Mind over matter.

Dinner tonight was Ahi Tuna. While reading the menu, I managed to skim over the fact that it was cooked to medium rare. You'd think living in Asia for over 13 years would have endeared me to raw fish. Nope. Give me California rolls anyday over sushi.

But I had paid for it... and I was hungry... and it was expensive. So I bit the bullet and ate it. And only then did I begin to understand how Lily feels practically every time she sits down to a meal. I used to think she was just playing me until I acquiesced to her demands for a different dinner. Okay, most of the time, she probably is trying to play me. But occasionally, she probably wants to yack. Just as I wanted to as I stomached the raw fish that had found its way onto my dinner plate the other night.

On another note, Avatar in 3D was pretty cool.

Thanks for a hot date, honey.

Second Christmas.

It's becoming somewhat of a tradition. Each year Tim's parents (and grandparents) shower our kids with insane amounts of presents that spoil them absolutely rotten. Problem is, they live in Southern California. And inevitably some (or all, in this year's case) of the present arrive after Christmas. We even enjoyed one year where we got a steady stream of packages for an entire week after the big holiday. It was like Christmas all over again. And again. And again.
So this year, when the big package arrived 4 days late, I dubbed it "Second Christmas". You know, like a hobbit's second breakfast. Tee hee.
Thanks Grandma and Grandpa E. for spoiling our kids so that we don't have to.

Merry Christmas.

Ah, it was a delightful day. And, in case I've failed to mention it in the past, I have the cutest kids in the whole wide world.

Joy to the world.

It's Christmas Eve and I wrapped all the presents early this year so I've a few minutes to blog. Why not document a few highlights of the season?

1. Decorating Christmas ornaments.
2. Trimming the tree. We put the kids to work assembling our Target clearance scotch pine and I am the official light putter-upper.



3. Watching Mr. Krueger's Christmas. Don't mind the barf bowl.


4. Joy School Christmas party complete with nativity program.
Rachel as the star of Bethlehem.

And Lily as the angel.



5. Making and delivering treats. I used a different tactic this year and, instead of meticulously counting out how many plates I wanted to deliver and baking cookies accordingly, I just baked and assembled what was available. Which resulted in... a lot fewer plates. So, if you didn't make the cut this year - I'm sorry. Better luck next year!

6. Sending out Christmas cards. Many thanks to my own personal sweatshop.



7. Anna using some old scraps of fabric to design a baby quilt.


8. Eve learning to stand. The flushing of toilets and closing of bathroom doors is now strictly enforced.


9. Riding in a four-wheeler drawn sleigh.


10. Reading the Christmas story from Luke on Christmas Eve with nary an interruption.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Dear Santa.

It's time for a change.

I've been wearing the same pair of black shoes to church for the past 6 years. They're not even cute. They're open-toed and yes, I wear them in the winter. But they work. I'm a practical kind of girl, you see. And I happen to have no fashion sense, on top of that. So I wear shoes that I should be embarressed about, while "black dress shoes" rests a few notches down from the top on my wish list waiting for the fateful day when my shoes actually fall apart and I'm forced into upgrading.

I do have a backup pair, for snowy days, shoes with which I can actually sport a pair of nylons. But they are even older and uglier than the ones I wear regularly, so they remain at the back of my closet, destined to end up in the donation pile someday. I've considered consulting someone with a sense of style to assist me in shopping for a new pair. But then, that someone would probably suggest something outlandish like buying several pairs to dress up a variety of outfits and I'd be forced to break the bank. Unacceptable.

Please help. I've been nice instead of naughty this year. But you already know that.

A gift.

I've been in a bit of a "Scroogy" mood lately. Deprivation remains hidden in our part of the country/world so, though I realize people are suffering somewhere, somehow, it's hard to see past the materialism that dominates our culture. For instance I taught Joy School a few weeks ago and we did a sub-for-santa activity where each child brought a toy from home (gently used) or bought a toy with his own money to give to "needy" children. I was not looking forward to it, largely because I personally don't think that kids (or anyone, for that matter) "need" toys. I even cringe at the idea of buying my own kids toys for Christmas. Plus, if a family's really destitute, wouldn't a 25 pound bag of wheat fit the bill? That was my bah-humbug.

