The Whole Gamut

A few weeks ago the kids and I were sitting out on the deck around noon.

Isaiah asked me a really. good. question. 
It had to do with eternal purpose and growth---a deep thinking question. His query was something I've never thought about, 
and I didn't have an answer. 
I still find myself thinking about it.
We ended up in a discussion about difficulty, opposition, and growth. We were also talking about the possibility of upcoming changes and voicing how we are feeling about them. 
We were all on the fence, a mixture of emotions. 
Definitely some sadness, a little bit of anxiety, 
and a lot bit of uncertainty.

I began a sentence by saying, "We just have to accept..."--- and was going to continue by saying something about how living means experiencing the ups and the downs. But then Mia interjected one word and said it all.

So, replay.

I said,

"I guess we just have to accept..."

And she said, 

"Life?"

Yeah.

Her response was so simple and profound, 
and I've thought about it ever since.

That IS life, right?

It's the paradox of constant change, and it's full of things happy and sad, beautiful and hard, part sorrow and grief and part joy.

It's the whole gamut, the complete experience.

The scope of that---its depth and meaning, 
its sharp pain and fierce joy---takes my breath away.

Friday Funny

Wanna hear my funny Claire story of the week?

The one that made me crack right up, look away without words, and feel such joy for her?

Monday night.

All of us had watched a couple of episodes in this series we're watching while we ate dinner, and I was finishing a little cleanup at the sink in the aftermath.

It was about 10:15 or so. 

Claire had been in the bathroom doing her business and came upstairs for me to inspect her bum. 

(This is what she does every time she poops. She does her stuff, wipes her bum, and then has me check it. It's our system.)

So, I look down at her, she bends over, and I see she is going to need a bit of assistance from me.

I'm standing there, washing a bowl, and I offhandedly reply:

"Hang on, Claire. You've got a bit..."

...and I trailed off into silence as I swished suds around.

At which point she perked up, looked back at me, and in her sparky little voice piped up, 

"A bit of a situation goin' on?"

Yup, yup, yup. 

You could say that, sweet cheeks.

On Name Calling and Expletives

On Saturday night, the kids got home and we read a lot from 

To Kill A Mockingbird. 

(We were in the heat of the trial and it was getting intense.)

When I stopped reading, we were all clustered at the bottom of the stairs talking.

And I don't know what I was doing, but at one point, Isaiah said,

"Mom, are you hearing this? Did you hear what Claire just said?!"

I looked at him quizzically. No, I hadn't heard.

"She just called Benji a butthole."

Special.

From my cute, sweet, hilarious 4-year-old.

A few minutes later, she was laying back in my arms on my lap as we were all still sitting there and I looked down and said quietly,

"Claire, don't say butthole."

And she said, 

"Okay."

It's a term she's no doubt heard from her brothers---so I told them, again, that I don't want them using that word.

(I've always hated that word.)

I told them it was gross and beneath them.

But since we're talking about telling kids not to say stuff, let's talk about that one time last week when I was telling my boys not to swear. I was standing there in the kitchen, and as the words were coming out of my mouth, I realized what a joke it was because I've become quite fond of saying hell. Awesome.

(#motherhoodforthewin)

Old Journal Entry

I stumbled upon this little gem from my journal tonight, an excerpt from the 29th of October, 2012 --- and it made me happy.

"A couple weeks back, I was awakened at like 3:54 AM to, 'Mom?' from Isaiah.  He was totally calm, standing by my side of the bed.  I said, 'Yeah?'  

He said, 

'What is Japanese?'

I was so amused by his question and curious, too.

I told him that it's someone who lives in Japan.  I got out of bed to go to the bathroom and I went to tuck him in bed on the way and he said, walking to his bed, 

'That little word just came into my head.'  

I went to the bathroom and then went back in and said, 'It actually means someone who is born in Japan.  I was born in America, so I'm an American.  Someone born in Japan is Japanese.  And Japan is in Asia.  You know where that is on the map, right?' 

