Lazy

I'm quite enjoying these post-Christmas days.

I've been sleeping in until 10:30ish, eating Lucky Charms and chocolate. 

I've spent a lot of time snuggled in my covers.

It feels amazing...cuz, let me tell you:

December felt like a completely exhausting whirlwind.

Beautiful (which I'm going to post about), but I was bone-tired too.

In fact, here's something from a little ways into December, on a Saturday night when I was feeling completely worn out. I was on my bed and wrote out what I'd done over the previous two days: 

"Woke up on Friday. House was cold. Texted furnace guy friend. Made pancake birthday breakfast for Claire and Russian tea. Fed everybody. Did Mia’s hair. Made her a lunch. Dropped everybody off. Came home. Read to Claire. Cleaned up the kitchen. Furnace guy came. Got Claire ready. Dropped her off to school. Hurried home. Worked. Picked up Claire. Came home. Made birthday cake. Made her birthday dinner. Cleaned up. Showered and got ready. Plugged in to work again. Picked up the older kids. Came home. Made frosting. Frosted the cake. Made salad. Served dinner to everybody. Cleaned up (made the boys help this time). Served up cake and ice cream to everybody. Boys and Claire left with Scott. Cleaned up. Made sugar cookie dough for Claire’s friend party the next day. Found birthday bingo template cards for Claire’s party. Printed them off. Cut them out. Traced and cut out trees for the birthday bags. Got ornament gifts ready. Long talk with Mia. Went for a run with Mia. Came home, took a hot shower, read my scriptures, went to bed. 

Woke up. Headache, still from yesterday. Made toast and took medicine. Took a shower. Realized I was three hours behind on work. Worked. Got ready. Drove to IKEA to get one of Isaiah’s Christmas presents and pick up Grayson and Bella. Stopped at Walmart on the way home for small cookie cutters. Came home. Baked cookies. Cleaned everything up. Made frosting, two different colors. Managed a birthday party for seven girls: decorating cookies, serving up cake and ice cream, playing bingo. Cleaned everything up. Went to Walmart for Christmas wrapping paper and Christmas shopping. Stopped at Papa Murphy’s on the way home to get pizza for the kids and at the grocery store to get roast and potatoes for tomorrow (Sunday dinner). Came home and put pizza in the oven. Found lights out on the tree. Cleaned up again. Got dinner for everyone and turned on a movie. Unloaded the car. Hid purchases from Walmart. Got a text from the primary reminding me that Mia had a talk tomorrow. We’ve talked about it but it needs to be written down for her. Still have to work for a while and get 6 kids to bed and fix the lights on the tree. Totally exhausted."

I read that list after I wrote it down and thought, "No wonder I'm tired."

So yeah...that's kind of a peek into how December-until-Christmas felt. 

And you know what? I never fixed the lights. If you’ve been to my house at Christmas time, you know that I load my tree with lights…so, actually, when I moved some strands around, you really couldn’t see the small sections of a couple of strands that had gone out and I couldn’t bring myself to even dive into that project. Who gives?

So, the point is?

These lazy lazies are deliciously luxurious. 

At 12:30 yesterday, I was in my bed in my pajamas (gift from Becca), working. 

Isaiah was on the iPad next to my bed playing a game.

Benj was flying his lego Kylo Ren's Command Shuttle, one of the sets he got for Christmas (he is in love). 

The girls were quietly playing in their room with Christmas stuff. 

Sometime after 4:00, I changed out of my pajamas just long enough to go for a run in my new workout leggings Christa gave me for Christmas (love!). 

When I got home, I made taco soup and put my pajamas back on.
And I slipped my feet into these cozy slippers Becca knitted for me. (Love! They keep my feet so, so warm.)

We went downstairs with our food and watched 

"The Man from Snowy River." 

I haven't seen that movie in years, and I loved it again.

We read together afterward while the kids ate ice cream. At one point, I looked over and Benj had his rubber band gun in one hand, shooting at something far ahead in the distance, while galloping crazy fast and controlling the reins with his other hand (all at the front window, of course). 
("Man from Snowy River" must have brought it on.) 

(I love that he still goes away in his imagination like that.)

Today is shaping up to be similar.

Basically, if you need me in the next few days, I'll just be here.

In my pajamas.

