Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a dad. ~ Unknown

Greg really is such a good dad! I always tell him that our kids are going to be okay because of him. Of course, he is the most adored in the entire house. When anyone is hurt or scared or sad or even deliriously happy, Dad is the one they want (including myself). I wonder if our kids realize how truly blessed they are to have a dad that not only loves them, but genuinely enjoys being with them and takes the time to be with them. Lucky kids; lucky me!

Greg took Austin and Macy to the parkway after school yesterday to ride bikes for a few hours. Paige felt so left out. So today, he rode around the neighborhood with her:

Taelyn took a turn. Even though she wasn't entirely convinced this was a good idea, she did smile for the camera:

Greg tried to convince the girls that riding a bike without training wheels was super fun. When his words failed, he hopped on the bike to show them:

Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. ~Elizabeth Stone

Have you seen this commercial? The one where the dad is giving his daughter the keys to the car, but the little girl is about 5 years old? Then, in the last frame, we realize that the little girl is really 16, and that the dad just sees her as a 5-year-old. 

Every time we see it, Greg shakes his head and says it's the meanest commercial he's ever seen. Then, he has to get up off the couch and walk into the kitchen or bathroom, for just a minute. You see, I married a pacer. I learned about this when we were dating. Greg lived with his sister, Janet and her husband, Ben and their three kids when we were dating. Well, he lived there part-time. He still had an apartment in Provo, but a job in Salt Lake. Not to mention a girlfriend in Salt Lake. So, he stayed there part of the time. One evening, we were all sitting around their kitchen table when they got a call from Greg's parents. Greg's little brother had eloped in Las Vegas and had just turned up at his parent's house in California. I sat in the chair and watched him walk into the front room, back into the kitchen, down the stairs into the living room, up the stairs into the front room, back into the kitchen...over and over again while talking on the phone. Whenever Greg is walking the house while chatting on the phone, I know that something is bothering him.

But...back to the commercial. As my children are growing up, and their problems are becoming "bigger" than potty-training, who took what toy and from whom, and sleeping through the night, I have a really hard time not seeing them as my little ones. I struggle with knowing how to handle a problem that does not involve pulling my toddler or preschooler on my lap and just cuddling it away. I also have a hard time not looking into the future and seeing how a particular problem will become so challenging. I also have a hard time accepting the fact that we all have issues that we battle with throughout this lifetime. I can see some of those in my kids, and I have to accept that I can't fix them because they aren't for me to "fix." They were hand-picked trials that God has given them to battle through. I can support and I can help, but they are theirs and theirs alone. That is a heart-wrenching truth for a mother, and it seems unfair to look at an 11-year-old or 8-year-old or even a 5-year-old and see those trials and struggles and know they are for their good.

In all honesty, sometimes I miss those kids. Getting Austin to talk...just talk to me...is like pulling teeth. And I look at him and see that sweet, always energetic, chatty little three-year-old who loved every second of life (so much so that he couldn't bear the thought of going to sleep because he might miss something). He was my little buddy. We loved being together. Just like the dad in the commercial, I can look at Austin and see him as that little boy that I simply adored. Sometimes, I wish I could just reach back in time and squeeze that adorable little boy, and read him a story, and tuck him in bed.

I guess I just find myself on the cusp. On the cusp of teenagers...on the cusp of "real" problems...on the cusp of Jr. High...on the cusp of PG-13 movies and parties and short skirts...on the cusp of temptations of every shape and size...on the cusp of new friends. I'm nervous for this next phase of life. I worry about my inability to handle what is inevitably coming our way. And just like the dad in the commercial, I desperately want to keep my kids safe and sheltered, but I know I have to start to let go and trust. Trust that (just like I did and still do) Austin will learn from his experiences - good and bad. Trust that his struggles will make him stronger and that growth comes from trials. Trust that the Lord will compensate for the things that we lack as parents. Simply trust in this process of life.

And I wonder if I will always see my children the way the dad in the commercial sees his little girl? I wonder if my parents sometimes look at me and think: When did they allow a cute, chubby, curly-haired little girl to become the mother of 5 children?!? When I struggle, I wonder if my dad wants to just climb in bed with me and tell stories and sing songs and rub his fingers through my hair until I fall asleep just like he did when I was little. I wonder if my mom wants to slip me some frozen chocolate chips and settle down in the recliner and tickle the inside of my arm with her beautiful fingernails to calm me down.

And I wonder how a mother's heart is supposed to navigate all this "growing up" that must take place?!?

