Notes on Personal Cubism

Yesterday, the children and I talked about Picasso and cubism.  I loved the brightly colored lids from their baby-food-bottle-turned-paint-receptacle containers. 

We discussed how that technique is kind of like a puzzle with all the pieces mixed up.  

We listened to happy classical music tunes of organ and peppy trumpet in the background.  

I loved watching them dip into their new paints, feel the way the brushes met the paper, the blending of colors -- a curiosity of integration.  

(the beginnings of their paintings -- to be cut up and put back together, jumbled, to imitate Mr. Picasso)

It made me want to sit down with my own blank canvas and see what story came out of me.

Do you ever have the joy of something so simple, like a collage of brightly colored mini paint pots?  (It reminds me of the line in one of my favorite movies, "You've Got Mail," where Meg Ryan's character mentions how much she loves fall and would send her friend a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils...you get the idea.)

My life feels a bit of a jumble these days.  

My father, someone I absolutely adore and respect and love and share so much with, has been diagnosed with stage 4 melanoma.  

It is the kind of news that makes your heart stop.  

And then it keeps beating and you are trying to figure out why because how could it be beating when it wants to break? 

When it feels so heavy?  

When everything feels so surreal, and then so frighteningly real, and then back to reeling in disbelief that you are actually in a particular situation that you have dreaded all your life. 

You know when you look at Picasso's cubism paintings and you are trying to figure out what went where or how to discern it or what it means (at least, that is what I do when I look at those)?  

I feel like I am there, but in real life.  I am standing, trying to discern what it all means, where it is going, what it was meant to be, what the whole message actually is.  

I feel like I'm standing in pieces - pieces of feelings and emotion, pieces of memory and anticipation of potential future nostalgia, pieces of the unknown -- not knowing if it will be put together again how I'd like or if I have to make a new beautiful picture with what is leftover.

I know this.

Pain is part of beauty is part of growth is part of joy is part of pain.

Classroom Love

After getting the kids into bed on Sunday night a week ago, Mr. C. and I wrote encouragement notes to the children to put as surprises in their school "mailboxes."  

(A couple weeks back I had them decorate cereal boxes to serve as their classroom message drop.  Maybe we'll upgrade at some point, but they serve quite well for now.)

I don't put something in them every day.

So far, it's just been once a week.

(I'm not about creating high expectations.)

But it's (hopefully) a fun way for me to tell them things I think they are making progress on in school, things they're accomplishing that I'm proud of.

Since we're trying to enjoy the festive feel around these parts, we made ghosts with suckers saying, "Boo!," and something about how "spooktacular" they are doing at this or that.

I asked Mr. C. if he'd write each of them a note about school, too.

He talked about things he'd noticed, or how proud he was of them.

I loved his messages.

One of my favorites was this:

"Keep up your love of learning and it will benefit you your entire life."

They have a great Dad, a blessing I'm counting.

The Truth of Family

A few weeks ago Mr. C. gave the family home evening lesson (we take turns).  

He was teaching the children about the scriptural phrase in Ephesians where it talks about having your loins girt about with truth.

He got out his climbing harness and pulled up some photographs on the computer from previous rappelling trips to show them folks descending beautiful red rock cliffs into cooler, shaded regions below.

He talked about how truth is a harness that keeps us from harm; it literally keeps us safe and can save our lives.  It enables us to negotiate the otherwise frightening pitfalls of life.

I loved his analogy, and I feel profound gratitude for truth in my life.

Lately, I've felt especially grateful for the truth of family.

A couple weeks back I was teaching a group of girls about their roles as women.

It's a topic I'm passionate about because I absolutely love what I do, and I believe that women have profound influence.

I had a couple pictures at the front of the room: one of me and Mr. C., and one of our kids.

I told them that these pictures summed up where it's at for me.

Those photographs show what is my life and heart.

I know I'm biased, but I think my babies are the cutest babies.  Ever.

And I believe, fundamentally, in the truth of family.

In its strengthening.

In the power for good that comes from close relationships.

In simple times together eating, talking, praying, reading, sharing and crying, laughing, playing, exploring, growing, learning.

Sharing our lives.

Joseph F. Smith said: “There can be no genuine happiness separate and apart from the home, and every effort made to sanctify and preserve its influence is uplifting to those who toil and sacrifice for its establishment."

This reverberates inside my heart, and I need to remind myself of it.

Such powerful words can guide my hands, my voice, my heart, my choices, my priorities.

These people, this family of mine, is my greatest joy.

Being a Father

The other night I was at the computer when the little gal woke up. 

I was trying to finish a couple of posts and so I took her upstairs to her dad.

This is just another reason that I love him.

He was all snug in bed reading his book, one of a string of biographical stuff he's been reading lately.

We walked into the room.

Looking over and seeing her with me, his face broke into a big smile.

Bookmark went in the book.

