Fun.

We've been on vacation for a while now. Today, as we near the end of our holiday trip, Tim ventured a question: "So, have you had fun?" I paused for a bit. Have I had fun?

First of all, let me first say that driving over a thousand miles through rain and snow, camping out in an overcrowded house, dealing with four sleep-deprived children, and trying to have fun all the while are pretty much mutually exclusive. As a parent, though, I think it's safe to say that fun can be vicarious so, in that regard, I've had a fabulous time! In other words, the girls have been in heaven.

Still, they are showing the effects of zero naps, sleeping in an unenclosed area for five nights straight, and being spoiled repeatedly with no required chores and not much recourse for misbehavior. It's disheartening to be reminded what little tolerance my children have for obedience. Never the matter, though, it's vacation and they'll be perfect angels when we return to some sense of normalcy, right? Right?

Family time has been in sweet abundance over the past week or so - with every member of Tim's side of the family here to revel in the holiday season. Cousins have played joyfully and siblings and parents have mingled happily. Of all the times of year we could have driven over a thousand miles to SoCal, I might have chosen another, for a dozen reasons. But that's not why we came now. We came to enjoy family. And that's precisely what we got. Here's to a great time. And a Happy New Year!

2010 sewing project.

After four years of scrambling to find costumes for our annual Joy School nativity program, I decided it was high time to make my own set. It's no secret - I pretty much suck at sewing. Fortunately, three and four year olds don't have too much attention to detail when it comes to apparel they will tear on and off in a matter of minutes. So, in one day last week, I gathered remants of fabrics I've had stashed in a sewing drawer since last year and pulled together the first official sewing project of 2010: Costumes for Mary, Joseph, the innkeeper, an angel, a shepherd and a wise man. The pictures are not all-inclusive, a few of the headresses were borrowed from my neighbor, and the quality is oh-so-raw, but I did it!

Snow day.

There's nothing like an entire morning worth of shoveling, building snow forts, throwing snowballs, sledding, and then coming inside, stripping off sopping wet layers of clothes, and collapsing on the couch in exhaustion to sip hot chocolate for lunch to make school seem utterly lame. This was over two weeks ago, but the memory lingers on. As did my run-on sentence.

Faith.

I am fascinated by the comments sections of articles. Even more than the article itself. Based on the nature of the article, you can pretty much predict what sort of argument will ensue between the various readers willing to comment on it. Every once in a while, after poring over an article of some sort, I'll delve into the comments and two things never cease to amaze me about such comments:

1. The extreme opinions of many who seem to find the time to express theirs in such a venue.
2. The lack of kindness people seem to have when it comes to criticizing the other side, likely because they are just nameless, faceless people on the internet.

Mostly, I find a bit of humor in it. Sometimes it makes me ponder a bit.

A few months ago, I read a scientific article, one that didn't leave much of an impression, to be honest, but the comments did. Predictably, the readers comments evolved into a religion vs. science debate, and I read a few of them before recognizing what a complete and utter waste of time it was to do so.

Anyway, this debate has and will inevitably go on forever but, just for fun, I'd like to throw in my two cents. First of all, I'm sure that there are plenty of atheists out there who aren't condescending, but if I were to base my opinion of them on the comments from online articles, I would say they are largely prideful, disdainful, unhappy egoists. Likewise, many who argue for religion do themselves a disservice by coming across as narrow-minded fanatics who haven't opened a book since junior high school. Fortunately, I don't form my opinions so arbitrarily.

So, since we all know I subscribe to the religion argument, let me tell you why:

I have faith. Seeing is NOT believing. A theory is just that: a theory. It cannot be proven right. Many who argue for science suggest that people who believe in God have their heads stuck in the sand or mock them, saying that they must still believe antiquated ideas such as the earth is still flat. To which, my response is, if mankind used to believe that, and we now know differently, obviously, our understanding is limited to the resources we have at our disposal. So who's to say our current understanding will not be replaced hastily by a new discovery. There are no limits on the knowledge that is available, only in our ability to acquire it. Therefore, to call it narrow-minded to believe that what is true is limited to what man knows is confining, at best.

Yesterday's science might teach that proximity to power lines results in a higher incidence of leukemia among residents. Five years later, that will be proven wrong. So to say definitively that current theories based on scientific discoveries are the be all and end all is more narrow-minded (in my view) than to recognize the possibility of a higher being than we humans.

I marvel at the ability of man to explore and learn. But I recognize that there are treasures of knowledge yet to be discovered and I'm continuously stunned at the audacity of self-important people who believe that truth is limited to what humans can comprehend and that the rest of us are bigots. I believe in God. It's not a novel idea. I've never seen Him, nor heard His voice. But my faith in Him bridges the gap between what I understand perfectly and what I do not.

I could say more. Instead I'll end with this scripture from the Book of Mormon:
"Faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things. Therefore, if ye have faith, ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true."

Spinning wheels.

