Simplicity

I love this kid so much. For those of you that have read my blog at all, you know that I struggle with this one at times. Well, I struggle with all of my kiddos at times, but I have been frustrated because I haven't known how to help him for much of his life. He was my colicky baby, my over-active toddler, and my boy that never stops moving. I get exhausted. Plus, he's my first. Let's be honest: They get the Rookie Parent Mistakes their entire lives.

Austin likes to take his Pokemon cards to school to trade during recess. I don't understand this phenomenon at all, but he is fascinated by the cards and trading them and getting ones with different powers and all the different morphing, etc. I remember, way back in college, we learned that collections are a major part of childhood development. For boys, it's generally cards of some type. Since he uses his money for all cards, I figure he is learning all of those pertinent lessons for his age through the guise of Pokemon.

When I picked him up at school today, he was talking to a boy that I didn't recognize. Austin ran to the car and asked if he could "run really quick" and "be right back." He grabbed some cards, and ran to find this boy. He was across the street. When he found him, Austin gave him some of his cards and ran back to the car. What he didn't see was the look on that boy's face as he turned to his sister. His face completely lit up in excitement as he showed his older sister and said, "My very first Pokemon card!"

I'm not going to lie: I sat in the car with tears streaming down my face. I think I tend to focus WAY too much on all the times that my kids behave in a way contrary to what we are trying to teach that I don't recognize these types of moments enough. It wasn't a great service project or a huge sacrifice, but it was just a simple act of kindness. It touched my heart to see one of my children thinking outside of himself. In essence, Austin made the day for two people today, and I don't even think he realizes it.

Macyisms

This girl cracks me up on a daily basis! I keep thinking that she'll grow out of it (which will be a very sad day), but it hasn't happened so far. It may be that she is always talking and her thoughts are verbalized instead of kept inside. Whatever it is, I hope it never stops. You spend a few hours with her, and I will guarantee that she will put a smile on your face. Here are a few of her latest (that I can remember):

My parents came over for FHE last Monday. We had a really great night. We made family trees and then we each took turns sharing interesting stories about each other. My mom brought pictures from her childhood and my dad brought his cub scout book he made. They also brought stuff for smores. We started the BBQ, put the marshmallows on the sticks, and put them over the grill. We handed one to each of the kids to hold over the grill and get perfectly brown and crusty. With a giggle in her voice, Macy said, "Look! I'm smore-ing."

* * *

Every summer we fight a battle: Human vs. Snail. I cleaned out our flower beds the other day and planted some flowers. It was a lovely day. I put the boys on some blankets in the yard (which they stayed on for a good hour because of their hatred of grass). I dug all the holes, Macy poured in some water, and Paige and Tae stuck the flowers in. Macy followed the girls and patted the flowers down with dirt. (Then, I sneakily followed Macy and just "made sure" that each flower was actually planted.) Later on, Macy and Claire took the girls and the twins on walks. Everyone was happy and content for hours.

However, throughout the course of the day, I found several snails. I have trained my girls to rejoice when we see worms in our garden and despise the snails. This morning, Macy came running in the house in a panic. "Mom! A snail ate one of your big, red flowers." I said, "How do you know? Did you see it?" She said, "Yes. But I couldn't catch it. It got away - fast!" Puzzled, I said, "Well, I wonder if it was a snail because snails usually aren't very fast. They move very, very slowly." With a shrug, she replied, "I tried to catch it, but it just snailed away."

* * *

Macy's kindergarten class sang a song at a school meeting the other night - kind of as a "Welcome" to the meeting. They were adorable! It was an old Janeen Brady song (for those of you who were Mormon growing up in the 70s). When we were leaving, Macy said, "I'm going to sing my 'la la' song." Greg asked, "Your 'la la' song?" She said, "Yep. All we do is 'la'."

* * *

A few weeks ago, over breakfast, Macy made the following observation. (Keep in mind that she did not in any way say it snotty or bratty, she was merely making an observation. It was the same as if she would have said, "Hey, you're wearing a yellow shirt today.")

