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.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Friday, January 31, 2014
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....
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....
Monday, December 30, 2013
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 :)
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 :)
Friday, December 27, 2013
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!
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.
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...
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.
Friday, December 13, 2013
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.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
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...
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...
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