Kids are hard. I get it. Several months ago I was complaining about how difficult my children are (every single one of them) and my friend said, "Oh, ALL kids are difficult." I tried to overlook the fact that she was minimizing my problems, because indeed, every parent has struggles with their children. But I was also surprised by the comment, particularly since she had to call me to pick up my completely berserk child from Joy School on one occasion. Regardless, I took it to heart, reminding myself that since I have never been a fly on a wall in someone else's home or walked in another mother's shoes, I really can't measure the level of "difficult" in my daughters when compared with another's children.
But then I started thinking about it. About why I feel my children are almost too much to bear at times. And here are a few conclusions I've come to:

1. My kids are difficult because I am a good mom, and they are still rotten. I read parenting books, I study the gospel, I pray for answers to various parenting dilemmas, and I proceed with patience and optimism. I spend time with my kids - I teach them values, academics, practical skills. I rarely, if ever neglect them for my own personal desires. I suppose I thought that there should be some sort of payback for the amount of energy I expend on their behalf. But maybe I should just come to terms with the fact that input does not necessarily equal output. But here's my point again - some people have rotten kids and could pinpoint some serious deficiencies in their parenting that contribute to said rottenness. Others have easy kids no matter what they do. Don't get me wrong - my kids are wonderful in SO many ways. But they are also little stinkers - A LOT. And I can't blame it on bad parenting because man, I'm trying. Trying HARD.
2. My kids are difficult because there are some funky genetics at play. Tim and I are great complements to each other. We are an awesome team. But our traits do not manifest themselves nicely in our children. They've got stubbornness, idleness, sometimes irrational emotions, perfectionism and a tendency to hold grudges - all their father's traits. They've also got pride, flaring tempers, fear of failure, contention and intolerance - my traits. Sure, they also inherited some seriously awesome traits from the both of us, but we're not talking about that right now. I'm complaining, remember?
3. My kids are difficult because they're pretty darn close together in age. Having four kids in less than six years is madness at times. I thought that as we emerged from the pregnant/nursing stage that life would settle down a bit. Nope. They're just as demanding as ever.
4. My kids are difficult because they are all girls! So you know how when a woman lives with another woman for an extended period of time, their menstrual cycles synchronize. Picture PMS in little girls ages 2 to 7. It's nuts, I tell you. Then there's the added bonus that although they have many of the characteristics of being female - they also exhibit energy levels akin to little boys. They love dirt, destruction, bouncing, running and, in some cases, hitting too.

Okay, I'm done with the rant. I've had an insanely busy few months and am grasping for some measure of success amidst the tumult of obligations I can't seem to balance adequately. But there you have it. My kids are talented, smart, capable, sweet, affectionate, sensitive, creative and happy. Today, though, I'm wishing they were mild-mannered, obedient, reverent and grateful, too. In the meantime, I'll just keep spinning my wheels, I guess.

A few Christmas traditions.

Decorating the tree. Carpenter's Christmas album playing in the background, of course.





Homemade ornaments - this year it was pinecone Christmas trees.



Goodies.
Would you believe we made and delivered twenty plates of Christmas treats this year and have no pictures to show for it? Dang. They were good this year, too. Mint truffles, caramels, toffee, peanut butter Hershey kiss cookies, fudge and sugar cookies. The girls worked assembly line style - separating baking cups, filling them with candy, separating them onto plates, sneaking a few for themselves... my girls are lean, mean working machines, I tell you.

The snail mail Christmas cards just won't be making it to your doors this year - between teaching Joy School twice this month, planning a Christmas luncheon for sixty plus people and just the everyday rigmarole of holiday family life, time has slipped from my grasp. So sorry. More December pics to come, though. When I can squeeze it in, that is.

Apple pie on the menu.

When I was in college, I had a goal to give any guy who asked me out (as long as he wasn't an obvious creep, that is) one chance. I figured I owed him at least that before writing the possibility of "us" off completely. One date to see if we had anything worth pursuing. Turns out my first impressions were seldom inaccurate, though I did encounter a few pleasant surprises where a guy I thought would probably be a total dud was, in fact, the reverse.
A few weeks ago I thought I'd give preserving my own apple pie filling a whirl. I was rather optimistic. Falsely optimistic. Two jars broke, six others didn't seal up properly, my kitchen was a total wreck, and now I'll be consuming apple crisp for breakfast, lunch and dinner until I use up those unsealed rascals. Four hours of slaving over what turned out to be only eight successful jars of apple pie filling - total waste of time. At least in college, I had 3-4 fours to spare to discover that a guy was, indeed not my soulmate. But now? Four hours is precious. Apple pie filling and I are not meant to be together.
The next prospect? Applesauce. Wish me luck.

Thanks.

We had a mah-velous time.

First snow of 2010.

Who needs a coat?

Four.

