What's goin' on.

We've been busy. My parents and brother Will spent Christmas here - played games, watched movies, went sledding, ate way too much food - you know, what vacation is all about. It was sweet to have extra family around - and remarkably unstressful. Perhaps it was the fact that the three extra adults who actually ate what I had prepared for dinner (and enjoyed it) tipped the numbers so that dinner was actually a positive experience instead of a seemingly wasted effort. Or it might have been that my mom assumed floor-sweeping duty the entire time they were here. Whatever the reason, I really enjoyed having them around.
Post-Christmas activities: I waited until Monday to take down Christmas (Tim thinks it's a record - I can be somewhat neurotic when it comes to "getting back to normal"). Doctor's visit - I'm dilated to a two at 37 weeks ... we'll see how long I last. After a week of snow, we've watched it all melt away - except, that is for the enormous pile of snow we shoveled and then converted to a snow tunnel. The kids are still partying on. Took advantage of the after-Christmas sales to stock up on next year's clothes. Scored big time at Gymboree. Finally packed the hospital bag. Been making double portions of dinner every night for a week and storing half as a freezer meal for the postpartum madness that will inevitably ensue. Trying to convince Anna that "quiet time" (aka. mommy's rest time) is as fun as school. Not working so well - though she does enjoy curling up with a few good books and reveling in long back scratches.
Enough talking, here's a few pictures.

Perspective.

Are you one of those "grass is always greener" folks? Sometimes I am. When I was growing up, my younger brother, who had muscular dystrophy and was significantly handicapped was a constant reminder of my blessings. Though I'm sure I was very much a typical self-absorbed teenager most of the time, the concepts of reaching out to others and service never really evaded me because I lived with someone who brought me a great deal of perspective, teaching me that happiness is not dependent upon what we have or the ease of our lives but who we are and what we choose.
I have long since moved out of the house, and my brother passed away almost 10 years ago. But every once in a while, the Lord still blesses me with small glimpses of suffering, of neighbors whose trials far eclipse my own. I know of one such friend, who performed an act of service on my behalf just this week. It came at a much greater sacrifice to her than the same act would have come to me. It touched my heart.
I've struggled this season to give my children that perspective, to help them see that their lives are rich and abundant, that for some crazy reason, the Lord has seen fit to bless us far beyond what our actions warrant. Unfortunately, I haven't done so well. For at least one of my children, everything is always about her. I'll keep trying. But in the meantime, I can pray that the Spirit touches her heart as it did mine this week.

The knack.

Have you ever seen the Dilbert cartoon The Knack ? Everyone has a knack for something, right? My engineer husband, who most certainly has "the knack" can't spell worth beans. I'm always dumbfounded when I read a "professional" email he is sending out by the number of words that pop up as he runs a spell check on it. I've never used spell check in my entire life (though I probably should, since, even we natural spellers are guilty of typos). When it comes to spelling, you either have it or you don't.

The same thing goes for languages. I've sat through many a language course in college or at the MTC and watched others (bless their hearts) painfully struggle to grasp what always came too easily to me. My thought was always along the lines of : can they not hear? How much repetition is required for them to "get it"? Of course, I coupled this with feeling sorry for them, knowing that it certainly wasn't a lack of effort that contributed to their toil and strife.

Recently I've discovered something I definitely do not have a knack for. This is not to say that I'm good at everything I do, only that I've finally found a skill I actually desire that completely evades me.

I can't bake bread. Try my cinnamon rolls, they're quite delectable. Dinner rolls? I figured that one out a few years ago (though I still experience an occasional "bomb"). There's just something about baking a loaf of bread that makes me look like a complete idiot. It turns out doughy in the middle, it fails to rise enough, it lacks elasticity, the texture declines rapidly... you name it, I've experienced it. My mother and a friend of mine even introduced me to two delicious recipes that I have attempted on dozens of occasions and never gotten quite right. What is wrong with me? Is it really that fine a science? Or is having "the knack" the only recipe for success?

I'll keep bumbling along, like a retard, but at some point my attempts at being healthy and domestic may be foiled by my aversion to failure. For now, anyone got any bread-making suggestions?

Winter in full force.

I love the snow. Our neighborhood has been blessed with a few inches in the last week or so. A couple of days ago we bundled up to bask in the 18 degree weather that awaited us outside. The kids "skated" on the ice in the streets, sledded down a 4 foot hill in the common area behind our house, and Rachel even decided that riding her bike was a viable option. Thankfully, everyone on our side of the street shovels the sidewalk.

Advil, I miss you.

I ran out of Tylenol the other night while nursing a migraine. Trouble is, investing in another bottle seems useless, since I only have a month left in my pregnancy, which is the only time Tylenol is of any use to me. Isn't it unfortunate that during one of the times in life when discomfort becomes one's middle name, there is very little that modern medicine can offer to alleviate your pain? Pretty much everything is off limits. Including my best friend Advil, whom I will welcome with open arms back into my life shortly after delivery.

Dear Santa.

Will you please put coal in my kids' stockings this year? Yep, that's pretty much all I want. Pretty please?
Love,
Me

Sometimes I view the chaos that is my life and still manage to feel competent somehow. It's a dangerous sort of pride - because inevitably the next day will fall into the "please make it stop" category. I guess we all need those days to keep us learning... and humble. Oh so humble.

Thank you Costco.com

For the last seven years, since getting married, I've had a sewing machine at the top of my wish list. For birthdays and other gift-giving occasions, I shoot off a copy of the list to those who are interested so that they don't have to play any guessing games about the "perfect gift". Problem is, everyone to whom I've sent the list knows that I don't sew. Not at all. Never really had any talent (or interest, for that matter) in that area. So I'm sure that it comes as no surprise that while other items have gradually been crossed off the list and replaced by other wants, the sewing machine remains untouched. I can almost envision my siblings, parents, and in-laws chuckling to themselves before overlooking my number one want in favor of something else that they know I will actually appreciate.

Laugh all you want, guys. There's a reason the sewing machine is at the top of the list. I really, really want one. And fortunately, someone actually got the message this year. Although Tim and I had decided that we would limit this year's Christmas presents to needs rather than wants (really, though, how does one distinguish between the two nowadays?), he decided to "surprise" me with my heart's desire.

Sadly, the surprise was spoiled a few days after he ordered it, when it showed up in an undisguised box on our doorstep. What were you thinking, Costco.com? Last I checked, December 10th is well within the holiday season. Perhaps Tim should have consulted Santa on my behalf, instead. Surprise spoiled or not, I'm one happy camper. Now, if only I had some thread...

Reading, writing, and 'rithmetic.

Turns out I only have time for one hobby in my life. And it ain't arithmetic. So if you're ever wondering why there's a lapse in my blogging, you can be confident that I'm reading (or in my first trimester of pregnancy, another hobby of mine). This week it was Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer. Was it worth it? Probably not. But at least I've already topped my pathetic average of 1-2 books a month. I'm already at two. And that does not include The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, which I'm reading with the girls.

Nicotine and tobonco.