"Mom it's kind of like you're a maid, but you're really a mom. It's like we are the kids that own a maid. But, we're really kids who own parents."

* * *

And one from Austin: "How come we can't have chicken for the sacrament?"

Humbled (or Humiliated)

WARNING: This is a bit of a gripe fest. But, it's my blog, so I guess I'm entitled from time to time.

Nothing is more humbling than taking five kids to church. Most of the time, I feel like I am juggling this circus of our life pretty decently. Everyone is alive, our house is still standing, and although it may be close, I highly doubt a HAZMAT team could condemn the house. (Between you and me, the toilets occasionally get scrubbed, although I'd definitely steer clear of my clothes closet.) But there is just something about being on display for three hours in a place where "reverence" is the magic word that brings out that frazzled, harried, exhausted mother.

First of all, I have a three-year-old. Argggg is all I have to say (not like a pirate, more like a very frustrated mother who may suffer permanent damage due to eye rolling). Three is so unbelievably tough for me. I'm mourning the loss of my sweet angel. She used to be polite, loving, dang sweet, and so very happy. Now, I feel like she gets out of bed every morning and puts on her hypothetical boxing gloves and sets out for the fight of her life. EVERY DAY!!! Unfortunately, I am her opponent. I told Greg that I don't know if I'll live through this year. He said, "You say that every time." It's true. Austin survived; Macy survived; somehow I survived. I supposed Paige will survive too. If I can just figure out a way to do it without so much negotiation and tears.

As much as I love the girl, she is the most clumsy person I have ever met. So, since church is right during lunch time, I bring snacks. Inevitably, the cheddar bunnies end up on the floor, in the pew, down her dress, etc. If I'm lucky, I rummage around on my knees (in a dress) to pick them all up before she squashes them (which she does for funsies). She falls down at least a half a dozen times and inevitably smacks a head or elbow on the wooden corners. Every bump is a greek tragedy - at least she act like it's one. Not to mention the inability of three-year-olds when it comes to whispering. I'm pretty sure it is physically impossible. She is just a nightmare during Sacrament Meeting. I want to shout "Hallelujah" when she can finally go to nursery and play to her little heart's content.

Secondly, I have two mobile 12-month-olds. Church is absolute torture for them. These two boys are very happy babes. They roam the house all day long. As long as they are moving, they are happy. This doesn't fly at church. It's like Greg and I play Keep Away all through Sacrament Meeting. We are constantly swapping babies. I try not to look around and see the faces of all the people around us that shake their heads and thank the Lord that they do not have our life.

Right now, both boys are both getting their four top teeth. That would be a total of eight teeth. They are pretty grumpy. I am this close to going in and cutting them out myself. Then, maybe the noses will stop running, the fevers will go away, and my clingy, miserable boys will start eating again (Eating = Happy). I generally juggle both of them in Relief Society and do just fine. Not today. They were soooooo tired, and they both wanted me. But, they didn't really want me, they really wanted their beds. They climbed all over me trying to get comfortable enough to sleep and they never achieved their goal. Even though they were grumpy, I have to admit that it is somewhat flattering that I don't resemble a large mattress. But, that just meant uncomfortable, exhausted, teething babies. I was well aware of all the people that we were disturbing. Several wonderful people tried to help, but they were just too tired and in too much discomfort to want anybody but me. I felt like I had run a marathon when it was finally over.

Before I had children, and I was an expert in raising children, I envisioned myself always sitting next to my husband at church. I could see us on one end of the pew, holding hands, with our brood of six children sitting beside us - all listening intently and looking like models in their perfectly pressed dress shirts and poofy dresses with matching bows. I thought, "This way, my children will see their parents showing affection and know how much we love each other and love them and love the gospel." Instead, we each take an end and block our kids and the disaster that accompanies them in one aisle. We generally walk away with snot on our shoulders, pen on our clothes, crackers smeared on our chest, and all my jewelry pulled off. Sometimes, my clothes are so skiwompus that my bra straps show.