Rachel got to celebrate her birthday this year for the first time with friends. Our little princess chose the likes of Ornithomimus and Stegosaurus over ponies and princesses. That's our Rachel. We went on a hunt for dinosaur eggs, dug for fossils, played dinosaur memory, pass the parcel (a must-have at every party my girls throw), ate cake and partied hardy. What I most love about Rachel at age four:
1. Her smile - she's a knockout!
2. Her boundless energy and willingness to work/help around the house.
3. Her independence - she wants to do everything for herself. Very helpful when one has a 5 year-old who wants everything done for her.
4. Her brains. We've got another genius on our hands here. She amazes me with her counting and assembling puzzles abilities.
I can't imagine our family without this indispensable third child of mine. Happy Birthday Rachel!
5. Her resilience. Tim keeps teasing her that the permanent bumps on her forehead from the repeated falls she endures will grow into a couple of horns. She doesn't laugh too much at that. But she does keep picking herself up.

Apple pickin'.

I daresay Lily has found her calling in life. Until our apple-picking adventure in early this month, she and work were mutually exclusive. So nice to see its possible to disguise work by calling it tree-climbing. Any ideas for new names for folding laundry?

Gratitude.

I wrote the following post in May. I'm deciding to publish it now.

Recent experiences and discussions with Tim have fostered an ongoing conversation in my head about gratitude. It is something I try hard to teach my children. You see, "the grass is greener" mentality carries with us into adulthood, if we don't suppress some of our urges to declare the unfairness of life in favor of gratitude. We can find ourselves drowning in a well of self-pity, which, let's face it, is downright depressing. All of us have circumstances in our lives that are beyond our control. Would we have chosen them? Probably not. Have we learned from them? I hope so. Is the end result good? I think it can be. But only, only if we are grateful.

I can think of a number of trials I've experienced, none of which I would have signed up for, had I known the pain they would cause me. I cried, I grieved, I felt I'd been dealt a bad hand. Was it wrong for me to feel that way? Absolutely not. Under the circumstances, I was completely entitled. But, at some point, the grieving can turn to bitterness, if we fail to see past the challenge itself and experience the healing and learning that is possible. It all chalks up to an attitude of gratitude.

I have two brothers who died prematurely - one of complications due to Muscular Dystrophy and the other because of a drug overdose. I hate to compare the two, but I can't help but see the vast difference in attitude that guided the choices they made and, really, the quality of their lives. One brother was born with an incurable disease that would cause his muscles to progressively deteriorate and eventually contribute to his passing away. The other, blessed with intellect, charm, good looks, and talent, all squandered away largely because of poor choices. Which is kind of my entire point. It's not the circumstances that determine our quality of life, it is our choices. And yes, we can choose how we feel.

When people are going through difficulties, I pray for them, I feel for them, I get it that gratitude might not be the first thing on their list (although, remarkably, in many cases it is). Sometimes, even the mere thought of a particular trial in my life brings the tears rushing forward and makes me wish it didn't have to be so. And yet, it was. My choice lies in my focus. Do I lament what I don't have (and over which I have no control)? Or do I move forward in the knowledge that this life is meant to be experienced and the level of my happiness is determined by me? It's liberating, really.

Have I got this principle down? Absolutely not. I have a suspicion that I am only barely aware of the multitude of blessings being showered down upon me daily. Much like my children give little thought to who keeps the house tidy when I'm not nagging them to do it or how breakfast and dinner magically appear on the table. Most days they simply wonder why mom's so militant about chores and why they have to make their own lunch when all their friends eat school lunch every day. No doubt most of us appreciate less than a fraction of the blessings life has afforded us. But it is what I strive for. And what I choose to teach my children. As their primary nurturer, I can maintain an open dialogue and allow them to "feel" anger or hurt or frustration when things go wrong. But as their teacher, I can also suggest to them that dwelling on the negative for too long contributes little to one's happiness.

The Hiding Place is seriously one of my all-time favorite books. I refer to the principles it teaches again and again. I figure if Betsy can thank God for the fleas (in a concentration camp, no less) I can thank Him too.

Thank goodness for Sunday Halloween.

We decided to skip the marathon trick-or-treating this year, being that Halloween was on a Sunday. Not to mention that the following day was school - poor teachers. Our kids really seemed to "get" the fact that we opted out of trick-or-treating not because it's bad or even an inappropriate Sabbath activity. It was simply a choice we made based on our gut feeling of how we wanted to honor the Sabbath. And it turned out to be a lovely family weekend. We attended a Friday night "trunk-or-treat". Then we spent Saturday enjoying a quintessential Halloween activity navigating the corn maze and hunting for just the right pumpkin. Sunday we attended church, carved pumpkins in the afternoon and turned off all the lights to revel in the glow of our jack-o-lanterns. And now for an unnecessary onslaught of pictures.

Is it just me, or does everyone walk away with WAY less candy than they hand out at trunk-or-treat? Who's getting all the goods, I ask you?



Rachel's got impeccable timing, she has. So does her dad. He took this right before impact.




Can you see the mark?
















Another day, another meltdown.














And one with the flash, for good measure.