The other day Lily began a conversation by saying, "Mom, some medicines are bad because your body starts to want them all the time but they're not good for it." A bit random, but since we'd had a conversation within the last few months about why her uncle Mike died before she was born (of a drug overdose), I was impressed that she remembered my explanation of the danger of drugs.
She continued, "That's why nicotine is so bad. Your body really really wants it, even though it's bad for it."
I replied, "True. Um, where did you learn about nicotine, Lily?" I thought maybe one of the Joy School teachers was altering the curriculum in some weirdo fashion.
Anna piped up. "I learned about it from the school counselor. Nicotine is in tobonco. And tobonco is in beer."
I stifled a laugh, "Actually, tobacco is in cigarettes."
The conversation continued, and so did the use of the word "tobonco", despite my correction. Kids are so darn cute.

Checking it twice.

Deck the halls and tree. Check.
Bake and deliver Christmas cookies. Check.
Buy Christmas presents. Check.
Schedule rest home visit for Joy School. Check. Can't wait to see the little munchkins pull it off. Seriously the highlight of my Christmas season.
Okay, so at least it's a start. Every holiday season promises to be busy, but I got the labor-intensive items out of the way early, for obvious reasons. Hopefully that will leave ample time for craft-making with the kids, snuggling by the fire, eating treats, and listening to my favorite holiday tunes. We shall see.

Best part of decorating the Christmas tree with youngsters? You get a whole lot of this. Five ornaments on the same branch? We only have about twenty total.

Those of you who have complained about my not posting pictures of my pregnant self... here you go. Anti-climactic, isn't it?

Happy Holidays!

Black monday.

We all arrived home last night from a 5 day trip to visit my family for Thanksgiving. Which turns today into a jumbled mess of laundry, grocery shopping, unpacking, breaking out the Christmas decorations, and basically recovering from our "vacation". We got off to a rough start. Half of our lights for the Christmas tree are burned out. Lily succeeded in breaking one of our snowglobes while fighting with Rachel over it. On our trip to Costco today, I pretty much ran over someone while disciplining Lily. The poor lady was not happy. I was awfully embarrassed and sorry. Maybe next time I'll actually park the shopping cart before exacting punishment. By the end of our shopping trip, all three girls were champs, begging to help me load groceries onto the conveyor belt, staying close by my side without threats, and showing the utmost kindness to each other as they shared lunch in the car on the way home. I love motherhood.
Thanks to my family for feeding us and providing us with hours of good company and entertainment for the few days we camped out at their house. We spent most of our time at home, though we managed to take the kids on their first light-rail trip to downtown Salt Lake for the lights on Temple Square, free hot cocoa, and a visit to the Conference Center. Anna was pretty stoked to be standing where the prophet and apostles speak to us semi-annually. Tim and I also swapped babysitting duty to visit with some friends. And brought back a few extra pounds, of course.

Anna , Rachel and me, Grandpa and Lily, on Trax (in that order).

Lily and Rachel with my brother's baby Jane.

Third trimester.

At the risk of sounding like I'm bragging, I wish to express gratitude for a few things that have been on my mind lately, it being post-Thanksgiving and all. Lately, when people have asked me how I'm feeling (perhaps the most commonly-asked question of pregnant women) I have no reason to respond other than by saying "I feel good." Great, even. Sure, it's all relative. I waddle a bit when I walk. I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Fatigue is a familiar companion. I'm emotional and lose my temper with my family more often than I'd like. I've experienced a bit of heartburn.
But I only waddle a little. And I only have to go to the bathroom once a night. I'm not any more tired than I will be when this baby comes. My emotions are elevated but not out of control. Usually. And, as I said, I've only had a bit of heartburn. Granted, this pregnancy has been, in many ways, easier than others I've experienced. But even the worst of my pregnancies was a gift - one that I thank the Lord for daily. I have enjoyed healthy pregnancies, uncomplicated labors, and beautiful babies. Any discomfort pales in comparison to the enormous blessing it is to be able to bear and raise children. I do not take it for granted.

My baby's two.

Landmark moment. We have a two-year old in the house without having another newborn to boot. I'll try to deemphasize the fact that we will, in fact, have a newborn in less than two months...

Rachel turned two on Monday! Aside from the fact that she wakes up before 6:30 every day, she is a complete doll and we love having her as a part of our family. We celebrated with a Dora the Explorer Cake and ice cream with a few families who have boys born around the same time as Rachel. I think she enjoyed the company, and the presents.

A few cute things about Rachel at age two. She still says, "Hold you me!" She's speaking in semi-complete sentences, though they're usually something like, "Anna bonk my head." or "Lily hurt me." Poor abused child. She loves to jump from relatively high surfaces and yell, "Watch me, Mommy!" She insists on buckling her own seatbelt (something we only recently convinced her older sister to do), putting her own shoes and pants on, and taking her dishes over after meals. Yikes. Rachel is affectionate and brutal at the same time - she is quick to say she's sorry when she hurts someone but also doesn't seem to mind doing the hurting in the first place. She sings in tune and can even handle a key change without flinching. You should hear her rendition of "I am a Child of God." I love you Rachel. Happy Birthday!

XOXOXO.

Dinnertime is increasingly stressful for me. My conscience dictates that I serve something not only appetizing but healthy at some level, which basically means there should be a fruit, a vegetable, and whole grains somewhere on the table. Our dinners never lack variety. Tim has even mentioned that he wouldn't mind if I cooked certain favorite dishes more than, say, once every three months...
My attempts to help my 3-year-old try new things are failing miserably. Her will is too strong to break and honestly, I'm not a big fan of turning food into a control issue. But recently, she has stopped eating fruits and vegetables altogether. I'm at my wits end. The other night, my other two daughters (who eat only marginally better) turned up their noses at what I had cooked for dinner. There was plenty to choose from, the main dish was a child's favorite (pizza!), and they still didn't bother to touch their food. Even when I threatened that they would not get so much as a morsel of Rachel's birthday cake, they claimed they were full after a measly 4 grapes and a slice of apple apiece. Tim wasn't around to calm my escalating mood. Out flowed a stream of negativity for the next half hour until the kids had satisfied my requirements.
Sadly, the damage had been done. Still stuck in a rut of moodiness, I sat down on the couch in exasperation while Anna visibly sulked in the corner. She quietly remarked, "Mom, I haven't gotten any hugs or kisses today." She was wrong. But her comment was a pretty good indication that my criticism had not been balanced out by enough affection earlier in the day. I apologized, welcomed her onto my shrinking lap and hugged the guts out of her, stroking her hair and showering her with kisses.
So, I'm a bad mommy. And a good mommy. At least she could muster the courage to ask me for the affection she needed and know that it would be greeted with only the best of reactions. For that, I'm glad. But I'll do better next time.

Pure religion.