(I'm not planning on changing.)

11

They turned 11, and the day was much like the Monday afternoon of the day they were born.

I remember laying there, pushing those boys out of my body, and noticing the bright blue sky outside and the sunshine.

It was a beautiful day.

Funny what you remember. 

We had friends show up at 7:45 this morning with donuts, a sweet and lovely surprise for the boys.

I was already cooking sausage and planning to make scrambled eggs, but it turned out they ate donuts and sausage instead.
(Healthy.)

When we dropped them off at school, Claire and I ran errands and then came home to do party prep:

making chocolate cake (scratch chocolate cake with scratch peanut butter frosting and crumbled peanut butter cups)

and filling favor bags.

Then it was time to make the relay lists for the party. I split the boys into two teams and explained what they had to do: an act of service, 50 jumping jacks, a round of pictionary, a round of tricks on the trampoline, an egg/spoon relay down the backyard, 2 times around the block, and a scavenger hunt for 4 things. The winning team got full-size candy bars.

They nailed it, it was entertaining, and it kept things from getting too crazy. (You've got to harness the energy of all those tween boys!)

After the party was over, a lazy couple of glorious hours ensued. My sister and I talked on the deck. After she left, I sent friends home and made tacos and we took some pictures and then sat down to eat.

And then we gathered round for a new tradition: drawing words for the birthday peeps from the "oracle" box one of my sisters gave to me on my birthday this year, and writing wishes for the birthday peeps for the coming year. 

I choked up with one of Claire's simple messages:

Dear Isaiah, On your birthday I want to tell you that I love you always. Love, Claire

Mia wished that Benji would get a lego set that would end up being one of his all-time favorites and that Isaiah would make a meaningful friend.

Isaiah capitalized on a family joke when he wished Benji a bowl of salad.

And me? I offered a wish about Benj not letting fear hold him back, and I choked up when I read it out loud. (Isn't that one of those life lessons that most of us have to learn again and again?) And for Isaiah? That he'd make a delectable cake and get some new cologne, among other things.

And tonight, after the sound effects of a "fart in a can" gift Benji got had died down (You should have seen the laughter and fart imitations going down among all those boys while we were eating cake and ice cream and opening presents on the back lawn. I couldn't help it. I could. not. restrain. my laughter.), they read in their beds and then made me laugh with a rendition of "Do Your Ears Hang Low" that references the male anatomy as taught to them by a friend. 
(Insert: "Do your balls hang low?")

Oh. my. word.

And due to party prep, I didn't get to work today. The result? I worked late and looked up from my screen periodically at the three of them that fell asleep in my room. 

And you know what?

Tonight I’m feeling very aware of something as I look at each of them; their lengthening bodies, their peaceful faces, the noise of the day now quiet and still. 

It's that gentle, beautiful ache that reminds me they’ll be gone before I know it.

They have been--and are--the greatest privilege of my life.

Comfort

There's a Deb Talan song I love called "Comfort."

One of my favorite lyrics from the song goes like this:

"In days to come, when your heart feels undone,

May you always find an open hand---

and take comfort wherever you can."

Life has been kicking my butt the last couple of weeks and there have been lots of tears around here, and not just mine.

I have felt defeated.

Exhausted.

Stressed, worried, and sad.

Sometimes I've felt like I'm failing, and I want so much to do it right - especially for my kids, because I adore them.

I've snapped, and I always hate that version of myself.

And you know what else?

It's hard to watch your people when they're struggling and going through hard things, too.

My shoulders have felt really heavy and weary.

And even though I feel assurance that current worries will work out -- it always does and God is good -- I've had a couple of weeks where I feel like it is all I can do to get through the day with anything left.

I feel so emotionally depleted, and I find myself wishing I could be more and do more, and that I always had the right answer or perpetually responded with patience and love.

I've broken down and sobbed in front of my children, and I always feel bad about that, too.

But this is life, right?

Up and down, round and round.

It's one big mix of everything: good and bad, hard and soft, happy and sad.

I suppose that's what makes it such a ride.

And I'm grateful for the (many!) pieces of comfort I find along the way.

Like on Sunday evening.

My heart had been touched that day.

And when we came out of church, it was partly cloudy and windy.

But, just 4.5 hours later, when I looked out to the street, the wind was blowing hard! and it was snowing.

