bust out laughing. A child possessed!
Poor baby was miserable and scared. She threatened to 'puke up'...her version of 'throw up'...thankfully she didn't. The nurses kept peeking in, the worry becoming evident that her tonsils could bust open if she didn't settle soon.
Oh, and Eli was out of surgery now. So, the panic that he'd wake up like this was starting to settle in...
The nurse said he was darling...that he told her all about his siblings and was talking when they put the mask on him. That was what he'd dreaded...he remembers it from his last surgery. He begged me last night not to let them put on that scary mask. When it went on today, apparently big tears welled up in his eyes. There are some things I'm grateful not to watch.
Landri was just settling when they wheeled Eli into the room next to ours...I told Lu it was time to be big because Eli was scared and waking up and needed me too...and she snuggled her head to me and quieted down.
We sat beside Eli's bed as he very sleepily pried his eyes open. Anesthesia makes this child weepy...and the lip instantly dropped out, and the tears welled. He was emotional for a bit, trying to reign it in, but not able to totally stop the few tears that would roll down his cheeks.
We'd been trying for well over an hour now to cajole Lu into drinking...but as Eli started chugging juice her resolve to do it too strengthened. She isn't totally aware that they didn't have the exact procedures done...so hopefully that  works in my favor! After convincing her to take her pain meds(don't know why they don't get them while sedated) she perked up! She drank two juices and polished off a popsicle. She was chatting away.
I took her to the bathroom and asked if we could wash the blood off her arm. She scrunched her face while inspecting her bruised, bloody hand and asked, "who put that there?" Oh, only you.
I washed her hand, then asked if I could wash her toes. She looked down at her little chubby feet, also covered in dried blood. "That's disgusting!"
I love that even while feeling like junk...she's got her little spunky 'tude....
Its amazing what a little pain medicine can do...we've now been home for about 3 hours, redrugged, and while we're a little whiney, we're hunkered down on the couch with the ipad, watching 'Frozen'...
We have eaten 2 small bowls of shells and cheese, and a few bites of her McDonalds cheeseburger. The cool nurse smuggled us 5  of the  cute little juices in the can and we've managed to finish one of those too. If we can trudge through the next few days like this, we'll be okay. But I'm not naive enough to know that missing one dose of meds will have us set back into a crazy spell of complete misery.
I'm happy to report that aside from the few times this afternoon Eli has remembered he's supposed to be hurting, and faked a little dizzy spell or something...he's perked right up!
So, I think maybe we'll make it.
Except...the Easter Bunny hasn't done a darn thing. Poop.

For remembering...

Sometimes I have to blog it just to remember it.
Yesterday I watched Eli at the park with some little kids.He carefully lifted them onto the playground equipment. He 'faked', almost to perfection, to lose as they kicked the ball around with him. There was such happiness in his giggle. Today during our Sacrament meeting, he drew out the grid of dots for which to play the game where we alternate turns, connecting two dots at a time, into lines. We each draw one line, careful so  as not to provide the other person the chance to draw the fourth side of a square. If you complete the square, you mark it with your initials as a point...the person with the most squares wins! It is usually a very easy game with a child...easy to either annihilate them, or manipulate it in their favor. I was trying to pay attention to the speakers, and appease his quiet play...and it proved very difficult. Because HE was trying to help ME win. Finally, when there was nowhere left to go that wouldn't produce a huge domino-effect of squares...he grunted at me and said, 'mom, don't you wanna win me?' It was then that I saw that sweetness in his chocolate eyes again...when he realized we were doing the same thing!
I am SO thankful to see the giant of a man that grows within the tiny walls of his physical body.It gives me perspective in my parenting, usually reminding me to be patient...ask forgiveness...and be better myself. It is my responsibility and great privilege to shape him into a man. And if you're a contemplative person, you will realize the hugeness of this task. Because sadly, I see that most of my children's weaknesses are reflections of my own. And if I haven't mastered it yet, teaching a child to do so seems overwhelming.
There is no greater joy than that of family life. Some days it is so far from what it should be. I love moments like these that prove forward progression!

A couple quickies...