On Friday nights, before retiring to bed, Tim and I plan out our Saturday. Over a week ago, Tim decided that he would spend his Saturday helping out a less-active elderly lady in our ward chop wood for the winter. (She lives on the outskirts of our ward boundaries, in what might be considered a mountain cabin.) Though his service would probably take most of the day, Tim, in usual fashion, did not think twice about pitching in. The next morning, I was reluctant. No, frantic, might be a better descriptor.
I was having second thoughts about the wisdom of having him spend what he estimated would be the entire day away from our family, given the number of uncompleted projects we still had, the limited amount of time in which to finish them and the remaining exhaustion I felt from a strenuous week (you might remember, I blogged about it). As Tim was putting on his shoes to leave, I reluctantly posed the question, "Are you sure this is the best use of your time this weekend?" I then pointed out our situation, hoping that he would see that perhaps the load might better be carried by other men in our ward.
He disagreed. I couldn't argue, knowing that it was unfair to assume that others would pick up the slack, and selfish to allow their burden to be heavier because he opted out. I told him to go. After he left, I stood, crying in the kitchen for a few minutes, indulging myself in a moment of self-pity. I even compared myself to one of the wives of John Taylor or Heber C. Kimball or Brigham Young when they left on a mission to England. They all were suffering from the ague, a miserable disease, and some of them had little sustenance on which to survive during the time their husbands were gone. How immature of me. Nevertheless, my week had rendered me emotional and vulnerable to such selfish imaginations.
I cried for 5 minutes. Then I got the kids dressed, did our Saturday morning chores, and invited Anna outside to tackle the pile of bark we had had delivered earlier that week. Fortunately, bark is much lighter than rocks. We dug in and made progress much faster than a five-year old and seven-month pregnant woman should, distributing the bark via wheelbarrow to our garden beds. The other two kids played happily in our quiet cul-de-sac.
Within half an hour, one of our neighbors, with whom I've spoken on less than a handful of occasions, made his way down to our house and offered to help. I almost started crying again, avoided turning him down, and let him shovel enough loads to finish the beds in the front yard. He complained that it had been too easy, that he could help out some more. I rejoiced in the lesson I had learned, and the sweetness of his gesture.
I had once again been taught that sacrifice is never really a sacrifice. It is an opportunity for us to show our faith - then the Lord blesses us far beyond the level of our sacrifice. I feel silly suggesting that supporting my husband in his absence on a single Saturday was even a sacrifice, knowing how many don't have husbands, or have spouses that work insane hours. Regardless, it was for me at the time, and it became a lesson that service is always rewarded, either directly or indirectly, by a loving Father in Heaven.

Neverending story.

I can pat myself on the back today. I set a goal to wash, fold, and put away all five loads of laundry yesterday and guess what? I did it! A modern-day miracle.
Maybe you are more competent than I am in the laundry department. Maybe you have set days on which you do laundry and nothing interferes with it. Maybe you don't find yourself fumbling through the dryer for a pair of pants that you haven't worn since last week. Maybe your five-year-old doesn't complain that she can't find a shirt to match her gray corduroys (the only clean pants in her drawer). Maybe, just maybe your husband doesn't have to run downstairs in a towel when he discovers that every last pair of underwear is still sitting (albeit, folded) on the bar in the kitchen.
Maybe, you could send some advice my way...

The birds and the bees.

My oldest daughter has always been curious. In her earliest days that simply translated into figuring out what kind of response she could get from various types of screams. Then she unlocked the key to cosmetics and household products, smearing them across any surface she could find. She later graduated to discovering what would happen if she stuffed items of irregular sizes down the toilet. Fortunately, she challenges her mind now by reading constantly, exploring more constructive activities, and asking lots of questions. Lots of them.

We've already engaged in several conversations about where babies come from. This is a topic I had hoped to save until she was eight years old, a time when dad and I could corral her, take her on a date, and explain it in a way that was well-scripted and designed to help her see how wonderful the whole process is within the right context.

I should have known my Anna would not wait for such a day. Yesterday, she asked me how some people who aren't married can have children. She wanted to know how the egg got fertilized if the man and woman weren't married. I tried to skirt the issue, explaining vaguely that they made some unwise choices that had brought a baby into the world. She was unrelenting, wanting to know the nitty-gritty. I paused after each question, not knowing how to answer honestly without blowing her mind and finally just gave into her curiosity and bore the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I should have been more prepared, but I must have handled it well because she finally seemed satisfied and gave me a big hug and a smile when I remarked that dad and I are so happy to have shared such a loving experience that blessed us with three (almost four) wonderful children.

My favorite part, though: when I told her that sperm is contained in a fluid, she asked me, "Does the fluid fly to fertilize the egg?"

You need to take better care of your kids.

Earlier this week I had a couple of extra children over and, soon after they were dropped off, I noticed that the phone was not on its cradle. I asked around to see if anyone could point me in the right direction. One of the neighbor kids indicated that it was on the stairs. Lily had gotten a hold of it and had, of course, dialed some random combination of numbers that had resulted in a connection. Not realizing that there was still someone on the line, I hung it up, after noticing that it had been off the hook for over four minutes. Shortly thereafter, the phone rang. I let the answering machine pick it up since I was trying to get 5 kids involved in something more constructive than begging me to let them watch a movie. When I finally got a minute, I checked my answering machine to find a message saying something to the effect of, "One of your children just called me. I could hear everything that was going on. I was hoping for an apology because I couldn't use my phone the entire time. You really should keep a better eye on your kids." She left no number, and we have no caller ID, for which I was glad because then I didn't have to feel guilty about not wasting my time and my breath apologizing for a situation that really was laughable.
First of all, when I receive phone calls where there is something unintelligible going on in the background I give it about 5 seconds max before hanging up. And do you know what happens? It's truly miraculous. I can use my phone again!
Second, listening to 4 minutes of someone else's life is way too much for me. I can barely stand reality TV, why would I hang on the line while some anonymous mother shuffles around five kids under 5?
And third, is it really irresponsible to have lost track of a phone receiver for 4 minutes under any circumstances, let alone the ones I had just found myself in?
At first I was perturbed. Then I thought it was pretty darn funny. Finally, I decided that I could turn it into a learning experience and remember to refrain from judging other people based on a limited window into their lives. On top of that, I still find it entertaining.

I.Am.So.Tired.

My toddler wakes up in the middle of the night. Pretty much every night. I can't get back to sleep for an average of 1 1/2 hours every time. Then she wakes up somewhere between 5 and 6:30 every morning (usually not long after I've finally fallen into a slumber again). I taught Joy School on Tuesday and Wednesday. I also took care of 18 kids this week (but not all at the same time) on 6 separate occasions for a grand total of 12 hours. Typically, hosting other people's children is not a "break" for me, where the kids play happily while I get chores done, though I've had an occasional playdate where that has been the case. Most of the time, my kids and I plan specific activities to keep everyone engaged, happy, and out of trouble. I simply feel better about myself when I play with the kids at least part of the time. That's just me.
I think I hit my breaking point today. I held it together right up until the last child was picked up and even pressed on through swimming lessons and dinner this evening before I broke down and put Lily to bed an hour early without a bath because she was dragging her feet (which she does, by the way, all the time). Then I cried and whined to Tim about how rotten all the kids in the world are, how tired I am of bending over to pick up toys or clean spilled milk, how tiresome it is comfort a child with hurt feelings (when I'm the one who needs comforting, too). Poor Tim. Poor me. I guess I have my limits. And I probably shouldn't be so willing to test them when I'm 7 months pregnant.
I knew this week was going to be a doozy before I hit the ground running on Monday. But I was optimistic about the outcome - because much of the time kids can actually be quite fun. They can also be emotional, messy, defiant, aggressive, and demanding. I saw both sides this week. Next time I'll try to plan a little better.
Oh, and if your kids spent any time at my house this week and they're scarred by the experience, I'm sorry. I promise I didn't yell or spank any of them. But I was no Mary Poppins either.

