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?