"True love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops." - William Goldman, The Princess Bride

I decided to throw a candlelight Valentines dinner this year and invite the children. So, the day before Valentines Day, I raided my mother's house. It seems that if I were to make a list of things I do not own, it would include the following: a tablecloth, candlesticks, drinking apparatus made of anything other than plastic that do not display Disney characters, and any holiday-oriented serving platters. It was actually quite funny. As I was loading up my mother's crystal goblets, my grandmother (who has Alzheimer's and does not remember who I am) thought I was robbing the place. She actually held a few plates in her arms and really was not going to let me have them. I had quite the time trying to explain that I was just borrowing them and that I had permission. Eventually, I came away with a presentable table for our Love Feast. 

Although the kids didn't necessarily love the sparking cider, they did love toasting one another and saying "Darling" incessantly.

My children, and my husband, love (that's L.O.V.E.) crab legs. I did buy a few King Crab legs for Greg (after all, he is the whole reason I even cater a Love Feast) and a few Snow Crab legs for the children (because King Crab may as well be gold-plated for as much as they cost, and although I truly love my children, there are limits).

Here is the Master teaching his oh-so-attentive proteges.

The carnage:

Then, I spent the evening creating these Valentine Box I-Pods out of old cereal boxes for Austin and Macy to take to school the next day:

It has long been my tradition to create candy bar posters for my kids on Valentines Day. Usually, I have them displayed so they wake up to find them, but since I spent the majority of the evening making the cereal-box I-pods, I had to do these while the kids were at school. Every year, I tell myself that I'm going to cut it down and make it small, and every year, I end up with gigantic posters. This year, I hung them on the back of our kitchen chairs so they were there when the kids got home from school. 

Taelyn was over while I was making the posters and she wanted one so I made one for her too. Then Paige and Taelyn had fun decorating their posters with hearts.

As much as I adore my husband, Valentines Day has never been a big deal for us. The first year we were married, me made homemade cards for each other, and the tradition has just sort of stuck. The tradition being: Show a small token of love and appreciation and try to spend as little money as possible. It works really well for us.

Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing. ~ Phyllis Diller

This post is for Jackie. A few weeks ago, she posted on Facebook a comment about how her children manage to make a gigantic mess with the toothpaste. Greg and I came home last Friday night to Toothbrushing Gone Wild. I just thought I would document the pictures. I hope this makes you feel better Jackie! Just knowing that you're not alone is sometimes the best medicine!

No matter how many times I wash it, my hand still sticks to the hairbrush every time I use it.

Insanity is hereditary. You can catch it from your kids. - Erma Bombeck

So, I had to start a new blog. Apparently, I have somehow met my limit for uploaded pictures on my old blog and now blogger wants to charge me for this service (even though I erased a bunch of pictures from old blog posts...fishy, don't you think?!?). Instead of spending the moolah, I just decided to start a new blog.

Now, I know that in 2012, blogging is about as archaic as cd walkmen

Tamagotchi

and "The Weakest Link"

but here's the dill (no, I did not mis-spell that word; I am from Utah, so it is pronounced "dill" and not "deal"): This is the best way for me to create some form of journal/history. I know that the trendy thing is to be witty enough to sum up the moment of your life in a Facebook Post or a humorous Tweet. However, long ago I accepted the fact that I am neither witty nor intelligent; simply long-winded. While these are my thoughts and my images and my interpretations, I am determined to preserve these thoughts, images, and interpretations in the most honest way possible, while trying to err on the side of optimism rather than pessimism. When my children and grandchildren read my words (if they can process ALL of the words), I want them to see a person who has good days and bad days, struggles and triumphs, laughter and tears. In short, I want them to see a real person who tried her best (most days) to do what she thought was right. Sometimes, I was successful and sometimes I was not.

It's important to me.

I made a book out of my blog posts from 2011, and my children have devoured it. (In the instance of the corner of page 58, I mean that quite literally.) It cost me a small fortune. Just as I do with my daughter's American Girl Doll, I have to fight the urge to say: "That is for looking and not touching." But, life is for living, and I have learned that life is messy. I have also learned that I can tell my children that I love them, but seeing mom print pictures and write about the poignant, hilarious, embarrassing, and revolting has made them not only feel special but absolutely essential to our family.

My old blog was entitled "Crazy Making House" which came from a line of a play. It has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. The older I get, the crazier I become. So, I have decided to upgrade my status to insanity.

"Insanity is hereditary. You can catch it from your kids."

-Erma Bombeck

In my case, I think the condition is full-blown. I have felt more than inadequate lately. I cannot, for the life of me, understand why the deeper I go into this world of parenthood, the more lost I feel. When I was pregnant with the twins, my mom turned to me and said: "If this doesn't teach you patience, then you're a lost cause." (The jury's still out.) I would also like to add that I firmly believe parenting is supposed to teach me humility. It is stripping me of everything I thought I knew of myself, and I hope, someday real soon, the Lord can begin rebuilding me into the person I am capable of becoming.

