Gene therapy.

Isn't marriage a crap shoot? Gosh, when I think about the leap of faith I took almost 8 years ago, I marvel that I scored so well. Tim is a perfect complement to me. Having said that, sometimes I wish I had given more thought to the genetic traits that he would be passing on to our offspring. Not that it would have made a difference in my decision, but to someone who has had only a handful of sunburns in her entire life, I wish I could have more say in whose skin they would inherit. Applying sunscreen exhausts me.
Add to that the fact that Tim kept his mother up every night for the first two years of his life. Would have been nice to know.
I recently found out that tongue-tie runs in his family. Hello. Breastfeeding issues. Thanks a lot, honey.
Don't even get me started on the picky-eating (okay, that runs in my family, too), the aversion to being told what to do, and the ability to park oneself in front of the television for hours on end.
I could go on and on.
Of course they inherited only the most charming of characteristics from me.

Oh boy, I've got joy.

Many of my posts about this little beauty revolve around her impossibleness. I feel badly about that. I named her after me (my name means "graceful lily") and, as irony would have it, she has a way of baffling me again and again. The two of us share so few traits. And yet, I can't say enough good about this dear child. She graduated from her first year of Joy School this past week. Though I sometimes worry that her unique form of independence (and sheer loudness) will translate into disruptive behavior in a class setting, I knew, beginning the year that she would thrive in Joy School. You see, to me, Lily embodies "joy". Her complete confidence sometimes betrays her into being perceived as a difficult child. Lily is unique, and she loves it. She is completely convinced that everyone should love her to bits, and we do. She's affectionate, sensitive, friendly, funny, smart, happy, imaginative, creative, and, most surprising of all, she's grateful. How many children do you know who will turn to a mother spontaneously and say, "Mom, thank you for helping me clean up my mess"? Lily does it. She thanks me all the time for the typically overlooked bits of service I render as a mother. I love my Lily, and I'm so proud of who she is and who she's becoming. Congratulations on a great year, Lils.

Hop on pop.

Warning: Shameless bragging mother moment coming up.

I've caught Lily sounding out words in the past few weeks. She turned four in February and I've been sneaking in little pre-reading moments here and there for some time now, not really expecting her to pick up on them. But she's really catching on! She even read Hop on Pop yesterday during quiet time. Sure, she might have been able to set a record for the longest oral recitation of a Dr. Seuss book in history, but still!

As if that isn't enough, since we moved Anna to her own bedroom, she's become quite the little bookworm, devouring chapter books left and right. I caught her boasting to a fellow friend from kindergarten that she had read four chapter books in one night. I don't think her buddy was too impressed. I am though.

How do I love thee?

Phase one of my weight loss plan: No eating past 8:00 p.m. I inevitably save only the most devilish goodies for after the kids' bedtime hour because even though I am a sugar fiend myself, I don't want my kids to end up as despicable as myself. Solution: no eating when I can hide it from the little ones. Total weight loss since beginning of such deprivation? 3 pounds. 20 or so pounds to go, but it's a start.

Phase two? Riding bikes to school with Anna 3 days a week. I don't think I can possibly top the 2 months I towed two kids to and from school twice a day while in my second and third trimesters of pregnancy. But I can at least take advantage of the fact that my husband works insanely close to home and can tend the baby while I put in a meager 20 minutes of cardio. On tap for summer: waking up at six to swim laps at the rec center? Anyone care to join me?

Phase three: I'm in denial. I have to give up sugar. It's like a chain around my neck. It beckons to me after every meal, promising renewed energy only to send me dragging my feet like a turtle until dinnertime rescues me from my self-induced stupor. I know what I need to do. I recognize the health benefits that doing so will likely incur and I want them. But I'm an addict in every sense of the word. Phase three will have to wait.

Belated mother's day.

My mom hopped up to visit us for a couple of days this past week. Aside from participating in the normal rigors of life here, we enjoyed dinner out Friday night without the kids - prime rib and salmon. Yum. Then, as if we hadn't had enough, we indulged in another hour of eating at Cheesecake Factory, aka heaven on earth for dessert addicts. Lest you think we really splurged - it would not have been a true Jackson mother-daughter dinner without the use of a coupon and a gift card. A penny saved...
Yesterday we all drove down to Shoshone Falls to capture them at medium flow. Medium flow? No wonder they call it "Niagara of the West". It was spectacular. Unfortunately, I had inadvertently changed the settings on our camera earlier this week, so we took dozens of pictures of lower-than-usual quality. We will, however, enjoy the memory. Thanks for the visit, Mom!

Oh, no.

A few weeks ago I made a goal to sew one item within the year. Yes, we reach for the stars around here. Lily has been begging for a church bag similar to the one Anna carries, which I made out of a placemat as part of a beginning sewing class two years ago. Unable to find a cute floral pattern that would please her, I bought a solid red placemat and determined that I would dress it up a bit. This is how it turned out.


Lesson number one: When using thick fabrics, first, change the needle. Lesson number two: when you are a sleep-deprived mother of 4 under six, do not pick up a new hobby. I've decided that I rather like sewing. It fulfills one of my most basic desires - to have something to show for my time.
Get in line. I'm still dreaming of reviving my long-lost Chinese-speaking, novel-reading, mountain-climbing, bike-riding, singing, swimming self. Sewing will have to wait for another day.