We did it!

Some of you may remember the monstrocity that we had planned to ride to school daily this year. It consisted of my bike pulling a tag-a-long bike, pulling a two-seat trailer. I found it to be an embarrassing necessity for a mom with three children who could not (at the time) ride bikes without training wheels. Fortunately, my labor of love lasted only one week as Anna conquered two wheels shortly after school started. Hooray!
Still, riding 40 minutes total each day to and from school while pregnant and pulling two kids in a trailer was no small task. But, I reasoned that I was getting adequate exercise, saving gas, and hopefully teaching my children the value of staying active. My goal: just make it to November. Of course it got tougher as my belly got larger and the weather got colder (though not much, thankfully!). But I'm happy to say we did it!
I wish I could report that my weight gain has been influenced by daily exercise. But I can't. I didn't work out a day during my pregnancies with Anna or Rachel and the difference has been pretty much negligible. Alas. However, I kept at the treadmill until I was 7 1/2 months pregnant with Lily and her delivery was my easiest and best by far. That's what the research shows. So, if I can't be skinny, at least I can pop this baby out like I was born to give birth. Pretty please?
I've still got a little over two months to go. Any suggestions for a cold-weather workout?

Bah humbug!

I admit, I'm a one-holiday kind of girl. For me, it's Christmas, Christmas, and more Christmas. Sure, since having kids I humor them on each holiday by planning the corresponding activities, but they're usually last-minute, inexpensive, and half-hearted, at best. Homemade valentines in February, green pancakes on St. Patty's Day, dyeing eggs for Easter - bare bones sort of stuff.
I'm getting better, though. I bought my candy the day before Halloween this year, to avoid the pre-Halloween binge that inevitably fuels my distaste for the holiday, my neighbor solved my costume woes by offering to sew the "My Little Pony" costume that Lily insisted on wearing, and we dug up some cool carving stencils and tools with which to make our most exciting jack-o-lanterns ever (thanks Aunt Jill!).
It's been a good day. All three girls gave me 45 minutes to myself to hand out candy while they scoured the neighborhood. The younger two have since returned and are consuming the goods at their discretion (or lack, thereof). Anna's still going strong with dad to triple what her sisters took in. Maybe we'll watch a movie and call it a night. While I might not ever love Halloween - I sure do love my kids and their enjoyment of it. And I might sneak a few pieces of candy, here and there.

Deep sleep.

I should be embarrassed to admit this... but I'm not.
When I was a kid I had bladder issues. You know, of the I-wet-my-bed-till-I-was-in-fourth-grade (give or take?) variety. One of my most vivid memories was of dreaming that I was walking to the bathroom, sitting down to relieve myself, and then doing so, only to find myself lying in a puddle of warmth. Wet warmth, to be exact. Ugh. Not so relieving after all.
I never imagined that such discomfort would weasel its way into my early thirties. Well, it has. Last night I fought my conscience urging me to drag my exhausted limbs out of bed before turning out the light to empty what little may have been left in my bladder. At 3:43 a.m. I paid for it. That's right, I wet the bed. Well, not exactly. I wet my pants, which, fortunately were absorbent enough to avoid a complete change of sheets.
Yes, my childhood dream has resurfaced in all its glory. And it was so stinkin' real there was no fighting it. Except by taking care of business before hitting the pillow, that is. Which is exactly what I plan to do every night from here on out.

Woe is me.

I've never looked forward to November 5th more. Will this election just be over? Though I'm not undecided about my choice of candidates, I can't get excited about any of them. For me, November 4th will be a "lesser of two evils" decision for me. Oh, so sad.
That being said, I have a few thoughts on the issue of health care. I know it's a mess. Unfortunately, coming up with a decent solution is not easy and I certainly haven't given it enough thought to propose anything solvent. What I do know, however, is that I dislike the idea of funding anyone else's medical care, particularly those with preventable conditions, and those whose costs could have been shouldered had they purchased their own health insurance. I know, I know, we're already doing that. It's in the form of higher insurance premiums, employer cutbacks to insurance benefits, taxes that fund Medicaid and other health-related programs... but is more government subsidization for health care the answer? I'm not convinced. My reasoning? Most government-subsidized programs encourage irresponsibility. When people know they can get something for nothing, most will go for it. It's simply human nature. Even otherwise hard-working people will take advantage of freebies when they are made available to them. I see it all the time. I don't blame them, I blame the system for providing incentives that encourage people to look to the government first, instead of relying upon our own enterprise or our families in times of need.
Allow me to illustrate. Less than a year after Tim and I got married, we decided that it was time to "stop preventing" pregnancy, as we put it. Though we had no idea how long it would take us to conceive, we purchased supplemental insurance and added it to the catastrophic policy we had acquired when we first married. Of course, our premiums went up, but we figured this would lower the cost of having a baby overall. Fellow students advocated applying for Medicaid, for which we would most certainly have qualified, being students and having very little income. "We didn't have to pay a cent!", they argued, which only solidified my opinion that our planning was the right decision. Though they might have had to delay starting a family without the help of Medicaid, we didn't have to, and we preferred it that way.
We were pregnant within two months. Tim started a summer internship in Boise, forcing me to quit my job and lose my benefits while I spent the summer completing school and working feverishly to find a new job in Utah in the fall. Call it luck, but the job I found completely paid for all costs associated with my pregnancy, labor, delivery, and postpartum checkups for our first daughter. I consider it a blessing for having prepared adequately to shoulder the financial burden ourselves. I could be wrong.
Soon after having Anna, Tim graduated from college, without having acquired a full-time position. We relied upon his parents' good will and moved in with them while he searched for a long-term solution. Although we had no income stream for those few months, we had saved a bit of money during school and decided to buy health insurance until a new job could provide a better alternative. Times were uncertain for us, but with Tim's parents limiting our living expenses, we felt it important to insure our little family against any unforeseen problems.
Again, we were blessed. Tim found a great job working for Micron, making more money than our "poor student" brains could handle and we started our lives anew.
Now, I may be oversimplifying things by using a personal example as justification for my lack of support for subsidized health care. I think there is a place for government assistance. I don't pass judgment on my friends who have benefitted from such assistance, rather on the system that rewards people for not emphasizing personal responsibility first. Relying upon taxpayer money to pay medical bills (and other expenses) should be a last resort only. Many of us would be more inclined to prepare for a rainy day and turn to our family and friends if a faceless government did not make financial assistance such a viable option. The fact remains that someone is paying for these programs. And they don't have any choice in the matter, so they cannot benefit from the "charity" they dole out in the form of taxes. In a perfect world, we'd all take care of ourselves and each other and we'd reap the rewards of doing so. In an imperfect world, I don't have the answer. There must be some way we can help out our neighbors without discouraging accountability. I just don't know what it is.