(We've been studying continents in school.)  

(I didn't go into the fact that people can apply for citizenship in countries where they weren't born.)  

He said, 'Yes.'  

I went back to bed, totally amused.  It was so cute for me to imagine him lying in his bed, thinking about that word, and deciding that 3:54 in the morning was just as good a time as any to come find out."

Little snippets like this remind me of the intricate personalities of each of my children and what I love about them.

The things that are SO THEM.

And, it also leaves me wishing that I wrote every single 

funny, 

insightful, 

profound interaction I've had with them, 

because each one is a treasure.

The Word of God

As I was folding laundry on Thursday night, Mia came in to talk to me, as she often does before she falls asleep.

Most of the time, I shoo her back into bed, because I am ready for quiet and for some personal time.

Sometimes I am not even very nice about my shooing.

But.

Last Thursday, as I tucked her back in bed, I saw that the Book of Mormon that I received when I was baptized at 8 years old was next to her pillow.

I told her I wanted to take that one back to my room, because that book has a special place in my heart.  The book, yes.  Definitely yes.  But I was referring to that specific copy.

I told her that I have such a warm feeling when I heft that book, and even just when I see it.

And I told her why.

Because that is where I became acquainted with God, where my testimony happened, where the Spirit confirmed to me the beauty of the doctrines of the gospel.

It happened within those pages, of that particular book.

It happened as a little girl and young woman, in my bedroom at night---reading, marking, thinking about those words and pondering.

When I go to that place in my memory, it is warm.  Peaceful.  Quiet.  Deliberate.  Strengthening.

She asked me if I would read her some of the things I had written in the margins.

Out of bed she came.

We went back to my room, and really just sat and looked at the book, and Mia tried to read a few words.

I had the chance to tell her that spending time with the word of God takes it down into your heart. And that the Holy Ghost had brought me peace because of what I know from the scriptures.  As I was talking with her, I thought of this talk, which is a favorite.  It always prompts me to consider the blessings in my life as a result of the word of God.

I told Mia that I wasn't afraid when Poppi died, because of what I learned in the scriptures.

When I have questions or don't know what to do, or hit obstacles in my life, I have found peace because of what I know from the scriptures.

That it was in the scriptures that I gained a testimony of the validity of a Heavenly Father, and where my love for the Savior happened.

Where it began, where it took root, where it was nourished.

In Lehi's vision, the word of God led people to the tree, to the fruit that was the love of God -- to feasting and rejoicing in that wholeness.

I have felt that for myself.

I read Mia Moroni's promise, where he says that, "...by the power of the Holy Ghost, ye may know the truth of all things."

I told her that if she chooses to spend time with the word of God, the Holy Ghost will also confirm these things to her.

I told her that my testimony of the gospel, and them, are my most cherished blessings.

And then, lying next to her (by this time I had tucked her back in), I sang her the words of a primary song that have been a favorite since I was a child.  Perhaps they are so dear to me because of my feelings for the scriptures.

"I love to read the holy scriptures, and every time I do, 

I feel the spirit start to grow within my heart---

A testimony that they're true.

Search, ponder, and pray---

Are the things that I must do.

The Spirit will guide,

And deep inside,

I'll know the scriptures are true.

So prayerfully I'll read the scriptures

Each day my whole life through.

I'll come to understand.

I'll heed the Lord's command

And live as He would have me do.

Search, ponder, and pray---

Are the things that I must do.

The Spirit will guide,

And deep inside,

I'll know the scriptures are true."

I find myself hoping that my children will have a love of the scriptures, that the word of God will nourish and sustain them.  

I have found solace, comfort, faith, direction, counsel, nudgings to repent, peace, admonition, courage, doctrine, application of principles, teaching, revelation, joy, knowledge, conviction, and truth there.

Beautiful does not even begin to describe it, but it is a beautiful thing---

a glorious gift from God.

Little Blue Eyes and Funny Dreams

The last few days I find myself looking again and again at my beautiful little girl.