My Latest Crush

I'm really starting to like these two. I've always loved them because they are my babies, but I'm starting to like them for who they are. As their personalities emerge more and more each day, I really like having them in my life.

Last night, we had a movie night. We spent the first 10 minutes convincing Kade that it is okay to have the lights off. He is obsessed with lights and insists that they are all on at all times. He is constantly pulling stools, boxes, buckets, dump trucks, whatever he can find to climb on and turn on the lights.

Anyway, a few minutes into the movie, Kade went and found a blanket and climbed up on the couch next to me. A few minutes later, he got down and came back with a pillow. He climbed up next to me, nestled into his pillow and we covered him with his giant blanket. A few minutes later, he got down and came back with salad tongs.

So random.

We snuggled through the rest of the movie with him leaning on his pillow, snuggled into his blanket, one arm around my neck, the other hand holding his salad tongs. When I tried to describe the situation to Greg, he said, "I guess you had to be there." Maybe. I just thought it was so funny.

At one point, I scratched my head, and then Kade scratched my head(all without taking his eyes off the movie). I just sat there and thought, "I sure do like you."

Spencer is in the stage: "If I can't see you, then you can't see me." It is so funny. When he's been a bit of a stinker, or if I'm calling him, or teasing him, I will often find him sitting on the couch with his hands over his eyes. Today, I found him on the floor of his bedroom, lying down, holding perfectly still, with his hands over his eyes. The other day, when he was supposed to be napping, I could hear that he was definitelyNOT sleeping. When I opened the door, I saw two little feet sticking out from under the bed. Again, the owner of those legs was statuesque, silent, and if you looked closelyenough, he was probably even holding his breath. I was supposed to be upset because he wasn't asleep, but I just shrugged and thought, "I really, really like you."

Identify Theft Made Easy

Last weekend I went on a 3-day getaway to gorgeous Southern California (it was 80 degrees every day - perfect and gorgeous and sunny and happy) with two incredible women. We ate well (the fit of my jeans proves that), relaxed, analyzed the meaning of life, sat in some serious LA traffic, and watched an extremely expensive chic flick. It was lovely.

On my way out of town, I packed my adorable purple carry-on that Melva gave me for my birthday last year. I pulled out the card in the front to fill out just in case I misplaced my luggage. The first few lines were pretty standard, but as I read the rest of the card, I literally laughed out loud. Hilarious:

A few thoughts:

#1: I don't think I've ever seen cell# and beeper# on the same sheet of paper. I thought the purpose of cell phones was to replace beepers?!?

#2: While I'm at it, I considered adding my mother's maiden name, my birthday, and my passport photo.

A Letter to My Daughters (and Future Daughters-in-Law)

To the Future Mothers in My Life:

I am going to do my best not to forget. Not to forget what it is like to have young children. Not to forget what it is like to be a stay-at-home mother (especially when you are heading into Week #2 with sick children). Not to forget what it is like to realize that you have never, ever done this before and not have a clue how to solve certain problems with your kids.

I'm not talking about after they hand you your perfect, fresh-from-heaven newborn for the first time. I'm not talking about the time that your baby says "Mama" for the first time, or better yet, the first time that they take your face in their chubby little hands and say something that resembles "I love you." I'm not talking about those times when you will go in to check on them after they've fallen asleep and you're certain that your heart will burst because you never thought you could love another human being that much. I'm not talking about all the times that they will have you in stitches over the hilarious things they say and do.

I'm talking about those evenings when that perfect little infant starts crying about 4:30 and doesn't stop until 8 or 9 at night (or better yet, when your 4-year-old cries for 5 hours straight). I'm talking about those times when that tantrum that you hear ringing through the gigantic rafters of Walmart, the screaming, wailing, hitting that you can hear from every corner of the store, is coming from your Little Darling, all because you won't let them have something ridiculous like a 20-lb bag of marshmallows or an eighty-dollar doll that walks and pees and burps. I'm talking about those times when they have been potty-trained for months, and yet when you go to get them up from their nap, they've had an "accident" and wiped it all over the wall, the bed, and themselves. I'm talking about when the Primary leader comes to get you out of class to ensure that your Sweetheart took a chunk out of his friend - with his teeth. I'm not even going to mention the phone calls/emails/text messages from school announcing the unruly, "disrespectful" behavior.