The deck was fast getting a fresh blanket of white.

New friends had unexpectedly stopped by, and because we talked for a while, I found myself doing the dishes later than usual.

I turned on some music, scraped plates, rinsed dishes, loaded the dishwasher, swept the floor, wiped things down. The kids were hanging out and we were taking note of the storm.

And in the middle of the cleanup, my phone beeped.

It was a text from my sweet neighbor, Ralph.

He's 85 and one of my very favorite people, a blessing I've counted again and again in my life.

And it just said this:

It made me happy that he would text me about that; that we have conversations about the weather or food or ice cream or a gospel snippet or hot peppers or gardening or our mutual love of chocolate or books or poetry or our families or some piece of music. Sometimes we slip in a four-letter word here and there and laugh. I love him. So much.

But what he didn't know was that my dad and I would often talk about the weather---especially snow storms. It wasn't uncommon for him to call me on a snowy morning, early, to see if I'd seen the fresh flakes yet, or for us to talk on the phone about a pending storm.

Somehow getting Ralph's text felt so familiar, and like a sweet, tender mercy from a man who is another father to me. 

Even writing about it now makes me cry.

Or the gift of sunshine today.

I have had several long (and hard!) conversations with my children lately.

And at the end of yet another one, and more tears, 

we spent some time outside.

The sun was shining and I lay down on my back on a blanket in the back of the yard, closed my eyes, and felt the sun on my face. One of my sons was talking to me and this little gal promptly went in the house, grabbed a blanket and pillow, and came and parked herself beside me.

I dished up bowls of ice cream for all of them and we sat there talking. 

And I soaked in that golden peace.

And then?

I started reading To Kill A Mockingbird with the kids last week.

I haven't read it since I was a teenager, and I've pretty much forgotten everything except that I loved it.

Reading it tonight, I was laughing out loud. 

We all were. 

Harper Lee, I love your writing.

And my children are loving your writing.

And as I switched the laundry tonight, I found myself feeling peace then, too.

Even though I don't know how things will sort out, there is a familiarity in these tasks that grounds me and makes me grateful, even if the tears seem to keep coming. These simple things connect me to my heart and what really matters there, and the people I love the most.

And after everyone was tucked in tonight, I came upstairs and heated up water, brown sugar, butter and salt, and mixed it with flour and yeast. Then I added some wheat flour, turned it on to the counter, and began to knead while listening to a favorite tune in the background.

There's something really comforting about predictability:

I know that if I combine flour and yeast and water and salt, a little butter and a little sugar, turn it out and don't add too much flour, something good happens. You get a beautiful-feeling dough that's absolutely right: just sticky enough, but soft and smooth.

And I know that no matter what else is hard, when I open the page of a book and begin to read to my children, we all feel peace.

It's like what Ralph said:

Open the drapes.

Watch.

Keep your eyes open.

There is always beauty to be had.

And I find comfort there.

Books and Gardening

Oh hey, blog.

I've missed you, but I've been out of steam too many nights when I've finally had time to post anything.

I'm coming back, though.

I'm marathon training right now, and when I got home on Friday night from my 17.5 mile run, my neighbor had tilled my garden for me.

Bless him.

When I woke up on Saturday morning, there was a wholelotta work waiting out there in the yard.

I went out and mowed lawns and then spent the remainder of the afternoon planting my garden.

Rain threatened some of the time, dark clouds and thunder in the distance, and I caught the occasional drop on my arm.  I ignored it and put cherry tomatoes and tomatillos in the ground anyway.

I planted Lemon Boys (don't you love the rich yellow of lemon boys?) and a Cherokee Purple (hello, purple tomato!), some Big Beef, Celebrity, and Super Fantastics.

(And let me just say...they better be Super Fantastic.)

I planted every color of bell pepper: red, gold, orange, and green.

Had to plant an Anaheim chile and a couple of hot pepper plants for salsa or burgers or quesadillas or pepper jelly or spicy ranch for salads and tacos.

I separated skinny strands of Walla Walla onions and red onions, folding the dirt over them, propping them up as best I could from both sides with my hands.

Planting a zucchini and straightneck yellow squash is tradition, and I had to add butternut squash cuz it's so yummy, a couple cantaloupes, and some jack o' lantern pumpkins.  I lined the back of the garden with sweet corn.