"This too shall pass" swims through my head at times like this. I just feel like we are a giant disaster every week at church. Greg and I come home exhausted - not uplifted. It's frustrating. I feel like our Spiritual Lever is running on empty most Sunday's. I've heard that all frustration comes from unmet expectations. I sure created one doozy of an expectation. No wonder I'm frustrated. In all honesty, I just feel so guilty for being so distracting. I don't really know what to do to improve the situation and that just adds to the frustration.

A few weeks ago, the Primary President was asking the kids what they knew about the Sacrament. Macy's hand shot into the air and she said, "You only take one piece of bread; not two."

We've just got to do better!

Boys or Monkeys???

Eight years ago, I had a little blond boy that I loved with all my heart. He loved fishes, trucks, and putting his food on the top of his head. And he climbed...and climbed...and climbed.

I remember one night when I was in the kitchen making dinner and he was toddling around me. I heard the tinkling of the piano keys in the front room. He would often wander in by the piano, reach up, and plunk the keys (the twins do this on a regular basis - they can't see the keys, but they love to hear the sound). I wasn't worried. I knew where he was based on the sound. After a few minutes, I wandered in to check on him. He was on top of the piano. Apparently, the piano keys were being played by his feet as he navigated his way to the top.

Then, I had two girls. I love them with all my heart. These girls were born with independent minds and a little fire in their soul, but they kept their feet on the ground.

Then, I had two little blond boys (who look amazingly similar to the first). I love each one of them with all my heart. They love the dishwasher, splashing in the bathtub, and oatmeal. And they climb...and they climb...and they climb.

Exhibit #1: The Step Stool

Exhibit #2: The Bunk Bed Ladder


Three observation from looking at these pictures:

1. Those prayers for safety that we say every morning evening are not trite repetitions. They are the pleadings of a mother's heart. And every evening, when I kneel down with gratitude in my heart for another day of safety, I mean it with every inch of my being.
2. Digital cameras have come a LONG way in a few short years.
3. Spencer scrunches up his nose just like me when he smiles really big. I wonder if he'll hate his prom picture as much as I do because of the scrunched nose.

Happy Birthday (Happy Mother's Day)

A year ago, on Mother's Day, I got to hold my twin boys for the very first time. I'm not sure anything can top that. But, this Mother's Day, we got to celebrate Spencer and Kade's first birthday. It was probably the first time that I truly enjoyed a guilt-free Mother's Day. Instead of being reminded of everything I'm not, I got to focus on these two beautiful boys and rejoice in this past year. I cannot believe that it has been one full year (actually, I flat-out refuse to believe it)!

The day before their birthday, we (and by "we" I obviously mean "Jen") shaved off their mullets. It was getting pretty sad. The hair over the ears and the curling on the neck. It was beginning to look like we had forgotten to attach their toupees. It was time. They aged immensely as soon as their haircuts were over. As you can see, it went well (the first two pictures are of Kade, and the third pic is Spence):

For Mother's Day Dinner, we went over to my Uncle Mark and Aunt Jeri's house. They have a gorgeous backyard (if I were the envying type...), and for the past five or six years, they have had a few ducks come to their pond and have ducklings. This year, there are nine. The kids were captivated! It was so fun for our kids to play with my cousin's kids, and it is always fun for me to visit with my family.

Of course, the birthday wouldn't be complete without a bit of torture. We discovered that both boys HATE grass. They didn't cry, but they did everything possible not to touch it (even with socks on). Here is Spencer doing his best Tom Cruise impression in an effort to avoid that nasty, scratchy grass:

Kade simply stood there with his foot up in the air. Hilarious!

For their birthday, I made these little frog cupcakes:

I'm pretty sure this picture screams "Happy Mother's Day":

My mom and dad managed the fire safety portion of the evening while we sang Happy Birthday and they helped blow out the candles.

As is typical, Spencer was more interested in moving than eating. He played with the silverware, tried to crawl across the table to play with the two tins of cupcakes instead of the one in front of him, swiped the candy away from Kade, tried climbing to the edge to peek over and see what's down there, etc. He is a mover and a shaker - that boy!