I feel like a lot of people from my mother's generation (and before) have forgotten. Sometimes, I get exhausted hearing about all the perfect children that existed in the 50s, 60s, and 70s. Apparently, those children never cried, whined, talked back, or breathed when they weren't supposed to. Not everyone acts like this, but I do think that we, as human beings, tend to remember the good and block out the bad. It's like when my siblings and I talk about vacations we took when we were kids; we only talk about the fun things while my parents role their eyes and tell us how we fought all the way to Yellowstone, or how the car broke down just outside of Disneyland. It's human nature, but I am going to try to remember enough to provide empathy the best I can.

Last night, I went to bed at midnight. Greg spent the day in bed because he wasn't feeling well, and I had all the kids home for the whole day because it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. It snowed most of the day so the kids couldn't play outside. A 5 o'clock, I went to get Macy from her friend's house. When I got home, I made dinner and cleaned the kitchen afterward. We had Family Home Evening, and we got everyone in bed by 8. It was then that I started in on the 8 loads of laundry I had done all day (I was still finishing the last few). It was a crazy night of folding. It felt like it was the never-ending laundry basket. I swear...the more I folded, the more full the basket seemed. I finally got everything done and headed to bed just after midnight.

At 5 in the morning, I heard Paige crying from downstairs (yes, she really does cry that loudly and that frequently). Then, I heard Macy come upstairs to tell me that Paige had thrown up all over herself and she needed a bath. I took care of the situation and rolled back into bed about 5:45. A few minutes later, I heard the crying again. I heard Macy again. After a few more rounds of throwing up, I sent Macy to sleep in my bed and I climbed in her bed so I could help Paige and Macy could get some sleep. Paige finally settled down around the time that I could see the sun peeking through the window, and I got up at 7:30 to get the kids ready for school.

I took the kids to school and came home. I got breakfast for the twins and changed diapers. When I walked into Spencer and Kade's room to put their clean, folded clothes away, I smelled it: more throw up. Whoever was sleeping on the top bunk got sick during the night. To my horror, I discovered that he got sick right on the edge of the bed, so it fell down to the bottom bunk, into the ridges of both mattresses and bunk boards, down the stairs and onto the bookcase, landed on the carpet and a book that was under the bed. And it was semi-dry.

After practically disassembling the bunk beds to clean everything, bathing both boys (because I'm still not 100% certain which one got sick), and doing 3 more loads of laundry, I think we've got the situation under control. For now.

Despite what it sounds like, I'm really not complaining. I am grateful that the sickness isn't more severe. I'm grateful that I am healthy and able to take care of these kids. I am grateful that I have these children in my life, and I am grateful that I have been given the opportunity to be a mother. I can't imagine what I would rather be doing with my life. But, I want you to know that I know what it is like to be exhausted. I know what it is like to clean everyone and everything and shower last (it is 11:30, and I still haven't cleaned myself up). I know what it's like to put aside everything you had planned to accomplish in a day and just conquer the sickness and mess. I know that the day-to-day with little kids can be monotonous and exhausting (I know I've already used that word, but it is the best one). And I know the guilt that sets in when you do complain because, after all, you have 5 healthy, beautiful children, a warm home, a good, supportive husband, enough food to eat, enough money to pay the bills, and you enjoy so many luxuries. But, it doesn't change the fact that some moments, some hours, some days, some phases, some stages are still hard.

I will do my best not to forget.

Akshely...

Macy told us that they didn't have a lesson at church today, instead they just talked about themselves and learned about everyone else in the class. When I asked her to tell me about herself, she handed me this paper:

Front: Macy's Self Portrait

Back: All About Macy

This is surprisingly accurate. I just love it so much!

Translation:

My favorite color is red, pink, purple, and blue. I am good at backscratching, writing, art, and I am kind. I used to have a dog named Penny. My favorite foods are pizza, mac and cheese, and for breakfast, I like waffles. I love to read! I like Hershey bars as a treat. I will actually eat any treat.

This is another drawing my Macy (done last October). Apparently, she has discovered Michael Jackson:

As a family, we filled out some sheets to help us reflect about 2011 and think about what we would like to accomplish in 2012. These are a few of the highlights:

• Austin's favorite part of the holidays: "Being with my family. Putting dad on the 'Bad List' at 'This is the Place Holiday Village'."
• From Austin, "What do you want to do next year?": More skiing! Lava Hot Springs. Lagoon. San Francisco. Grow my own Christmas Tree.
• From Austin, "Hardest Thing of the Year (2o11)": Cleaning the entire bathroom
• From Macy, "What do you want to do next year?": Go to Disneyland
• From Macy, "Greatest Lesson Learned (2011)": Multalacashon (multiplication)
• From Macy, "Hardest Thing of the Year (2011)": hikeing four miles to Delecit Arch & stop sucing my thume
• From Macy, "Want to Get Better At (2012)": being nice
• From Macy, "Biggest Goal (2012)": Read 50 books
• Paige's favorite food: Blueberry bagels with white cream cheese. Why: 'cause it's yummy and the inside of the bagel is purple
• Paige's favorithe thing: The house because it's warm and sometimes cold.
• From Paige, "What I Loved Most About 2011": Moving to the basement
• From Paige, "Want to Learn (2012)": How to read
• From Paige, "Want to Get Better At (2012)": Not spilling

Soldier, could you win back time for me?