I have been really thinking today about some important things. Someone I knew briefly, and admired deeply, was taken from this life. She was very much in my same stage of life...my age, with five kiddos, and a husband. And as I've gathered little bits and pieces of info over the last little while from people who were close, my heart broke to know it was coming. Life seems to be a cruel teacher some times. And it isn't fair. Hard things don't seem to befall those who deserve it. Don't think I'm being vengeful, I'm not. Just contemplative tonight. And thankful.
I had a quick surgery 3 on my toe yesterday. My anxious husband was right by my side. This is a side of Nate I have never seen before:scared, and worried. And I don't love it. But lets face it, this toe thing is lame. It won't affect my life, other than perhaps a few conveniences. But I couldn't bear to watch  Nathan inch closer to death. I couldn't bear it. I would rather die myself than have something happen to Nate or my babies.
Another woman I admire battles an illness that though it robs her physical health, makes her spiritual giant seem even greater to me. I love her.
And these things don't make me bitter or cynical. But rather they make me believe more wholly in a God that sees things from start to end...because only He could know that these two women should suffer like this. Only He could ask us to trust that this is his will...
I believe in the Savior Jesus Christ.. In small, ridiculously remote circumstances He weaves blessings into my life. I see some conclusion to some of the things that have stressed me, and its amazing to me how things work out. I couldn't have forced these things. I see his hand.

So please just bring my husband and 3 oldest kids home to me tomorrow. I am looking forward to a family prayer, of gratitude.

I should just do it...

Every time something else crazy happens, or something funny is said, I think "I should just write a book."

Thankfully I have this blog as my silent :) witness...my journal, my record for posterity(and I guess anyone else who reads it). So I blog.

Life just isn't meant to slow down. It isn't. And I've had so many conversations with my husband lately, late at night, while I'm laying in bed, with my foot propped up on every spare pillow in my house...that inevitably have the question "are you kidding me?' threaded somewhere in the message. Nate said came in late the other night and I was already in bed, in my now-so-familiar position with my foot propped up. He just walked in, dropped his reffing duffle bag on the floor and walked over to my foot. He didn't say a word...just gently rubbed my second, third, fourth and baby toes...I was admittedly a little drugged, but not so much that I didn't notice the tears brimming in his eyes. He was very careful, and I just watched him quietly. After about a minute, he asked, fairly exasperated, "can you just believe our luck?" and then followed it with a slightly disheartened, "we must just be destined for hard things".

Don't go thinking this is a cry baby tale. There's been enough of that. But this isn't worth recording if its not a candid story. Good. Bad. And Ugly.