P.S. I realize that I take risks at offending by expressing my position on certain issues. That's not my goal. But this is, after all, a blog. And I welcome comments to the contrary. As long as they're not too personal. Because I tried to make this as impersonal as possible.

Falling in love with fall.

We had a plan last weekend. Since I had accompanied Anna's kindergarten class to the pumpkin farm on Friday, Tim would take the two younger girls on Saturday while Anna and I attended a Primary activity. So when Tim came home early from work on Friday, sick with a stomach bug, things changed. Instead, I got to go the Primary activity, rush home and make lunch for everyone, and cart all three kids around the pumpkin farm with enough time to get Anna back for an afternoon birthday party.
Thankfully, the girls were perfect angels. They stayed close by my side, never complained about how far they had to lug their own pumpkins, and left the farm without incident. Considering that we had cut into their naptime by an hour, it was truly a miracle. The weather was perfect and the kids even said thank you without provocation on the car ride home (before crashing in their carseats). How sad that dad had to miss the excursion.
Sadly, bad lighting, trouble juggling the camera (and three young kids... and their pumpkins) and a lack of photography skill rendered me unable to capture the joy of the day. Too bad. Here's a few shots, anyway.

Converting the world, one person at a time.

Early in June, while visiting Boston, one of my old college friends introduced me to Facebook. No, I'm not from the Stone Age; I knew what Facebook was, but my main impression was of a younger sister who, while living with us, checked it so regularly that Tim and I finally gave into buying a second computer for Christmas last year. Yes, Jill, you were the inspiration. Hee. Hee.
Upon my friend's suggestion that I set up an account to better keep in touch with long lost singing buddies from Boston U., I did so when I got home from my trip. And haven't really done anything since. I've got a photo (a kind of weird one, at that), a hometown, and that's pretty much it.
I keep getting invitations from friends, who I add to my facebook list, some of which are ones with whom I've not been in touch since before getting married (which seems like an eternity ago). It's rather thrilling, if you ask me. Almost makes me want to jump the bandwagon. Or not.
Something about Facebook makes me wary. Perhaps its the cult-like following, its addictive quality, its propensity to become an enormous time-waster. Arguably, blogging could be categorized in the same fashion. But at least I can pass off blogging as family history. Facebook? I need a little more encouragement. So, if you're a facebook faithful, or not, please tell me why. Otherwise, I'll just keep my head stuck in the sand, as always.

Allowance time.

We've run into a section of scripture during our nightly family study time that primarily discusses units of currency. Since there's not much to discuss on the matter (of a spiritual nature, that is), tonight Tim asked the girls "What do we do with money?"
Anna said, "We save it."
Tim continued, "That's right. What if we need to spend it?"
She replied, "Then we buy something with it, something that's on sale."
Yeah. We're doing something right.

There's a pile of rocks in our driveway.

Yep. It's been sitting there since the end of August. It was on our list of September projects. Since then we've had a string of scheduled (or inclement weather) Saturdays during which Tim hasn't been able squeeze in the time to wheelbarrow (can I use that as a verb?) them back behind our property as weed control.

Our neighbors despise us, because this never-dwindling pile of rocks serves as a great playground for little kids who can't resist the urge to climb it, slide down it, toss a few rocks around the driveway, or collect a few samples and take them home. My kids included, of course. But Tim is not a fan of the mess - so the rocks are off-limits, a sore tempation for little ones and a pain in the rear for those of us attempting to control them.

I'm trying my hardest to pick up the slack at home - requesting very little from my busy husband, who's been working later the last few months, and growing more and more inundated with additional projects - a broken fridge at our rental property, sprinkler issues, busted toilets, etc. All of which he is too cheap (and too handy) to hire someone out to help him. I love him for that. I've even resorted to mowing the lawn - something I swore I would never do - lest I set a dangerous precedent and end up doing it for the rest of my life. Or at least until my girls are teenagers.

Anyway, my point is not to complain, but to illustrate our current situation. I realized yesterday that much of what prevents Tim from checking to-do's off his list is his willingness to serve at inconvenient times. He responds about 90% of the time to last-minute calls for help with those moving into our neighborhood. He takes time off of work to serve at the cannery. He serves faithfully as a home teacher and in his calling. I'm sure many of you can say the same about your husbands, as well. Yesterday, he agreed to help clean the church when there was no one else available. He showed up and found our good bishop and his kids helping out. Yeah, as if the bishop has nothing else on his plate...

Tim could certainly explain away an inability to serve with his 3 very young children and pregnant wife at home. It's so easy to anticipate that someone else with a less hectic lifestyle could more easily do it. I've done it. But notwithstanding the fact that there may not be anyone out there with a less hectic schedule, more importantly, the depth of our sacrifice is a measure of our hearts and ultimately, our standing with God. I'm grateful that Tim wants to score more points in heaven than on earth. He is a true example to me.

Oh, and I'm also pretty stoked that he managed to spend a few hours whittling the aforementioned pile of rocks down to about 1/3 its previous size.

24 hour flu.

I've woken up to barf the past two mornings. This phenonmenon is unique to my youngest daughter. I always thought that a 24-hour bug simply meant not being able to keep anything down for about 24 hours before a full recovery. Not so with Rachel. Her version includes vomiting once every 24 hours for an indefinite period before ridding herself of the bug. The strangest thing about it is that she seems perfectly normal in between these bouts.
My favorite time was earlier this summer when I was enjoying the nausea of early pregnancy and took the family to McDonald's for dinner. After playing happily in the PlayPlace for 45 minutes or so, she unloaded her dinner all over the floor. Yum.
The next night, we went to Applebee's (we went out to eat a lot during that period, you faithful readers might recall) and, after a relatively uneventful meal - meaning, there was no mad rush to get the check before someone had a meltdown - Rachel decided that my lap was a perfect location for a violent upheaval of her grilled cheese sandwich and lemonade. I covered her mouth and carried her, spewing liquid grossness through my fingers, from the restaurant. It was not one of my most glorious moments.
Anyway, I guess I should count my blessings that her latest 24 hour flu has not manifested itself in public. In fact, I am grateful, trust me. But I'm also praying that I don't get a 6:30 a.m. wake-up call tomorrow morning.

Shopping anyone?

The list has grown to such a length that there's no way I can possibly drag the girls through the store at such a clip so as to avoid any embarassments and still get everything on it. Even with the 5 minute (at best) distraction that an Albertson's chocolate chip cookie might provide, it's just not gonna happen. Bread and milk will just have to wait another day...

A truly organic experience.

Hot showers. Aren't they wonderful? In my life, showers fit into several categories:

1. The get-down-to-business shower. You know the type. It's basically a mad rush of shampooing, conditioning, washing, shaving, rinsing and toweling off before the kids kill each other.

2. The family shower. Once upon a time this involved only one child but rather than squeeze all three of my children into a small space, I now plop the two oldest into the soaker tub to play while Rachel and I mimic the get-down-to-business shower and hop out just in time to get dressed (or throw on a bathrobe, in my case) and help the older girls wash their hair.

3. The abbreviated get-down-to-business shower. Same as above, minus the shaving. Am I the only one with hairy legs half the time?