"We women have a lot to learn about simplifying our lives. We have to decide what is important and then move along at a pace that is comfortable for us. We have to develop the maturity to stop trying to prove something. We have to learn to be content with what we are."

- Marjorie Pay Hinckley

Sister Hinckley is just a well of wisdom for me; I draw on her often. The last few weeks, I've been thinking a lot about the new year. I like the idea of a new year, a clean slate, an unwritten manuscript. I like the idea that I can be better than I was last year. I like the idea that I can evolve (or at least try). I take myself FAR too seriously (my husband and my dad are probably getting whiplash agreeing with this statement), and New Year's Resolutions are serious business for me. I've analyzed my life in depth the past month or so, searching for areas that need the most attention. In the process, I've thought a lot about this quote, and what it means to "develop maturity" and be "content with what we are."

One area that I've considered (an area I've considered for years) is possibly getting up early (very difficult for me), before anybody else is up, and getting myself "spiritually" ready for the day. I've often fantasized about how patient, kind, and loving I would be if I were up at 6:00 every morning having read my scriptures, prayed earnestly in my closet, showered, hair done, make-up on, dressed in real clothing. Can't you just see me gently and lovingly waking every child up (having laid all clothing out the night before) and enjoying a non-rushed, homemade, healthy breakfast. I even envisioned purchasing special breakfast place mats that I set the night before, inviting my family to begin the day by sitting around the table together. Homework done the night before, permission slips signed and cozily tucked away in folders inside backpacks. Lunches made the night before and anxiously waiting in the refrigerator. No mad dash for missing shoes; no panicking because we are out of bread (again); no "Oops! I forgot I have a book report due today. It's supposed to be a life-size diorama made out of nonperishable food." In my mind, this would be the secret to our success.

I let this idea mull around for a few days. One morning, over Christmas vacation, I was lying in bed with Spencer on one side and Kade on the other. Eventually, Paige and Macy came in and surrounded Greg. The boys have developed this habit of waking up in the morning (it was consistently 7:15 on the dot for a few months) and coming into our bed. They like to climb all the way in and pull all of the "cubbers" up to their little chins. Spencer is a natural snuggler and wraps both arms around my neck and holds on for several minutes. My favorite mornings are when he whispers his first words of the day: "I wake up. I love you, Mama." Kade is getting better at the snuggling, and likes to play with my ear. Especially over Christmas Break (when we didn't have to get up to get ready for school), we lingered in bed for a long time.

It was one of these mornings that I made the mature decision that getting up early and having a "Leave it to Beaver" breakfast is NOT the best thing for our family. This is not the time nor season for perfect order. This IS the time and season for snuggling in bed with my babies. My favorite Christmas album this year was Mindy Gledhill's "Winter Moon." I love the song "Little Soldier:"

Little soldier under the tree

Play a Christmas song for me

All the house is slumbering deep

but I have secrets I must keep

Father time comes creeping in

We fight back but he will win

If I asked one Christmas wish then it would be

Soldier, could you win back time for me?

Little soldier, tap, tap your beat

I will stand on Daddy's feet

We will dance as if I were ten

Even if it's just pretend

Father time comes creeping in

We fight back but he will win

If I asked one Christmas wish then it would be

Soldier, could you win back time for me?

I've made the executive decision that it is important for me to enjoy these last few months of snuggle time with my babies. I know that means rushed breakfasts and we'll be lucky if the kids get their hair brushed before running out the door. I know that means that I will be beg for just "5 more minutes" of warmth and love during these cold mornings, which means that I will be frantically making lunches in my bathrobe and serving cold cereal instead of whole-grain oatmeal. I've decided that I am comfortable with this pace.

When I started having my kids, I did not realize how short of a time-span that I will have little ones in my presence. That morning in my bed, I realized that we've only got a few more months (maybe a year) when I will have toddlers that actually want to snuggle with me. Then, these precious moments will be gone. Forever. I'm sure other precious moments will replace them, but this phase will be over. I've decided to relish it.

I am content with this decision.