January 18th started as ridiculously productive. My attached garage has been one box short of an episode of "Hoarders" for about the last 4 months. Re-modelling the upstairs bathroom and the fireplace meant that there were tools, supplies, and sad amounts of just garbage collecting in there. I didn't get it all done before I had my hip operated in November, so it mocked me until I was able to get up and tackle the project. January 18th was the day. Nate had left to volunteer to ref the little kid basketball tournament over at the school. I'd started cleaning the living room, which means I'd emptied the front closet onto the living room floor. Sorted of course, into piles destined for different locations. Backpacks over here. Light-weather coats over there. Shoes. Everywhere. It was a mess. So, brilliantly I'd decided I would finally organize this beast of a closet. I went to the garage and since there seemed a surplus of building supplies, I decided I would make some shelves to organize the mess. I cut and screwed the support braces into the closet. I searched for my left over shelving boards, only to discover Nate had pitched him in one of his  recent attempts to 'clean' my remodel-ling mess. Grrrrrr. So I called my dad, who's got a building store in his garage, and requested a delivery. Well, seeing as my closet project was halted, I moved onto the garage. Why not clean this beast? I had the entire thing done too. All except for the old wood stove that sat in the middle of the garage. And I wasn't crazy enough to touch that thing. My hip was still too-freshly-healed...I wasn't going to do something stupid.
Nate had grumbled about my need to purchase several rolls of Christmas wrapping paper on clearance. He'd also won a gun case at the company Christmas party. How could these two things even be remotely related??? Well, for the average person, they may never have been. But I had a brilliant epiphany: the gun case could store my wrapping paper! I grabbed the case and set it on the wood stove, opened it up and discovered all this foam junk. What if we ever actually wanted to use it for guns? I would probably be in trouble for throwing it away, then. So I closed the gun case, deciding not to use it for wrapping paper after all.
And that was all it took. That simple motion of snapping the lid down on a very light-weight plastic case caused the old wood stove to topple over and land right on my toe. Oh my heavens it hurt! Avery was standing beside me and she is my sweet, sweet- natured little girl. I knew immediately it was bad, and that I had to sensor my reaction to prevent really freaking her out. I gave the stove a big heave and freed my toe, and sent Avery to get the phone to call my dad. My building supply delivery man. Surely he was close.
I pride myself in handling pain well. For some dumb reason, I do. I bit my cheek when I got the shots in my neck last year( 3 times) when I felt like crying. And it was gratifying when the nurse said to the other one, "she's a tough one". Why? I have no clue! As if it even means anything other than I'm stupid enough to bit my face off instead of ask for more numbing meds. But its part of my makeup, I guess. So, I tried not to make a huge scene. I limped outside and carefully sat down on the step, and bawled my stinking eyes out. And apparently I'm not as tough as I pretend...because I made enough noise that the man pushing his kids in the swings and the park decided to jog over and see what was going on. Imagine my surprise and relief when the letters EMT were stitched into his jacket. He volunteered to take a look.
PARENTAL DISCRETION ADVISED:
There was quite a bit of blood on my sock...I was wearing a sandal when it happened...he pulled back my sock to look, and the top of my toe went with it. Oh crap.
He, thinking maybe I didn't noticed, pushed it back and held on tight...telling me calmly, 'we should call the ambulance.' Absolutely not. Not for a toe.
Kolbe was sent to get his dad from the school. My parents arrived almost immediately. Nate followed. And pretty soon Jon and Trev just happened by and my front yard got a bit hectic. My toe was wrapped in towels, which killed because the weight of them felt like they were literally making my toe fall off. I cried. Alot. But I didn't swear :)
I was loaded into the burb and Nate and I headed to the ER...
3 hours later, two BIG nerve blocks...and 4 prescriptions...
My toe was reattached. The ER doc said the end of my toe had 'been squished like a grape' and that the bone had blown up. But it was where it belonged. And I'd feel better in a few days.
But I didn't. In fact, I found myself taking the full dose of heavy narcotic prescribed, crying until it kicked in...and then being only mildly relieved. For two hours. And then it was back. Pulsing. Burning. Seriously...it was absolutely agonizing. Gone was my resolve to be tough. I couldn't do it. I absolutely couldn't do it. Long story short...I ended up at the local clinic, who removed the bandage. I saw her eyes. And I knew what it meant when her partner came in to "have a look"...bringing her camera, to take some up close and personals. She emailed the foot doctor, and I had an appointment scheduled by that afternoon to see him. Friday morning I saw him. An hour later I was being prepped for surgery.
ALL THIS FOR A STUPID TOE!!!!!
God bless this man.
He removed all the bone pieces and reattached my toe again. I was admitted to the hospital all weekend long, hooked to strong IV medicine to fight off the fear of bone infection.
I had several priesthood blessings during this week. I was in more pain than I've ever known, and I'm sure that I was spared some of it. And I KNOW that I was spared bone infection. Because I was allowed to come home, on oral antibiotic, instead of the six weeks of IV meds that they had told me about.
It is frankenstein-ugly. Seriously.
But it is healing. And I'm thankful. I am able to pretend I'm tough again.
And do you want to know something amazing? I am most upset at the TIMING of this disaster! If it would have happened last month, it wouldn't have cost me anything. My health insurance had maxed its out of pocket. FREE. And, in a month or two, I'd be in the same place again with my hip rehab soaking up those costs. But no. January 18th meant my deductible had just reset. That means two.thousand.five. hundred. FREAKING.dollars. And then another grand of copay bills. Thirty five hundred dollars.

Thirty five hundred dollars.

Perhaps I should mention that last year my heart was ripped out and danced on when our adoption fell through. I may have mentioned it once or twice. Aside from my emotional heartache from this experience...this month also signals another form of torture related to our failed adoption. TAX time. Yep.