Apparently, the lesson was for me. Some kids give gifts begrudgingly. That day, they lit up at the prospect of bringing Christmas to someone else. They couldn't fathom the idea that someone their age would not be getting toys for Christmas this year. They each went home, motivated to give the best that they could. One boy told his mom he wanted to give his very favorite toy to the children. And he did. Without hesitation. My own daughter picked out a toy from our treasure chest of toys that we buy on clearance for birthday parties, selected what she felt to be the ultimate prize and pulled out hard-earned money from her piggy bank to pay for it. Without complaint. Other moms have since mentioned what a positive experience it has been for their child (and by extension, for their family) by participating in this activity.

Perhaps children don't really "need" toys. But our children needed to give them. And I needed the reminder that truly, it is better to give than to receive.

Obedience: The first law of heaven.

It started out as a routine grocery store trip. Which is, even on the best of days, never routine. They received the usual reminder of what behavior is expected of them in public - no screaming, running away from mom, picking and eating boogers - you know, everything they do at home with reckless abandon. And then we were off.

The little ones were excited to help me pick out produce - so excited that they began to fight over who would do what. So excited that Lily planted herself smack dab in front of a stack of oranges while we meandered through the rest of the produce section. So excited that she then yelled across the store "Mom, can I get this bag of oranges?" and somehow failed to notice how many times I shook my head and ushered her closer to the rest of the clan.

She must have repeated herself five or six times, the volume increasing with each request. I walked closer, warned her that if she did not quiet down and join us, she would not be able to pick out anything. She started wailing. I couldn't seem to figure out the connection between her response and what I thought to be a pretty reasonable warning. I upped the ante.

"Lily, quiet down or you will have to sit in the cart for the rest of our trip." More wailing. I was losing my temper.

"Lily, I would be happy to talk to you when you stop screaming. If you don't, though, we are leaving the store. No picking out oranges, no cookie(gotta love Albertson's freebies), no play time when you get home. You will go straight to your room."

I guess she thought that was a pretty good exchange for unleashing her worst behavior. I plopped her in the grocery cart, took the two items we had managed to pick out in the minute since we had entered the store, and rushed to the checkout. It was so bad, the man in front of us in line told her to shut her mouth. Not that it was his place to say it, but seriously, my kid can raise hell when she puts her mind to it.

You wouldn't believe how well my other three children behaved while all this went down - it was as if they were trying to compensate for the disaster that was Lily that particular morning. We made it home, stuck her in her room and found her asleep within 20 minutes.

The silver lining? I got a $9 off your next shopping trip coupon for spending less than $5. I went without the kids, of course.

Adoption.

I'm a pretty opinionated person. As a teenager I felt it my obligation to tell everyone exactly what they were doing wrong. And why. Oh yeah, my tongue could spar with the best of them. No one could possibly win an argument with me. (At least that was my perception - now I'm guessing I probably looked pretty stupid half the time).

Then I grew up a bit. Oh, I still have opinions. Only now they're backed by research and shaped by experience. And I manage to keep my mouth shut most of the time, just for good measure.

The other day, though, I got into a discussion about adoption - not usually a terribly controversial topic, I suppose. But this particular day, my mood was especially tart, my inhibitions, well, nonexistent, actually. I boldly remarked that people who get pregnant out of wedlock and keep their babies are selfish. Strong word, I know. Especially since keeping the baby is actually honorable when not supported by the father and, in consideration of other alternatives that are readily available to people who find themselves pregnant under less-than-desirable circumstances.

Anyway, I suppose I could offer some explanation as to why I made such an argument But I won't. I will suggest that adoption is a remarkable process - a miracle, of sorts, to see a child paired up with a two-parent family who so desperately wants to bring children into their home. I realize that it is a deeply personal decision and will refrain from making offensive assertions about those who choose otherwise. However, I am inspired by those who place their children in loving homes in the hopes of securing a better future for their son or daughter. How painful it would be. Which is what makes it all the more selfless, as I see it.

Jekyl and Hyde.