Her hair is at the length I love right now.

She's my little shadow.

She's got these huge, beautiful blue eyes that she wishes were brown.

In the car yesterday, as we were leaving the grocery store, I said to her, "Mia, you have the most beautiful blue eyes."  (I'm always trying to reinforce that fact.)

And she responded, "But I wish I had brown eyes."

When I asked her why, she responded, "Because I want to be a mother."

"You can still be a mother with blue eyes."

"But when I get bigger, I'll have brown eyes."

I told her they'd stay blue.

Then we got into a discussion about colored contacts and how I always just use the plain ones because I don't want to change my eyes.

And then she said, "I don't want to change anything about my eyes, either."

And then, "Mom, can we stop talking about eyes?"

She has always wanted brown eyes.

I want her to see the stunning beauty that I see.

She takes my breath away much of the time.

As I start to notice a quiver of gray hair by my ears, she is blooming away.

I woke from a dream this morning that I wanted to keep dreaming.

We had been up at a mountain cabin and it had snowed several feet.

Mr. C. and others were clearing the road so that we'd be able to drive home.

I was driving along (you know how weird dreams are -- all details blend together) and thought I'd just turn around really quick.

We slid right off the road and were falling backwards, down and down.

In the moment, as we were falling, I was deciding how hurt I was going to get.

Did I want to be almost killed?

Coma for several months?

A miraculous incident where we all walked away unscathed?

How bad would it be?

I found myself thinking that life isn't like that.

We can control, in small degrees, things that happen to us.

Good choices usually lead to good results.

Preparation yields progress.

But the opposite of those is true too.

And then there's a lot that just happens.

And we can no more choose the consequences than we can control how badly we get hurt in a mountain snow car crash or the color of our eyes.

Reminds me of this quote by Martha Washington that I agree with, is awfully inspiring, and a swift kick in the pants, too at certain moments:

"I have learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions and not on our circumstances."

Snippets from Yesterday

Yesterday I was in a frenzy making a pile to go to our local charitable donations center.

It feels so good to know I'm going to shed a few clutter pounds.

Late in the afternoon, before leaving up to our friends' ranch in the mountains for dinner and a group family home evening, I gathered the kids around me to read stories.  When Benji heard we were going to read he said something like, "I've been waiting for this."  This kid is so spunky but often surprises me with his sweet spirit and tenderness just below the surface.

On our way up the canyon, Isaiah came out with this, "Did you know that when Jesus was put on the cross, Mary was right there?"  And then he asked, "Why did they put Him on the cross?"  We turned down the music and talked about how it was to fulfill prophecy, that prophets thousands of years before knew He was going to come, and knew how He would die.  He could have died another way, but this was how it was foretold to happen.

Then, last night, after eating a meal, we gathered around to have a gospel discussion.  After that, my favorite thing happened.  We sang three Christmas carols together.  We were a mix of folks -- in age, background, vocation, personality.  A cattle farmer.  An entrepreneur with a young, thriving business.  A boutique/home decor store owner and her husband who serviced furnaces before he retired.  A business manager.  An accountant.  A professional musician.  Mothers and fathers and big kids and little kids and babies and grandkids.  But everyone? Friends.  Some there could carry a tune, others would say that music isn't their strong suit.  I sat by my neighbor who grew up on a ranch.  He's been a cowboy all his life.  Wears cowboy boots and wranglers every day.  Can think of ways to use and re-use things over and over, and will give you the shirt off his back.  I'd never heard him sing before.  It was a lovely thing to sit and hear all of us together.  I felt something then.  It was sweet and gentle, unifying, and strong.  I knew what we were singing was true, but I was touched by the sense of brotherhood and love that was so tangible in the air.

We got home late.

Pajamas, teeth brushed, stories, scriptures, prayer.

I went and tucked in sweet little Miss.

She wanted me to sing her a song and cried until I slipped back into her room.