We borrowed $20k against our 401k to funnel into our adoption funds. A large portion of it is sitting in a fund we can't touch aside from adopting. But that doesn't spare us the fact that we will be taxed hugely on this little endeavor. We didn't care when we did it. We'd have the adoption credit to offset it, right? Well, can't use it if an international adoption isn't complete. So, the $20k plus of adoption expenses we had are useless to us, and we have $20k of income. Our normally happy refund is transformed into a debt to Uncle Sam of several thousand dollars.

We don't even have enough in savings to cover the sum of these two things. I'm not sure where or how that is going to happen.
I am not sure what I am supposed to learn.
I have said out loud, so many times, just in case Heavenly Father doesn't already know that I know this: I don't care if I'll ever be rich. I just want to cover the bills.

And, thankfully, we always have. We live a good life, with more than we need and enough to make us happy. I love my pefectly chaotic life. I'd choose it over and over again.

I looked directly at Nate when he said it. And I started crying. And I forbid him to say it again. I begged him to not look at it like this...that our lot is unfair. It is hard, for certain. But in that moment I needed his stregnth to reassure me that he knew what I knew:
Its the message I keep hearing over. And over. And over. Its the message threaded through every single trial and screamed through every single blessing:
We have nothing. And we have everything. What will soothe and comfort like balm to our crying hearts...the only gifts in our blessed lives that mean anything...is our little family and our faith. That is it.

I told Nate last night that I am certain that I depend on him, and my Heavenly Father, more than anyone else possibly could. That life has made me do that. And while I cannot find happiness in some of the things that continually pester us...I can see this resounding truth. We are better together for it.

"Come what may, and love it". That is what one of the General Authorities of our church said in a conference once. I'm learning this. And I'm horrible at it. I'm sure that God must cringe a little when I cry, and question 'why?' and pity myself. Its an emotion I wish I could master. And I usually reign it in, once I've let it run lose for a few days. One day I'll be better. Bigger. More as I should be.

Maybe then we 'won't be meant for hard things.'

Maybe we will be.

But, we are also meant for GOOD things.

Eli was supposed to be baptized the Sunday I was in the hospital. We obviously re-scheduled. But he had his interview with the Bishop. This is a big deal. You must be 8 to be baptized in our faith. So you know what you are signing up for, so to speak. You're still a child, so you're understanding is naive. But you get it a little. I've been talking with Eli about his upcoming baptism for a while now. He listens faithfully to his primary song CD at night. There is a song that talks about Jesus going to John the Baptist to be baptized. It tells why he did this, being perfect and having no need to be cleansed.

When Eli came home from meeting the Bishop, I was so happy to see my handsome little man, dudded in his new black church pants, sports coat, white shirt and tie. I asked him how his interview went. "Fine." Oh come on! Give me the scoop...so I peppered him a bit. When I realized I'd have to pry it out of him, I asked him to tell me one thing the Bishop specifically asked him. He said, "mom, same as you. He wanted to know why I wanted to be baptized."
So what did you say, I asked.
"To fulfill the law," he said very matter-of-factly.
I absolutely busted out laughing. He then said he didn't answer it that way. With my toe, I've missed church and haven't got to ask Bishop if he really did.
The lyrics to the second verse of that little song say: To fulfill the law, said Jesus, when the baptist questioned why.

I love him.

Landri had the flu yesterday early in the morning. She ran into the bathroom to get sick and the hollered at me. I came running, sort of :)
"What???" I asked.
She pointed into the toilet. "There is a hair in the toilet."
I didn't even look. I just said, 'oh, who cares?'
Her big eyes were dark against her pasty white skin. 'MOOOOoooooom. Its from a BUTT.'

I love her.

Kolbe  barely talks. He could go days with simply grunting his answers, as long as his access to food is unrestricted. He is growing like crazy. Thankfully, he always smells nice. The habits of brushing his teeth and using deoderant...things I used to have to hound him to do....have become natural. I know its not for me, but for the girls that he is texting non stop. I wish I could wrap him in bubble wrap and fast forward and pause things all at the same time.

I love him.

Avery begged and cried to stay with me in the hospital. She planted her tiny self right against me in bed from the moment she walked into my room, until dad pried her off to go home. She is this amazing little person who needs nothing, and at the same time only needs me.

I love her.