I have a laundry load dedicated solely to pinks at my house. Sometimes two loads, depending on how many blankets Rachel decided to pee on during previous nights. Pulling out a pink lint tray is pretty darn cute. But the reality of pink rears its ugly head at our house right around the age of three.

If there were a boarding school for three-year-old girls I'd say, "Sign me up, baby." At least that way, I could guarantee that she would survive to see her fourth birthday. I've got one word to describe the age of three at our house: Regression. I get to kiss every positive personality trait I thought my child possessed out the window for at least a year thereafter. At least. In their place I experience a whole lot of screaming, whining, impulsiveness, defiance, and disobedience. Take Rachel, for instance. She's got a killer personality. Had a killer personality. Now there are so many layers of "the threes" that I don't really like her. Can I say that? I love her dearly. But I don't like her so much right now.

She sits on Eve's back when she crawls. She refuses to wear socks. Or a coat (we've been floating in the single digits for about a week now). If someone even looks at a toy that she has played with in the last 24 hours, she'll scream at them bloody murder until it's tucked safely in her arms. Her favorite phrase right now? "You're the meanest sister in the whole wide world!"

Oh, I love her. But I hate three.

My Antonia

In the way of book reviews, I rather enjoyed My Antonia, by Willa Cather. The imagery was stunning - I've always seen Nebraska as the state one must endure while driving I-80 to Chicago. But to those who settled it, I'm sure beauty must have peeked through the harshness that was winter in those parts.

Notwithstanding how I enjoyed this particular tale, its characters and the various themes that forced reflection, I was completely turned off by the foreword. I made the mistake of reading it before beginning the novel - which didn't necessarily taint my experience, but left a bad taste in my mouth in and of itself.
Basically, three-quarters of the thing was about Willa Cather's sexual orientation. Whether or not there is evidence to support the idea that she was a lesbian, I don't see why that has to be the primary factor that influenced her writing. It really bothers me that sexual orientation has become such a defining characteristic for everyone these days. It is one of many traits that shape a person, not the be all and end all.

I could go on and on. The foreword was a temporary setback. But once I got past it, I loved the book. It made me grateful for the comforts of life I enjoy - the fact that when I travel to visit someone, I arrive after only a few hours of travel in the luxury of a plane or car, with a warm bed waiting for me, a fridge full of food. Having to hunt or search for food and build my own shelter after months of travel in the bitter cold is an experience I'm glad I don't have to endure. It's remarkable isn't it? How we take things for granted? I think it's possible to be happy under any circumstances; but it's determine by the level of gratitude one can attain.

The book also gave me a glmpse of true Christian service - of helping others even when the receiver is undeserving or ungrateful, of biting one's tongue when he feels his temper rising, of turning the other cheek. Too often I forget the role mercy plays and favor justice.

I suppose I'm rambling. All in all, I would recommend My Antonia, otherwise I would not be blogging about it. Just don't bother with the foreword.

Thanksgiving.

Thanks for a great time, family. We ate, played Ticket to Ride, ate some more, played Ticket to Ride again, and again. We visited, ate even more (noticing a pattern here?), decorated graham cracker houses, took the kids to Jump On It, watched a nail-biter BYU game, and went home a few pounds heavier. Well, at least Tim did. I lost a pound. Ha!

Hangover.

I woke up this morning and took a look at my house. Really took a look at it. It was showing the signs of days, no, weeks of neglect. I shrugged my shoulders, rolled up my sleeves and got to work. Not much later, I realized that my kids, too, were showing signs of neglect. And their needs were ever so much more pressing. So we sat down and played a game together. But only after I convinced them to clean the playroom, of course.

Last night marked my major debut as the counselor in the Relief Society presidency over weekday meetings. We staged a musical accompanied by dinner. It was awesome - a spiritual experience, indeed. Still, I'm glad it's over. My children and my house will thank me. But only after I host book club tomorrow and teach Joy School next week. (And host a Joy School Christmas party, and send out Christmas cards, and make plates of cookies for neighbors, and, and, and, you know how it goes.)
Truly, though, I love the Christmas season. And somewhere in the middle of the mayhem, we get to reflect on what a marvelous gift the Savior is to us. I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my life and the role that He plays in it.