No expectations.

May I introduce my motto for Mother's Day: No expectations. It's a built-in guarantee for a successful day. My favorite Mother's Day moments:

1. For the first time in 4 years of teaching at church, I have a team teacher and she agreed to teach today.
2. Sleeping in until 8:00. Sure beats 6:00.
3. Waffles and orange juice.
4. Talking with my own, too-amazing-for-words mother on the phone for almost an hour.
5. Catching Tim taking a nap while I was on the phone. The girls were fighting and I was looking for a helping hand so I could keep talking to my mother. I guess he gave at the office. (To his credit, he worked his tail off yesterday and still managed to get breakfast on the table while juggling the three youngest girls this morning - still, I had to laugh.)
6. Lingering after church yielded an unexpected surprise - an extra Mother's Day treat from another ward who had overestimated the number of chocolates they needed. Yum.
7. A crockpot dinner. Easy as pie. (Except that pie isn't, in fact, easy. Or am I missing something?)
8. Catching Rachel photocopying a carpet-cleaning coupon over and over. And over. In color.
9. A gorgeous bouquet of tulips from my own garden (see previous post).
10. And last, but certainly not least. I want to shout it from the rooftops that none, that's right, none of my children had to be removed from any of their church meetings today for misbehavior. Okay, I had to bribe a couple of them with a Tic Tac. Sue me.

Happy Mother's Day!

Two lips.

These make me happy.

Cramping my style.

My name is Susie and I am a goer. For years I felt zero fulfillment if I failed to step out of the house for at least a handful of errands or activities. It's in my blood; I need to be moving. And not in a I-must-train-for-a-marathon way, but in an effort to meet some intrinsic need to accomplish.
As a mother, particularly a mother of four young girls, living in a spot of the country that does not boast perpetual warmth and sunshine, my antsy nature has become somewhat subdued. We find ways to keep busy within the walls of our home - crafting, coloring, playing games, reading, imagining, building, cooking and creating. Still, when summer brings with it endless days of sunshine, and countless options for outdoor activities, the giddyness spills over uncontained as my restlessness gives way to relief, dreaming of hours spent at the pool, weekly visits to the park with friends, trips to the zoo, bike rides around the neighborhood and constant play in the backyard while Tim and I toil over the lawn, flowers and vegetables.
Then reality hits and the logistics of dragging four kids around town suppresses my anticipation of summer. We went to the park this afternoon. Just the four kids and I attempting the impossible. I consider myself a pretty tough cookie, but I may have underestimated the ability of my children to drive me stark raving mad during the infamous pre-dinner hour (which is why I usually plug them into a movie or send them out to our fenced backyard to keep them out of my hair). Sure we all had great fun but I was stupid enough to agree to Anna's pleas to hike up a 25 degree incline to view the canal (which is not, by the way, fenced in at this particular park - yikes!).
Long story short, all three of my walking children came home with at least one cut or scrape, all the while complaining that they wanted to stay longer.
I will not let the daunting task of carting four little kids around keep me from gallivanting around town this summer, partaking of all sorts of fun. I will, however, need a few more weeks of practice.

Mary.

Last week during a visit to the temple, a lady walked up to me and said, "I hope this won't embarress you, but when I first saw you I thought you looked exactly like Mary." As in, the mother of Jesus.
My first thought: Pretty sure you've never seen Mary, lady, but thanks for the compliment.
Second thought: This is weird. She is not the first, but the second person who has told me this in my short lifetime. (Okay, maybe not so short, but a girl can dream, right?) The first time, a man in my hometown thought I looked enough like Mary to take pictures of me dressed as Mary so that he could paint a picture of them and put them on his family Christmas card. Sounds strange, but it was actually quite cool.
Upon relaying this unusually amusing experience to my husband that night, I told him that I thought it flattering that someone (albeit a stranger) would associate me with this remarkable woman. To which he replied, in so many words. "She doesn't even know you. It's because you're hot. Mary was hot."
Hmmmm. Virtuous, faithful, humble, kind, righteous. Of all the adjectives that could be used to describe Mary, he selects "hot". Hot, huh?
I'll take hot.

Bigger and better.

I think I need to stop snapping photos of my kids when they're at their best (or worst, depending on how you look at it). They've caught on to the fact that the most camera-worthy shots usually involve a wreckage of some sort - you know the kind that, if I can stifle the urge to yell at them until after I've taken a picture, it will inevitably bring fun memories in years to come. For instance, this morning, I walk in on this:


And I think to myself: When I said you could use my yarn, I did not imagine this! Clean it up this instant!

Instead I pause, turn around and fetch the camera, snap a few shots and remind them that they will have to clean it up. To which they respond, "Of course, mom." Then they proceed on their merry way being kids, exhilarated that their cuteness was sufficient to keep their somewhat OCD mother from smothering their creativity. Go ahead. Make the mess. I'll have a clean house again someday. And I'll be laughing at the destruction that has visited your homes in the irresistible form of little children.