4. The forever shower. My personal favorite. It seems like forever, but it's probably more like 20 minutes - of pure bliss. I might fit in the essentials of cleaning but when I'm lucky enough to get a forever shower, the true joy of it is not in the logistics but in the experience. 20 minutes of back massaging hot water, 20 minutes of sheer cleanliness, 20 minutes alone. And that, is really where the magic lies.

Success is...

Two questions to which I can answer in the affirmative when I've had a successful day:
1. Did I spend quality time with my kids?
2. Was I able to complete several (if not, many!) tasks either on or off my to-do list?
I've had days where I've either done one or the other, and I've had a few days where I've pretty much done nothing worthwhile at all (though, thankfully, not many). Either way, I feel pretty crappy.
Take last Saturday, for example. Tim and I spent most of our day catching up on projects that were anxiously awaiting us after our weeklong trip to San Diego. In the accomplishment arena, we did just fine. But I don't think the kids left the house all day. We might have fed them a couple of times, maybe even played a game or two with them. Otherwise, our girls were victims of neglect. At the end of the day, I felt like a loser of a mother.
I've made up for it this week. This morning I even overlooked a mile-long grocery list so that we could visit the zoo. The kids were mesmerized by the new African plains exhibit - our dinky little zoo now has lions and giraffes! Seriously cool. And cold. We lasted about an hour in the 40-something degree weather.
Anyway, while I definitely feel that accomplishment takes a backseat to playing with my children, I need both components to feel some measure of success. And so it is. Enjoy the pictures.

Why not?

I've wanted to post about this for some time now - probably about a year, but have been somewhat wary because of the sensitive nature of the subject. I'm a reasonably opinionated person and once wrote about a topic that I feel very strongly about but somehow it all came out wrong so I withdrew the post. So, I post now with a small degree of trepidation, only because I know that the decision to experience an unmedicated birth is, for some, a deeply personal subject.
Not so much for me. I often have people ask me why I prefer to forego an epidural during childbirth (which is largely why I post about it now, because I've been asked SO many times, I thought I'd get it down on paper). My response to them: "Because I was curious." Although an epidural seems to go hand-in-hand with labor nowadays, with most medical professionals assuming that is the route each and every woman is going to take, I couldn't resist the draw to experience labor in all its glory. Just because. It's not as if I was opposed to medication - or that I would feel a failure for giving into the pleasure of a pain-free birth experience. I simply wanted to try it.
What I didn't know was that a unmedicated labor isn't something one just tries. One needs adequate preparation. So, after giving birth to my oldest and realizing that the oh-so-wonderful epidural I received came just 15 minutes before I was fully dilated, I decided to give it another go the second time around. I read numerous books on "natural childbirth" and talked to several moms about how they manage the pain, which empowered me to labor mostly at home with my second daughter, make it to the hospital only 45 minutes before giving birth to her and satisfy my curiosity about this whole childbirth thingy.
So, my curiosity abated, is it masochistic to keep doing it this way? Not at all. I really like it. To some, that may seem like lunacy. Much like it sounds insane to me to run over 26 miles in several hours. But tell that to one who has competed in a number of marathons and she'll probably tell you that, though tiring (and possibly painful at times), to accomplish a seemingly insurmountable goal is exhilarating. It's not like I enjoy contractions. Or that I feel completely composed while my insides feel like they're being crushed. But, in this case, for me, the outcome fully justifies the agony. Both times, my babies have been fully alert, ready to eat and placed gently in my arms without the complications that the IV's, catheters and numb legs resulting from epidurals present.
I could go on and on about the risks associated with epidurals, but you can research it for yourselves. Besides, it was only after I had committed myself to trying labor without medication that I discovered that information. Sure, the risks are small. But in my simple cost-benefit analysis and personal experience, I've found foregoing the epidural to be well worth it. And not just because it saved me $70 in coinsurance.
One final thought: no one can analyze another's labor. I've had a few well-meaning people somewhat minimize my pain by saying things like "well, your babies come fast" or "you were born to give birth". Maybe that's true, maybe it isn't. It's too subjective an experience to presume something like that. Which is why I perfectly understand why someone would opt for an epidural. Even the best of labors is, unless you are some lucky soul, excruciating.
So there you have it. I'm crazy and I love it. So, if you think you might be crazy enough to try birthing without an epidural, email me. I'm just full of ideas. You may find it to be horrific. You might discover it to be wondrous. More than likely, it'll be both.

Are you kidding me?

Okay, so there wasn't enough to build a full-fledged snowman, but ample accumulation to form a decent-sized head, compliments of Anna. Earliest date for snow accumulation in Boise ever. Yikes. I'm a warm weather chick at heart. It sure was beautiful watching it come down, though. From inside my toasty house, that is. While sipping hot cocoa. And donning my slippers.

Disneyland, poor man's style.

We scored tickets to San Diego in July that cost us barely over $500(including a Southwest credit) to fly our entire family roundtrip in October. Our last visit was over a year ago, October is low season at Disneyland (supposedly) but still warm enough to hit the beach, we figured it was a wise purchase. That was in July. The week before our scheduled vacation, the economy took a nosedive and we couldn't help but second-guess our decision. Sure, the plane tickets were cheap and paid for, but Disneyland (which we've been promising Anna for the last year)? Not so much. It looked more and more like we'd be shelling out the same amount of cash for Disneyland passes as we did just to get down there.

Well, we went through with it. And here's a bit of what Disneyland on a budget involves:

1. Packing lots of snacks. We pretty much lived on the fruit, vegetables, string cheese and trail mix I packed for the first day. Finally, 6:00 rolled around and we decided that something a bit more substantial was in order. Tim ran across the street to McDonald's and we chowed down on burgers and fries while we watched the parade. The second day we started off with Sausage McMuffins for breakfast, double cheeseburgers for lunch, and shared a $32 large pizza between 6 adults and 5 kids for dinner. Yep, that's right, we ate McDonalds three meals in a row. Ick.

2. Staying from open to close. We ran our kids (and ourselves!) ragged. The first day from 10 am to 8 pm and the second day from 8 am to 10 pm. Anna held up beautifully, Rachel indulged in a couple of very long stroller naps, and Lily, well she did what she does best, she melted down when the going got tough and fell asleep in my arms while waiting for the Haunted Mansion. I've never had sciatica before, but after 30 minutes of carrying a 35 pound child while 6 months pregnant, I think I'm starting to get the idea. As for me, I only melted down once - a crying session on a bench in Frontierland. I had good reason: Lily and her cousin ran off while I was helping Anna in the bathroom and it took us 5 minutes (an eternity!) to find them. Scary.

3. Filling up water bottles in the drinking fountains. Do you know how much it costs for bottled water in the magical kingdom? Me neither. I'm sure it tastes better than Anaheim tap water, though.

4. Cramming eight people into a dirt cheap motel room overnight to skip the parking and shuttle fees (not to mention the 1 1/2 hour drive from SD). And I truly mean "dirt" cheap. It's a place to sleep, right?

Check it out. We spent 24 hours in the park over a period of 36 hours and only took two pictures. That's how busy we were scurrying to and fro. Thank heaven we only do this once in a blue moon. I had blisters the size of China on each of my big toes.