Book went back on his night stand.

I said I wanted her to snuggle with him for a few minutes while I finished something.

(We kind of have this deal: he gets up with the  boys and I get up with her.  But it's not really a firm deal...we help each other, too.)

He pulled back his covers and made a spot for her.

I left the room, watching them both turn on their sides facing each other, smiling and giggling.

When I came up about 30 minutes later, I found them like this.

All was peaceful and quiet, and my heart felt warm inside.

This is no small thing.

I think fathers are of utmost importance, and their role cannot be undervalued.

Good fathers are so needed in today's world -- men who will truly be MEN and show their children the importance of integrity, honesty, love, service, hard work, compassion, and how to honor, love, and respect women.

I love this guy.

He is a fantastic father -- and I've said it before, but he literally lights up when he sees our kids.  He is committed to, and takes time for, them.  He takes them exploring and adventuring, lets them work with him, goofs, wrestles and is silly with them, reads them bedtime stories and sings them songs.  

This weekend he is starting guitar lessons.  The other night, while cleaning up dinner, we were listening to Keb Mo's Lullaby Baby Blue and he repeated the track after we'd listened to it.  I said something like, "Hey, once you learn your basics, you'll be able to sing this to them at night."  And he said something like, "That's what I intend to do."  He teaches them respect and self confidence and is sensitive to their needs.

I'm grateful my children have this.

Smooching

It's 9:11 a.m. I'm sitting at the computer with Norah Jones on in the background.
I love her stuff.

I was trying to think of what to post about today.

My mind went to a little game that I play with my boys, particularly this one.

But first, I'll tell you a story.

When I was a little girl, my dad was everything to me, a best friend.
He still is.

But he was very, very busy.

He would be gone early in the morning and home late at night.

But here's one little snapshot memory that happened more than once.

My room's dark, the hall light spilling across the carpet.

I can still hear my sisters moving around in the house and the quiet sounds of night.

And then I'd hear the back door in the kitchen open and close.

And I knew my dad was home.

I'd go to the foot of my bed, look down the hallway, and yell,

"Da------------ddy! Daaaaaaaddddyyyy!"

I'd wait for him to come up to my room.

He'd talk to us for a few minutes, or tickle us, or sometimes read us another story.

Sometimes, if we were downstairs and he was getting us up to bed, he'd have us run or he was gonna tickle us. We'd squeal with delight and pretend we didn't want to be chased and tickled, but we were reveling in it.

But (and here's where we come to today, and what continues).

He would often tease us with what I'll call "the smooch."

He'd slurp loudly and get his lips all wet and then my sister and I would dive under covers and squirm and laugh and try to hide from his lips coming to plant a big smacker on us.  I treasure that memory.

This tradition continues at our house, especially with this one.

 I'll tuck him in and lather up my lips and try to plant one on him when he's squirming and laughing and wriggling every which way. And then he likes to do it back to me.

Sometimes I wet willy his ear.

Or, sometimes it happens like this. We're taking a cute little shot of the boys giving me a kiss.

Which then falls apart into this, both of them trying to put a smooch on my cheeks:

Ah, well.

It's fun.

(And the free getaway winner is drawn tomorrow.  You've got just over 26 hours to enter if you want to be in the drawing.  Go HERE to know what you need to do.)

Recognizing What He Does

(Scott, at mile 26 of his 50-miler in 2008)

Yesterday morning I was busy getting the boys
shuffled off to school.
Breakfast.
Drop off.
Clean up.
Errands.

We had a sick girlie the night before, and it had been a long night.
Poor thing had thrown up three times.
She was in and out of our bed sleeping, and consequently, neither of us slept very well, either.

At 9:42 am I got a text from Scott.
"Wow. What a night. How is she?"
And I said, "Hasn't thrown up but has a fever and runny nose. Looks a bit flushed."
He said, "How are u?"
I responded, "Tired. But tryin to look cute and peppy."
And then he said,
"Well that can't be too hard. You looked that way while sleeping this morning."

And then Mia and I ran some errands last night before Scott's meeting. When I came home, he had both boys in their pjs, toothpaste on all toothbrushes, Mia's jammies laid out, dinner all cleaned up and most of the dishwasher emptied, and he'd taken the boys on a bike ride.

It made me grateful that after all the years we've been together, and all the ups and downs in those years that he still...
Says sweet things to me.
Calls me beautiful.
Compliments me openly and frequently in front of the children.
Is a great dad (his face literally lights up when he sees the kids at the end of the day).
Largely dedicates Saturday to being with the children.
They know they are important to him.
He also announced at dinner last night that he was working on HUGE surprise for all three of them for Christmas, and he wasn't even going to tell me what it was. He was so excited and it's not even Halloween yet.
He is a committed player,
works so hard,
and is helpful, considerate, and contributing.

I'm grateful for all that he does.