She doesn't think I know the difference between 'need' and 'want'.  "Mom, I need spandex and knee pads for volleyball. Black knee pads." I know. So I tease. I found some ugly white knee pads at Target. She squirms and whines. Because she really really wants the black ones. Because even when playing sixth grade volleyball, she's a diva. She has an image of what she wants to look like.

I love her.

He's rubbed my toes every night for almost 2 weeks. He proves he loves me through the quietest, simplest acts. And while he's really upsetting my morning routine with the kids, staying later than usual before going to work...he's the absolutely best husband in the world.

It seems that there are just lessons I will hear repeatedly in my life. And, I will always welcome the opportunity to reflect on just how GOOD my life is...even if tears cloud my lenses every once in a while....

just to show he was listening...

I love the quiet moments where you realize you made a point, that they understood what I was saying.
I was teaching the Plan of Salvation yesterday in church to the kids age 3 to 8. This tells of how we willingly came to earth to follow a Savior, repent, and return to our God(in a super short version). At the end we were discussing how we'd each be judged for our actions and where we'd be sent. We talked about the degrees of glory, and how the place where God will reside is likened unto the Sun, and then there is a place likened unto the moon, and then the worse destination is likened unto the stars. I walked the kids through scenarios, "in the dark which would you prefer? stars or a bright moon?" A night with a moon, or a full sun-lit sky? I think they got it.
Last night as I tucked Eli in we were discussing his upcoming baptism and what this commitment means. And he said, 'I probably have STARS stamped on my heart mom.'
He cracks me up. And...he gives me LOTS of opportunities to teach :)

favorite Sunday of the year

"whoever said 'Easy like Sunday morning' obviously never had children"....
It is amazing to me that my kids, who are full of life for sure...but usually fairly well behaved...become little dancing devils every. single. Sunday. morning. Just like clock work. Its like they're possessed. In fact, the only thing predictable about their behavior this day is that it will be the worst its been all week.

Having said this...THIS week was my favorite Sunday of the year: Christmas Sunday. Naughtiness is usually at a minimum because the anticipation to wear the new outfit that's been taunting you from the closet for a month is too much. Kids who usually fight the shower AGREE on attempt one. 'Its Christmas Sunday', after all. And Landri actually WANTED her hair done.

 Her outfit was cuter with the red sweater specifically bought for Christmas, but this was a last minute compromise to stem the fit that was coming...

 Eli. This kid has some querks. And Sunday clothes are one of 'em. He refuses to wear a tie and his nice dress shoes. So I didn't waste money on new duds he wouldn't wear. This outfit is his 'comfort zone'...why mess with a good thing?

 What do you say? That she's the cutest, pocket-sized angel in the world?

 Growing up. In a tight little black skirt.

 Handsome. And not just because I'm biased.

And there was no corralling them into a group picture where all five of them faced forward and smiled nicely. At least I will have lots of pictures of my kids as they really are! Sass. Spunk and LIFE :)
Merry Christmas!

Taking Temple Square...

I had my post op appointment on the 18th of December back in Salt Lake. Because I'm one of 'those' moms who has counted out every moment I have with my kids, I knew this would be our last 'season' that was free in the fall months. Well, specifically, the Christmas season. Next year Kolbe starts high school, which is entirely different post :( and for now I'll stick to the happy stuff! Once he's in high school, this is basketball season, and there's no leaving. And because we felt that having our children every two years was sheer genius, our holidays are committed from here on out. And I desperately waned to take my family to Temple Square. Traveling is not my favorite option, in fact I'm probably worse than the kids. But with a reason to go, we pulled the kids from school and headed down. Roads were perfect on the way there. My back and hip tolerate the car in doses...so we went to Pocatello the first night. And swam. And called 911 from the room(while Nate and I ate breakfast). And left.
It was a fast and furious trip...the doc appointment was good. "All is on track."
I'm sure we looked like so many other tourists to that place, wide eyed and amazed. Temple Square is perhaps one of the most beautiful places in the world on any given day...but when decked out with the Season of Christmas...there are no words. So here are some pics...

We spent time in many of the buildings...spacing it out with time for the little one, who'd skipped her nap, to run off a little 'crazy' outside with the lights. THIS is my favorite place in the world...no doubt:

The Christus.