A few other memories:

Anna's favorite ride was Space Mountain but she freaked out on the Nemo ride (a little too realistic for her, I suppose). She truly thought we were going deep into the ocean.

It's official. Rachel is afraid of heights. Her fear reared it's ugly head when we took her on the ferris wheel at California Adventure. She burrowed holes into my arms with her fingernails.

Lily was a bit discouraged that she missed the height requirement for all the big rides by only half an inch. But, true to form, she was content to ride pretty much everything else without complaint. I love that about her. Her complacency, that is.

Disneyland really is magical. Anything that can get my kids to be flexible under less than ideal circumstances has a power in itself. I even convinced a completely exhausted Anna that she didn't need Mickey Mouse ears to be happy. Truly a major feat. We'll go again. In about 4 to 5 years, maybe.

Need a job?

WANTED: Top executive for train-wreck bank about to be seized by federal regulators. Must be able to look busy while FDIC sells business from under you. Previous experience with angry shareholders sitting on worthless stock a plus. Perks: $7.5 million hiring bonus and $11.6 million cash severance.

Yep, the CEO for WaMu just walked away with $19 million for doing jack squat.

A is for Anna.

Anna's teacher called today. I had mentioned to her that Anna is an excellent reader but wondered if Anna had shown enough courage to actually display her ability in class. Turns out Anna has met with the reading specialist a couple of times and not said a single word. I'm a little frustrated, I admit, though not surprised at all. Mrs. T. said that if her fear prevents her from reading with a teacher, then putting her with a group of 1st graders for reading would truly be intimidating. Probably not Anna's cup of tea. I agree. And yet, there's something very disconcerting about a girl who's reading (easily) at a second grade level who will not bother to try her best when given the opportunity.

It's not about bragging rights. I don't care if my child reads below or above grade level, as long she's trying her best. But she seems content to practice writing letters that she's known since she was two. In fact, she loves kindergarten! So why the worry? I don't know, I suppose I want her to feel the joy that comes from achievement, the confidence that one finds in excelling. Though I wasn't ever at the top of my class, much of my junior high and high school identity was linked to my performance in class and music. For me, it was easier to weather the insecurity that plagues most teenagers because I felt that even though I wasn't skinny, or funny, or unbelievably athletic, I did what I did best. I figured out what my talents were early on, and I took great pride in them. Perhaps I'm just hoping that Anna figures it out early too.

Anna was spared a lecture today. I took the light-hearted approach by teasing her about being scared of the reading specialist. She laughed when I asked her if she thought that monsters would start crawling out of the teacher's desk if Anna started reading. Or if her pencil would come alive and poke Anna in the eye. Then I made sure to sneak in a little plug about doing your best and not letting shyness get in the way of doing a good job. I hope it worked.

Now let us rejoice.

The news has been sobering the past few weeks. Part of me wants the people whose greed facilitated the financial disaster we've found ourselves in to pay the resulting consequences. Let 'em have it. And yet I fear that allowing such a thing to happen would, as the folks pushing for the bailout package keep telling us, result in a fallout that could have lasting consequences for all Americans. The imagination runs wild considering all the possibilities that could befall us. Selfishly, I prefer to avoid them. It's not as if our family is overextended or that we have been caught up in the tide of indulgence that has swept our country. On the other hand, are we so prepared that we'd be unaffected by a severe financial crisis? Not at all. There is much more we could be doing.

Despite Tim's reassurances that we can ride out whatever storm comes our way, I've had a hard time mustering the faith to accept that we might be collateral damage in a situation to which we (and so many others) did not contribute. Last night, as I attended the General Relief Society Broadcast at our stake center, I received the answers I had been looking for. The talks were, of course, inspiring. But what really moved me were the lyrics to the last verse of a song that we sing at just about every General Conference I've watched, Now Let Us Rejoice:

With faith we'll rely on the arm of Jehovah
to guide through these last days of trouble and gloom.
And after the scourges and harvest are over
we'll rise with the just when the Savior doth come.
Then all that was promised the Saints will be given
and they will be crown'd with the angels of heav'n
And earth will appear as the Garden of Eden
and Christ and his people will ever be one.

I knew that. I knew that. But the Spirit brought peace that passeth all understanding. It was an answer to a prayer.

Mother's intuition?

Just for kicks, I decided to shake things up by not finding out the gender of my baby this pregnancy. Such a move was a bit risky, having three girls at home, and oodles of pink stored in Rubbermaid bins throughout our closets. But, at our ultrasound a few weeks ago, the technician discovered a cyst that, while no huge cause for concern, is worth watching to see if it will continue to grow or shrink away, as it should. Which means that, for the first time in one of my pregnancies, I will have not one, but two ultrasounds. Which means that I have to endure another 45 minutes of watching my little "it" squirm and wiggle without finding out if "it" is really a he or she. It was hard enough the first time.

The other night I asked Tim if he had any "impressions" as to what the gender of this child may be. He didn't. "Why do you ask?", he said. I responded that every time I think of this baby, I picture a boy. And I don't particularly want a boy. Always the skeptic, he passed my gut feeling off as just that, a feeling. And he's probably right. But to this impatient planner for whom lessons and activities are typically planned out days in advance, I'm not thrilled about the possibility of running off to Target with a newborn at home, scrambling to find something besides flowers and butterflies for his wardrobe.

Odds are, we've got a bit of sugar and spice and everything nice growing inside. Please, oh please, let it be.

I deserve it.

A bad habit has crept its way into my life this pregnancy. I find that, by the time 8:00 rolls around and the kids have been tucked in, I want nothing more than to scoop myself a bowl of ice cream and flip channels (yeah, all five of them). I guess it's just my way of rewarding myself. Of saying, I've worked my tail off today and I deserve some pampering.
While I don't give into my 8:00 craving (at least not every day), it still bothers me that food has evolved into this emotional crutch lately. After all, I'm not terribly hungry, having eaten dinner only 2 hours earlier. And why is it that relaxing in the tub or reading a good book just doesn't provide the same euphoria as a giant bowl of Peanut Butter Cup? It bothers me. But not enough. In fact, blogging about it has only exacerbated the craving. Where the heck is my ice cream scoop?

The healthiest kid in the neighborhood.

The last two weeks have been a huge Joy School fest at our house. We're learning about our bodies, what a "joy" they are, and how to take care of them. Coincidentally. I'm also reading a book about health and nuritition as it pertains to kids and have found it to be quite enlightening. So yesterday we had a flannelboard discussion where I divided the flannelboard in half and each child randomly drew a picture of a food item and had to place it on the "healthy" food side or the "sometimes" food side.

Surprisingly, Lily was spot on with all of her choices. She proudly pulled out the broccoli and announced, "Healthy food!" before placing it on the board. She later picked out the pear, "Healthy food!" Correct again. I think that instead of mentally processing which foods were healthy and which ones were sometimes foods, she determined her answer solely by whether or not she likes the item. Dislike equals healthy food. Want to eat it all the time equals sometimes food.

She likes to inform me that when she's four, she'll start eating all the foods for which she currently turns up her nose. I'm not crossing my fingers.

A thing of beauty.