Somewhere around the middle of the plot, I hoed a couple rows and carefully spaced beets and beans, and let me just say this: there is something about the planting seeds bit that always seems to feel like I'm gambling.  It's as though I'm scattering them with some hope and a prayer.  It's kind of miraculous to me that they come up, every year---cuz every year I wonder if they will.

But in my mind's eye, I look forward to peeling and roasting those beets with some olive oil and sea salt and pepper, and seeing their deep purple red juice ooze beautifully onto my white dinner plate.  

(But who am I kidding...it's the taste I'm crazy about.)

And you know what, this gardening bit reminds me of this passage that the kids and I read a while back.  We recently finished reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy, something I never read as a child.  And this passage moved me enough that I wrote it down to keep for thinking about, because I love it so much.

"...it is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till.  What weather they shall have is not ours to rule."

I love that, maybe because it resonates so much with the idea of living in the present of your simple life and doing what you can: for you, for those you love, and for those you're blessed to know.  The idea of focusing on tilling your own little plot of earth---and life.  

And then, as a final note, I planted some cucumbers, too.

And since we're talking about books, I have to quote another section from a new book I'm reading.  I honestly don't remember the last time I read something that made me laugh out loud as frequently as this book is.  

I'm that woman that's in a quiet house at night once the kids are asleep, tucked into the warmth of my bed, delightfully chewing pebble ice, and interrupting the silence by bursting-out-loud laughing.

It's this lovely memoir about a guy restoring his 1951 International Harvester, and he likes to garden.  Apparently there's also a love story coming, too, but I haven't gotten to that bit yet.

Anyway.

The other night I was reading about where he was ordering seeds from a seed catalog and has this dilemma about cucumbers.  

(Note: I always debate about cucumbers.)

And he started the whole cucumber commentary by saying this:

"Ain't no such thing as a cucumber.  You've got your Sweet Slice Hybrid.  Your Fanfare.  The Ashley.  The Marketmore, the Cool Breeze, the County Fair Hybrid, the Orient Express, and the Sweet Success.  The Diva. ...Over sixteen variations on a cucumber in the space of a single page."

Oh my gosh.  I totally get this.  I really do.  

(#totallyresonatedwithme)

But then, he had to throw in this humorous bit, and it cracked me right up.

"The seed catalogs promote several varieties of 'burpless' cucumbers.  I have yet to find one promoted as 'burp-ish.'  This is flatly a missed marketing opportunity.  Among my rural and roughneck acquaintances are no small number of folks who not only savor the art of eructation, they cultivate it.  There are guys on the fire department capable of melisma.  I have seen a woman throw her head back beneath the Jamboree Days beer tent and let loose a burp so resonant polka dancers were moved to applause.  I know men longing to belch a full-length version of 'Free Bird.'  Beer works, but it impairs your ability to play air guitar.  There are people out here who would go out of their way to plant row on row of Burp-Mor Hybrids, County Fair Honkers, and Belching Divas."

Wow.

What does one really say about that?

(the garden, and Claire's hair #forthewin)

Nothing.

You laugh, people, and that's all.

In any case, once I got those cucumbers in (Straight Eights, if you were wondering), I planted sweet basil and cilantro and rosemary in my herb planter on the deck.  Watered my lemon thyme that came back from last year.

And I'd be lying if told you that I haven't been admiring the hands-in-the-dirt work from the past week: 

the food that's started in the garden, along with zinnias in the flower bed, and several pots full of geraniums, spilling over with fuschia.

Ahhh summer, I can feel you coming on.

A Perfect Day

You know, once in a while, you're granted a perfect day.  

And I guess there are different perfects.  Sometimes it's the perfect where you want to shout in joy.

Other times, it is as though you are wrapped in peace, in quiet gratitude, joy and awareness.

Such was Sunday.

The morning dawned with sunshine.

We got to church, and I found my heart full -- from reflections, from the text of the music, from the beauty of faith, from sharing with people I love and the community I feel there.

I came home and shared a precious moment with one of my sons -- one of those moments you hold close in your heart, and all you can feel is gratitude and peace and joy and faith, brimming, and budding.  We both sat in the school room in tears.