I sat on her bed and sang her a lullaby I learned from my sister, singing it with her daughter and her guitar.

Then I went in to check on my boys.  They were still awake, one about to slip into Neverland for the night.

I sang them the same lullaby.  My favorite lines?

"It's time to kick off your walkin' shoes," and "Dream that you have wings to fly."

Then I whispered that they were nincumpoops, a word I recently taught them that they find quite amusing.

"Ya little nincumpoops."

To which Isaiah responded, "You're a BIG nincumpoop."

And I said, "You're the stinkiest nincumpoop."

(Giggles.)

I walked out.

And then stuck my head back in and said, "Pee-yoooooo!"

(Eruption of giggles.)

Sometimes I enjoy them so much.

Feel so aware that this time is magical.

She Tells It How It Is

This gal has been potty-trained since sometime in the summer.  But once in a while we have accidents. 

A few weeks back they were happening pretty frequently.  I had told her on a few different occasions that if she kept having accidents she'd have to wear diapers in the day again. 

I knew she wouldn't want to do that.

She's too much of a grown up little person, and I knew that'd just make her ears itch.

For the most part, it has worked.  She's had hardly any accidents the last while.

But last week, she gave me a laugh.

I asked her, "Mia, if you don't go pee pee in the potty, what happens?"

(Prompting, in my mind, of course, that she'd have to wear diapers again.)

Her response?

"Your mom will be frustrated with you."

Awesome.

Ah, well.

Sometimes I really shine.

My Sis Chris and Twitter Texting

I was thinking today that I kinda sorta twitter text with my little sister a lot.

Ask me if I've ever even investigated twitter or really know anything about it. (No.)

But this is kind of like twitter, right? Check this out.

Today I get a text from her at 12:40 saying, "How's it goin eh?"

And I said, "Trying to convince myself to get out the door and run. Was Grayson up early again? The boys were and I was aggravated."

She said, "Yeah he was. He woke up right after I came home. But Garrett was here until 8 and then Andrea took him from 8 to 11 so I'm surviving. I'm not working out..."

(She works night shifts as an RN.)

I said, "Good for you. I wouldn't either."

And then, just 13 minutes later I said, "Okay I am making myself go. Up the Hoofer."

And this was one of my favorites this week. On Monday she was twitter texting me about getting comcast at her house.

And I texted her back about it and asked her if everything was hooked up and the default word that came up first when I said hooked was honked. And so I texted her this:

"Is the cable hooked up now too? Oh I am crackin myself up. I typed in hooked and it came up as honked first. Oh dear me, honked up cable." (It sounded so funny to me, and I hope it has no crass meaning 'cause I wasn't thinkin' that.)

She came back with, "Lol, oh dear... Yes it is hooked up and I'm so tempted to watch Ellen today but I'm trying to tell myself no...Since bachelor is on tonight."

Then I was talking to her about whether or not she was going to make some good food to celebrate the return of cable to their household and The Bachelor (she loves that show). And she said she probably would, but then that would mean she would have to cook.

See what I mean? We just go back and forth like this.

Like that same day when I got a text that said, "130 bucks later...," and I knew that she had spent $130 at Walmart buying stuff for emergency preparedness kits.

I twitter texted with my sister Susan last week about the whole dog situation (whom we were referring to as "the unmentionable"), and she thought the whole situation was hilarious. She reportedly said to Christa, "What was she thinking?!" (while laughing)

I love twitter texting. I do, I do.

Chris and I ended our exchange today by me telling her I was craving this divine recipe for peanut butter bars that we have (seriously the best peanut butter yummy I have EVER had). And I was (insert: am) craving them fiercely. She said she would be happy to help me eat them if I made them and I told her it was not very comforting that we could, doublehandedly, finish off an entire pan by ourselves, and it would be easy.

And she said she could eat the whole pan by herself. And, you know, I could too. That's really sick. That's really, really sick I know. But it is oh so true. They are that good.

I want my awesome sister Becca to be a texter 'cause I'd twitter text her too.