My favorite place. You walk up a circular ramp into this room where the walls are painted to be the skies and worlds...and then there is a HUGE statue of the resurrected Christ...the marks in his hands and feet still evident. Its beautiful...and the spirit is so strong! My favorite place...with my favorite crazies...

I'm sure that we stuck out big time. My kids are straight off the farm. And yes, while we preach tolerance, and whisper 'stop staring' they were very obviously shocked by some differences in culture there.

We awoke to a nasty snow storm and hit the road earlier than we had planned. We drove to back to Butte before my back and hip were DONE. 3 motels in 3 days...meant lots of swim time for the kids. I think if you asked them their highlights of the trip it would be Temple Square, the man peeing on the exterior wall of Temple Square, and all the swim time.

My highlight was obvious. It was a first and a last for my little family. The next time we make it back there time will have changed my family so much. My kids may even have kids of their own. Cringe! So thankful we were able to carve out a little memory: The Clampits Take Temple Square.

the Golden Corral???

I had to take Kenna to Great Falls yesterday for an orthodontist appointment. We had missed and rescheduled twice, so we were seriously looking forward to a little girl time. And, of course we had Lu. Lu, who screamed and growled and pretty much just made the trip MISERABLE. After I could handle it no more, I started mimicking her horrid sound to answer her every onery request. A few minutes into this(poor Kenna), Landri apparently realized it was painful to listen to. After a quick discussion about how we should be talking/asking for things...there was blessed silence! Kenna shot me a naughty little look of approval! I know....not the 'best parenting' approach,  but SO effective! We got about 3 minutes of happy conversation when Landri very sweetly, in the cutest, calmest, baby girl voice announced, "mommy, I'm reeeaaaaallllly hungry". "Oh," I said, "what would you like to eat today?"

"A lunch buffet."

WHAT??? Seriously, we don't do buffets. We really don't eat out, unless you count the periodic super fast run through the drive through at McDonalds or something. We're hardly in town... Kenna and I were totally impressed with her decisiveness. A lunch buffet. (she didn't get it, but she didn't even remember!) We however, have joked about it a thousand times!

Her little AND GIANT personality are such proof to me of Heavenly Father's love for me and his obvious sense of humor. This kid is power packed-as is her predecessor, Kenna.

Today I was trying to persuade Lu to lay beside me and nap, which she was having none of. I pulled out the old 'tell them a story and rub their back til they fall asleep trick'...and she requested the story of how I picked her in heaven. I may have mentioned this before...but I've done a very irreverent thing by telling my children how I traipsed through Heaven's rooms of precious angels and picked the very finest...for this trait and that trait. And they all believe me, at least until they are a bit older...so when telling Lu today the normal story, I added  the detail that her cute double dimples, on her pudgy little cheeks were proof of heavenly kisses farewell as she left to be my baby...

I love the wonder in her sparkly eyes...and the assured confidence as she nodded and said, 'of course!' Could those little dimples have come from any other source?

Being a mom is my best gig.

my missing piece....

I just love this time of year. I love the fact that the world as a whole is a little more receptive to the message that Jesus Christ is our Savior. I love that kindness is almost a reaction, that human nature is paused for a minute to allow for Christ-like behavior to step forward. I love that because of this celebration, my life is promised the gift of redemption. And peace. And hope.

And I love the childhood giddiness and anticipation for Christmas morning. I love watching the older kids transition from believing in Santa to a realization of what mom and dad have made their reality. I pretty much just love this season.

But I can't wonder why what I'd envisioned for this Christmas can't be? Nate keeps telling me he can't buy me anything, has no idea what to get me, that I'm so hard to buy for. Really? Maybe its because what I'm wanting isn't for sale. What my heart longs for this year is my missing piece.

A piece of my life puzzle that once I discovered, I can't believe how much its absence just hurts. I think people have forgotten. I can't. I miss her. I hate saying "....my five children", because I have six. But I assume people want me to get over it. I just can't.

I am sure I will struggle every day with the miserable knowledge that sweet, and spicy, little Dasha is never coming home. And I am blessed that the five children I have HERE are healthy and happy. I wonder where the line is between being ungrateful for the life that's mine and the heartbreak of disappointment and sadness over Dasha.

Its not like I'm asking for a fancy car, or diamond earrings. I just wanted another child, unwanted by most, to love and strengthen. That's what I want for Christmas...