I think they look like little gnomes in their birthday hats. Here is Spencer, finally focused on his cupcake (it took quite a bit of convincing from my Mom):

This is Spence's mischievous face. He wears it quite often. I love it with all my heart.

And then we have Mr. Kade. He takes his food very, very seriously. He sat in one place the entire time and was very focused on his cupcake. Heaven forbid he miss one little morsel. He is such a sweet boy; very "Go-With-The-Flow."

And here we have all three boys: Cash, Spence, and Kade (and my dad as the self-appointed Safety Marshal - he was a little nervous that they were going to fall off). Cash was born two weeks (to the day) before the twins. As you can see, all of them were nothing but cooperative for this picture:

Everyone told me that the first year with twins was "a blur." I admit that I can recall very little of last summer, but it has also been amazing. I love these two little monkeys more and more every day. It has been absolutely fascinating watching their personalities emerge. Being the mother to these five amazingly different children who are all incredible in their own right brings me so much joy and happiness. I can't imagine doing anything else with my life.

Happy Birthday Spencer and Kade! Mommy sure loves you!

Rhetorical Questions

The past few days, I've just been wondering a lot about genetics. How do genetics work exactly? I feel like I have a pretty good grasp about how they work physically (despite my aversion to statistics, I think I understand the science and mathematics behind genetics, although I swear all my college courses taught that brown eyes were dominant, but I only got 1 in 5 - who knows?!?). I guess I am wondering how genetics work on a spiritual level.

I even got out my copy of Mormon Doctrine (my mother jokingly refers to it as her "Second Bible" and gave it to us for our wedding), but I was unable to find anything relating to the subject.

As I understand the Plan of Salvation, and as far as what I believe in my mind and in my soul, our spirits lived in a Premortal Existence. In that Premortal Existence, we learned and made choices and acted, in a very real sense, to defend truth and righteousness and our desire for a body and the experience of mortality. We used our god-given talents and abilities to form relationships and possibly even assist in the creation of this very world. We were not the type of spirits to sit on clouds and play harps. On the contrary, we were incredibly active and involved in carrying out the Lord's great plan from the very beginning.

According to scripture, the Lord has promised us that all pain, suffering, and trial are for our good. These are the times when we are often humble and allow the Holy Spirit to teach us and allow for great spiritual growth. Through personal experience, I completely agree with the scriptures on this point. The scriptures, as well as modern-day prophets, also assure us that the Lord will not give us a trial that is "more than we can bear."

I've heard some people say that they believe that they knew what their trials would be before they came to earth. I believe that we all knew that trials were part of the mortal experience, but these people speak as though very specific trials were outlined and they accepted the challenge and responsibility. Sometimes I wonder if it is like Patriarchal Blessings. Some blessings are very vague and open-ended, whereas others are incredibly specific and almost outline a step-by-step road map for the person's life. I do believe that certain trials are more difficult for certain people. There are certain trials that will teach me infinitely more than they may teach someone else. In that way, I do believe that our loving Heavenly Father knows what we need to learn and how we can best learn it. Therefore, certain trials are "custom made" (so to speak).

I guess I'm just wondering how trials relating to our spiritual growth correlate with genetics. Just the other day, I was told by a doctor that a certain condition is "overwhelmingly hereditary." It makes me think of other conditions that we know, scientifically, can be passed from person to person through genetics - there are several, both mental and physical. Is a Spirit sent to a certain family because the genetics are in place for certain trials? How much of a person's "innate" personality, or in other words, how much of a person's spiritual talents and abilities play into the creation of their personality verses the physical genetics, birth order, economic condition (i.e. poverty), etc?

I guess it's sort of a "What Came First: The Chicken or the Egg" situation. Perhaps it's also a combination. I've just been wondering.