After making scratch spaghetti sauce, I sat on the deck in the sunshine and eventually, about 5:00, we headed to the cemetery to walk.  It was quiet, the sun's lengthening shadows stretching across the lawns, shining brightly on some gravestones and casting shadows elsewhere.  

And it was there.

I walked along, watching Benji kick a ball all the way around the mile loop, alternately throwing it up into the air.  Sometimes it came my way and I kicked it and he'd go running.  

I watched Isaiah, swinging the arrow that he found up the canyon the other day, walking up on ledges, singing and making noises to himself.

I watched Mia push the stroller, regardless of whether Claire was in it.  She'd get in briefly, but then get out to stroll again, holding my hand, and I held her for a brief spell, too.  

I was caught up in the beauty of it -- of the quiet, the evening, the way everyone was just enjoying time together, and it was so peaceful.  I don't know how else to articulate it.

I guess I felt aware of time.

The beauty of that glorious hour.

And as I walked with them, 

it felt quiet in my heart.

And I keep looking at this photo that we asked someone to take of us and feeling happy:

these two boys who are fast gaining on me, and soon I'll be the one that's shorter, 

these boys that now offer me glimpses of the men they're going to become.

And it's crazy.  And also awesome.

I don't know how else to say it except that I can sense their masculinity.

And then there's the small one, ever the ham.  Her zest for life is contagious, and this photo of her is absolutely perfect.  

It's her.  

100%.

And on my left, there's this beautiful girl.  

I keep looking at her smile here -- so genuine and full.

She's such a beautiful person.

We came home and had warm spaghetti and then read The Lord of the Rings (we're on the third and final book -- almost there!).  

After I'd finished cleaning up, this kid came upstairs and sat down next to me on the couch.  We admired his toothless mouth, 

 and then cracked ourselves up (literally bursting out loud laughing) as we took funny selfies.

 And after they were in bed, I got to talk with an old friend, read, and write for a bit.

My house was quiet, candles and low lights and beautiful music.

Life is a series of things you tuck away in your heart,

and I'm grateful for these little bits and pieces I'm collecting. 

MLK Day

It has been gray out for days, it seems.

Yesterday morning we sat around the breakfast table and read from Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have A Dream" speech.

Afterward, I turned on music and set them to it with paints and large sections of butcher paper, telling them I wanted them to paint something that inspired them from the speech, or something it made them think about.

Isaiah painted the Lincoln Memorial, where King delivered the speech.

Benji drew King in his sleep, having a dream of little black boys and little black girls holding hands.

Mia imagined a storefront of a cafe from the '60s where segregation was still in place.

And Claire just painted---because.

Afterward, they busied themselves with whatever they wanted to do: playing with their cousin, time with friends.

My little gal and I made a cake for MLK day: we made a chocolate layer, then rinsed out the bowl and went for another round making the vanilla layer.

After the cakes came out, two of the kids were gone playing and two were in my bed watching a movie.  It was rainy/snowy out, and I slipped outside to run.  

It was cold---but not unpleasant, quiet and peaceful.  I got wet in the rain and listened to a good tune on repeat.  So relaxing and lovely.

When I got home, I got busy making both chocolate and vanilla icing and put the cake together, topping it with crushed peanut butter cups.

After dinner, we lit tea lights in the dark and talked about using the light within us to rally for causes that are right, for things we feel passionate about.  

I told them I have no idea what is in store for them or what will happen in days ahead.  But I'm really inspired by folks like Martin that used their voices to brighten the world, to shine light on truth, to build bridges of love and not hate.

Which brings me to this, because it is along the same vein.  This quote that I read on Sunday night by the fire in the quiet keeps resurfacing in my mind:

"How are we supposed to act when we are offended, misunderstood, unfairly or unkindly treated, or sinned against?  What are we supposed to do if we are hurt by those we love, or passed over for promotion, or are falsely accused, or have our motives unfairly assailed?  Do we fight back?  Do we send in an ever-larger battalion?  Do we revert to an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, or...do we come to the realization that this finally leaves us blind and toothless?"

(Howard W. Hunter)

I love this---so much.  I love how he expresses this idea.

He also taught that "gentleness is better than brutality, that kindness is greater than coercion."

I think MLK Jr. understood this too, fighting for a cause without becoming violent.

I'm inspired by his courage, his conviction, his light.