I sat quietly at the table, long after my kids had cleared their own dishes, enjoying leftover Lamb Korma and Chicken Makhani (yes, it's lasted us this long) for lunch, admiring the backdrop of red and white roses I strategically planted in front of our dining area window. In the foreground I noticed a pattern of sweet little fingerprints on my window sill, a kaleidoscope of peanut butter, and jelly, and cupcake frosting, and spaghetti sauce, and who knows what else not-so-strategically placed by busy little children. My busy little children. Oh, how I love them.

Happy 30th.

Tuesday was Tim's 30th birthday. Yes, I married a younger man. He likes to remind me of that often. A few weeks ago I asked him how he wanted to celebrate his big day and he replied that he just wanted to spend it with the family, maybe grab a bite to eat for dinner, nothing big. Part of me was relieved. After all, pregnancy is not my favorite time to add demands to the plate, if you will. But, knowing how social Tim is, and recalling how many times he's remarked in the past few months how "we just don't have anyone over anymore", I read between the "oh, I don't need anything big" lines and had him pick four families with which to have Sunday dinner (two days before his actual birthday). His first selection: a family in our ward who have seven children. Seven! I almost cut the list right there. His next few choices were a little more reasonable, so I went on with the original plan.
I spent five days last week whipping up some of Tim's favorite Indian dishes, one a day, to be exact, and two additional days concocting a five layer peanut butter and chocolate cheesecake, froze them all, and broke them out again before the big event. The food was delectable (I'm not bragging, though!), the company was great and it reminded me how much we love having visitors... and how we hate the cleanup. The 13 kids we hosted made sure that our back patio was smeared with cupcakes. Which is exactly why we sent them outside... But still, we love company and wish that convenience and company were better companions because it would enable us to have everyone we care about over frequently instead of the once in a blue moon to which we have grown accustomed.
How I know it was a great success? Tim practically grabbed the phone away from me that evening as I was talking to my mother and said something to the effect of, "Thank you so much for your daughter. You put in all the work, and I get to enjoy the benefits." Score.
Good thing I put in all the work last week because on his birthday, I taught Joy School, which typically renders me completely unmotivated to accomplish anything else that day (including getting a decent dinner on the table) so we packed the kids up and headed to Outback. Mmmm.

Lip service.

After a bleak few months where I could muster no enthusiasm for either of the presidential candidates, the announcement of the vice presidential nominees has made things fun again. Though I'm still undecided, I'm truly reveling in the media heyday that has ensued in recent weeks. My cousin linked a video of the SNL skit depicting Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin on her blog. Did you guys see it? Hilarious.
Tim also referred me to a pretty funny (and accurate) Jib Jab video. Has anyone else become disenchanted by the remarkable ability of polilticians to rally support by making empty promises? I have been a victim of getting caught up in the hype of conventions and campaigns only to find that the principles that candidates so boldly pushed before they were elected take a backseat to bureaucracy once they step into their roles. Ugh.

Sans camera.

Some of my most cherished moments cannot be captured by camera. The planting of 130 hyacinths this morning, for instance. I finally asked Anna to run inside and grab the camera so that I could shed my dirt-ridden gloves to take a few. After a 20 minute push-and-shove session over their daily jobs (getting dressed, brushing hair and teeth, tidying their rooms, and making their beds - I know, such difficult chores) they jumped at the chance to join me in the front yard to "help". Let's face it, kids love dirt. And sometimes, they actually enjoy work, too. As long as it involves dirt...

Sailing behind my "big girl" as she rides her bike to school. On a 75 degree day, like today, it's especially delightful.

Reading in bed with the kids. Playing "ponies" with Lily. Snuggling with Rachel as she rouses from an afternoon nap. She still carries that slight hint of "baby" that is so precious and yummy. Those are just a few. And all but one have not been recorded successfully on camera.

Labor Day pics.

Yep, I'm not so quick on the draw, but I couldn't forget to include a few great pictures of the little "hike" we took with the kids when my parents were visiting. We walked along a bit of the Oregon Trail in the reserve that is pretty much a stone's throw from our house. Until now, we hadn't really ventured over there. Sad. The actual terrain is pretty much flat and replete with sagebrush and other less-appealing vegetation, but we captured a couple nice views of the river, foothills, and valley and enjoyed the few tidbits of history the Parks and Rec. Dept. so kindly provided along the way. The kids were begging for piggy-back rides after a mere 30 minutes. They even complained that it was harder than their hike to Table Rock. Ha! Thanks, Grandpa and Grandma for keeping them up way too late the night before.

We indulged in a dollar movie (Kung Fu Panda) before sending Grandpa home alone. Grandma stayed for a couple more days and got to relive the sweet monotony of early motherhood. I think she actually enjoyed it. So did I. Thanks for coming guys.

What we've been up to.

What I've been up to is neglecting my blog, that's what. And not for a lack of good material. I have a habit of logging into blogger briefly, allowing myself just enough time to type in a title and a first sentence of a blog post that has been on my mind. This way I can complete my thoughts when I get around to it. Except that I haven't gotten around to it for a while now. Blogging has simply slipped on the list of priorities.
So here's a quick recap.
First, the presidential election just got interesting again. Plenty of thoughts on Governor Palin, both good and bad. Really, though, she's gotten the press talking again. Can't say the same for Obama's VP pick. Boring.
Lily started Joy School and is a pro. She sings all the songs, participates in each activity with enthusiasm, and completely knows the drill. Guess it helps that she's been Anna's Joy School shadow for the past two years.
We spent Labor Day with my parents, who drove up for the holiday. I'll be sure to post pictures soon.
September is shaping up to be a busy month for our family. We've been complaining about the weeds that have slowly encroached closer and closer to our property line (in the common area)for months now, as they have also invaded a couple of beds in our backyard. With the recent fires in our neighborhood we are extra motivated to clear that space once and for all. We've spent the last two Saturdays hacking down weeds, spraying them, and laying down weed mats 12 feet back from our property line. Tomorrow 15 yards of rock will be delivered covering the entire area with a bed at least 4 inches deep. Just when I thought our landscaping projects were over and done with, now we're working on land we don't even own! The upside is, since the homeowner's association hasn't bothered to clear the brush for us, perhaps they won't notice the vegetable garden I'll be planting there next spring.
Rachel's now speaking in phrases, has graduated to a toddler bed and recognizes the urge to use the bathroom (though she hasn't quite made it into the potty yet). I'm not rushing a 21-month old, just humoring her. She is the apple of Tim's eye.
Sometimes I just want to freeze time and keep them little forever. Little and innocent. Little and trusting. Little and squeezable. I will miss them when they grow up. Sure, I'm exhausted by the rigors of early parenthood. I can't wait till Tim gets home everyday to relieve me. I anticipate each opportunity to spend time alone on a date with my husband. I wish I had the opportunity to relax in the soaker tub that is collecting dust in my oversized master bathroom. I can't wait until a family bike ride does not involve only me on one bike pulling three kids in some fashion (although Anna has graduated to her own two wheels, the bun in the oven will soon require his/her own seat).
All of that being said, my joy is overflowing. My life is so rich that I can't help but want to grasp onto it as if it couldn't get any better. Can it?