I am the sort of person who has a very easy time accepting that there are certain questions to which there will be no answers in this life. I also believe that there are absolutely answers to every question, however, just as it is unnecessary and unwise for me to give ALL knowledge to my toddler, I am perfectly comfortable with the fact that there is a time and a season in which we receive those answers. I have plenty of gospel principles that I have yet to "master" before I need to ask "unnecessary" questions. I know that there aren't any concrete answers to these questions right now, and my testimony will not be shaken without those answers. I'll just put it on my "List of Things to Discuss with God - When I Get There."

Hobbies: An Introspective Essay

When I was growing up, we lived across the street from a family that had four girls (we had three at the time). We were the best of friends and lived outside in the summer and inside each other's houses in the winter. The mom of this troupe, Janet Dawsen, was a beautiful artist. Her front room was wall-to-wall and ceiling to floor with her framed artwork. When they built their new house and moved away, we went to visit them. The mom had painted the ceiling of their dining room with clouds and birds. At 10 years old, I just knew that everything luxurious contained dining rooms with hand painted birds and clouds.

When I was about 7 years old, Mrs. Dawsen decided to teach art lessons. My mom signed my sister and I up. I had my notebook, my pencil, and my chalk. I was prepared to unleash all the artistic talent that had been constrained for those long seven years.

It is truly unreal how horrible I was. I had no sense of proportion. I cannot draw a nose to save my life. After the failed art lessons, I resorted to drawing noses like a pair of roller skates (those were unfortunate years of refrigerator art). Determined not to give up, a few years later, my mom signed me up for some pottery lessons. My ashtray would not have held one bit of ash. Years later, I tried another pottery class. This time in college. For a class where you just needed to show up and "try," it's pretty pathetic that it was the second lowest grade that I received in college.

Flash forward years later: I was living in New York. We attended a Single's Branch on Long Island. Our Branch President and his amazing wife are who I want to be when I grow up. They loved us and welcomed us into our home. In turn, we taught them Bunco. President Larsen swore up and down (not literally) that there was a strategy and is probably still on a quest to figure it out. Sister Larsen was battling cancer at the time. She was in remission...again. She was an Art History Major in college. One day, they took us into the city and she took us on a "personal" tour of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was completely mesmerized by her knowledge and insight. I hung on her every word. (That was the day that we saw "The Coach" - Craig T. Nelson. He was admiring a painting. He was wearing a scarf and a sports jacket. He is a very large man. I don't think you notice when he's on TV. But...I digress.) I walked out of the museum that day certain that I should be an Art History Major and travel the world admiring great art.

While in New York, my sister and a few friends of ours traveled to Italy. It was there that I stood in the Sistine Chapel. I remembered everything I learned in AP History from Mr. Woods in 10th Grade. All I could picture was Charlton Heston up in the air paining while on his back. With the history in my head, I entered that room. I was in awe. At that point, I knew that I could no longer be content with clouds and birds on my dining room ceiling. All doubts were erased. I was definitely going to be an Art History Major and learn how to be a gourmet cook and decorate my house with a dignified, refined style and be just like Sister Larsen.

I graduated as an English Major...and I got married.

Like any good Mormon wife, I attended Homemaking (yes-that was still the name), determined to learn the art of scrapbooking and began my quest to cover every inch of my home with homemade decorations for each and every holiday. I joined a scrapbook group that exchanged ideas every month, I signed up for each and every craft at Super Saturdays, and I frequented Michael's in hopes of finding deals to fill my craft closet. One day, I sat at a table, attempting to finish my duct pipe pumpkin, and listening to some of the sisters explain how the pumpkin fragrance is an aphrodisiac. I looked around and witnessed perfectly round pumpkins when I was on my fourth one praying with all my heart that it won't tear this time. It was art class and pottery class all over again.

It was stressful. It it couldn't look like the "original," then what was the point? Scrapbooking was a mess! I had to have an entire table full of stuff just to do one page. It was not fun for me. Not relaxing. It was a mad rush to try and just "get it done" so I could clean up the mess. Even after I finished a page, I tried to put as many pictures as possible on it just so I wouldn't have to do any more.

Surprisingly, we did not have to spend one cent on therapy. I was able to accept the fact that it was possible for me to be a good Mormon wife and NOT display homemade crafts in my home. It was possible for me to be a good Mormon mom and just put my kids pictures in a normal photo album (you know - you just slide the pictures in) without the backdrop representing every isle of the craft store. It was possible for me to be a good Mormon mom and send my girls to church in store bought Easter dresses instead of homemade. (Actually, I'm still working on accepting that last one.)

Most importantly, I can greatly admire those women and their talent to do crafts and scrapbook and sew and cook gourmet meals and hand quilt their children's bedspreads and make their own jewelry but still be okay with the fact that I happened to take those things off my plate: The Plate of Emily's Expectations for Herself.

With a lighter plate, I gradually became a mother of five children. When I had "Those Days" (you know - if you are inside your house for one more minute you might pull every last hair off your head and then start on your eyebrows), my amazing husband (seriously...I didn't become Sister Larsen - extremely far from it, but I married a man who loves me as much as her husband loved her) would relieve me and take over. At that point, I like to walk over to Barnes and Noble, sit with my hot chocolate, and pour over photography books. I've done it for years. I remember doing it a few times when Austin was in the throes of colic. I walked home feeling rejuvenated being filled with images that were emotional, stunning, and interesting.

For years, Greg begged me to get a hobby. As I've pointed out, I have a lot of interests, but when I tried to do them myself, it just caused a lot of stress. It wasn't relaxing. Three years ago, my husband bought me a camera for our anniversary. I still had my doubts. It was definitely something that I had been interested in for years, and I took my children all over the valley trying to find a photographer that captured their personalities (I finally found her here).

I have to tell you that I have thoroughly enjoyed learning how to use my camera and Photoshop and how to capture those moments. There have been times when I thought, "I can't do this. I'll never be as good as so-and-so" or "I have no business walking around, pretending to 'be a photographer'." But then, I was blessed. A year and a half ago, after I had taken a few classes and learned how to shoot in manual (liberating is not the right word), the instructor told us that we should start charging - even if it's family. It's our time and it's valuable. So, I kind of started doing that. Then, I heard this small voice tell me, "Emily, it is not the time. This is not the season."

A week later, I found out I was pregnant.

Two and a half months later, I found out I was pregnant with twins.

I laughed. I finally had found a hobby. My husband was happy. That camera was not collecting dust like the guitar. I was truly interested and having fun.

But, just like everything else in life, the Lord has different plans. This season of life is not about me; it is about my kids. (I wonder if there will ever be a season of life when it isn't about my kids.) But the amazing thing that happened is that I relaxed even more about the photography. I am enjoying it even more. It is exciting to figure out something new that my camera can do, or add another lens, or play with a different type of light source. It is thrilling to figure out the uses of a lens and how to get the most out of it. It is challenging to take on another element in Photoshop. It is fun to realize that I will never stop learning. I don't have to do it all at once, and I don't have to do it perfectly. I just have to enjoy it and hopefully capture a few "moments."

Everyone knows how much I love this girl and her work. I teach her children piano in exchange for her talent to photograph my children. One of the most important things that she has taught me is to find the beauty. Whenever I am with her, she is constantly complimenting others. Even the most homely person gets a genuine compliment from her. It isn't that she exaggerates; it's that she's looking. I think that has been one of my favorite things about this hobby. I am looking for beauty more often, and I am definitely finding it. Beauty is everywhere. Sometimes it surprises you, but it is always there.

The tricky thing about this hobby is that you need something to photograph. I kind of had a photography blog, but it wasn't really what I wanted it to be, so I deleted it. But, I did want to post some of my favorite pictures from the past year. I keep this blog as my journal, so I wanted to document some of them.

These are some pictures from my gorgeous cousin, Annie and her girls. We took a few of Josie and Annie near the end of her pregnancy. Then, we did some when Evie was born. I am truly grateful for these beautiful people for letting me practice my hobby with them.