2nd Christmas.

We've grown accustomed to "second Christmas" around here.  Tim's parents live reasonably far away and often don't get their shopping done before the postal service deadline.  So we end up opening the trickle of presents that show up on our doorstep for days after Christmas.  This year, our second Christmas was provided by my parents, who saved the presents for us under their Christmas tree until we arrived the day after.

Other trip highlights: partying with cousins, a ride on TRAX into downtown Salt Lake, Jackson family pictures, visiting with high school friends, attending the sealing of my Grandma and Grandpa Jackson to their children (and each other), and a whole lot of late-night game playing with my family.  Love you guys!

1st Christmas.

Some people never outgrow the excitement of Christmas morning.  I was always one to wake up in the middle of the night, tiptoe downstairs (or up, as the case sometimes was) to check out the loot, then tiptoe back to bed until it was safe to wake everyone up.  I shared this tradition with any number of my siblings who was up for it.

Okay, I don't do that anymore.  And I'll admit, I get a bit grouchy throughout the season at the materialism that pervades what is meant to be a Christ-centered holiday.  But I still find myself harking back to the days of my youth to capture what my kids must feel as Christmas morning approaches.  And I love watching them take in each and every gift as we force them all to watch one another open presents one by one.  Their excitement for each other is contagious.

                                      Handmade gifts from kindergarteners are simply the best.

 We got a kick out of Tim accidentally opening a present intended for Rachel from her kindergarten teacher.  He at least pretended to be excited about it.

 The girls couldn't contain their excitement when Grandma and Grandpa spoiled them with American Girl dolls.  I had pretty much told them they would never own one unless they saved their pennies and bought one themselves.

                                         Eve was thrilled to add a "baby" to the family.

                                                   Perfect gift from Rachel's primary teacher.

We took our time, offered thanks for the abundance with which the Lord has blessed us, snacked all day long in our pajamas, and packed for a trip to visit my family the next day.  Merry Christmas!

Tradition. Tradition!

I can't utter that word, without breaking into song like old Tevye, from Fiddler on the Roof.  Can anyone?  We've established a few traditions at our house, some gleaned from our own immediate families growing up, others we've picked up along the way, but they are all meaningful and bind us together like no other.

We eat our "big" Christmas meal on Christmas Eve.

Then we sing Christmas songs around the piano, read the story of the birth of Jesus in the gospel of Luke, and sing "Happy Birthday" to Him before cutting the traditional yule log cake.

Each year, we take the kids to the dollar store to pick out gifts for their sisters.  Sometimes they are sorely misguided in their attempts to choose a present that's perfect for a particular sibling.  And sometimes they hit the nail on the head.  Either way, it's pretty special to see them use their hard-earned cash for gifts for their sisters.  This year, some of them stepped it up and bought two presents (without any urging from mom, no less).  We have them open their gifts for one another on Christmas Eve before calling it a night.

My own little sugar plum fairy.

Lily and I bought discount tickets to The Nutcracker this holiday season.  I try to take each of my daughters (who are old enough to appreciate it... somewhat) to a cultural event each calendar year.  In early November, the two of us had plans to go to a Philharmonic concert; plans that were thwarted when Lily came down with the flu, the inevitable result of too much Halloween candy and a strong resistance to eat anything nutritious to balance it out. 

Just before we left for The Nutcracker, Lily started complaining of a stomachache.  On our drive downtown, she was virtually silent and unresponsive to several of my attempts at conversation.  When I asked her why, she said, "I've been saying a prayer that my tummy will get better."  I chuckled at her childlike faith and said a prayer of my own, first, that she would feel up to sticking out the performance on which I had dropped more cash than I'm used to.  Then I changed my prayer and asked that Lily would learn her stinkin' lesson!  She is the only member of our family who has managed to snag pretty much every virus that has reared its ugly head in these parts.  No one else has even come close.  The correlation between diet and disease is painfully obvious to the rest of us, but, up to this point, she has denied the role her "picky-ness" plays in her inability to ward off illness.

I think she gets it, cognitively-speaking, but we have to yet to discover any behavior modification.  Any day now.

Anyway, I called a friend whose daughters have taken ballet on and off for years and pawned the tickets off on her two oldest so at least someone got to benefit.  Lily barfed in a grocery bag just before we pulled into the driveway.  But at least we got a picture before leaving to remember the occasion that never happened.

It's the thought that counts, right?

We tried our hand at homemade gifts for cousins this year.  The experience was all I had hoped for - the kids got all giddy about being crafty and spending their time on behalf of others.  The end result was just so-so.  Next year we'll plan ahead so we can make something more special.  We made headbands out of strips of jersey knit from Lily's old yoga pants(with a touch of ribbon) and decorated hair combs with embroidery floss.  Then we threw in a few homemade caramels for good measure.

I think we've got a new tradition on our hands.

Deck the halls.

 Our annual tree-decorating event got bumped to a bit later in the season, owing to a loveable feline we've acquired in the past year.  We set up the tree first, then exercised the power of the squirt gun to deter him from scaling its branches.  After two weeks of training, we risked it and put on the lights and decorations.  They survived.  So did Zags.

 Tim was on one that night and thought it would be super cute to take a number of pictures of my rear end.  I'll spare you the rest.

 Anna, always one to avoid the camera, hid behind our old one.  She and Tim had a great time shooting each other in between ornaments.

                                                              Ta-da!  The tree is trimmed.

Saturday is a special day.

We have switched our heavy-duty chore day from Saturday to Friday.  Which means, that instead of caving to the natural inclination to throw oneself on the couch and rest from a week full of labors on Friday afternoon, we instead break out the rags, the cleaning solutions and the vacuum and go to town on the house.  I have a fancy shmancy rotation schedule in which the kids collectively clean the bathrooms, bedrooms, playroom and vacuum all of the above.  It's hard not to allow them to let down their hair after a long week at school, but it leaves Saturdays much more open for... MORE chores.  Not really.  They do get a single Saturday chore, but mostly our Saturdays are free for fun and activities (and the occasional project).  I like it this way. 

One Saturday in December we hit up the aquarium for a few hours.  Thank you Groupon

             Yes, you can feed birds.  At an aquarium.  It's called tolerance, I think..

 Is it at all disturbing that my sweet four-year-old couldn't get enough of posing as Ariel?  Especially since only a fraction of Ariel's chest is covered?  Yep, I thought so.

.Or should I more disturbed that when we swung by the Apple store to return something all four of my kids (and their dad) were tech-zombies within seconds of setting foot there?

Most Saturdays are pretty ordinary around here.  I'm so pleased that our kids are in a stage where they enjoy similar activities (and each other).  I know it won't last forever, and that our Saturdays will inevitably turn into everyone going every which way, but for now, I will enjoy them just being ordinary because at least we are together.

I'd like to thank Pinterest...

This second grade art lesson was a success!  Great way to teach tinting and shading - and a little bit of cubism, if you're into that.

Yet another lesson in trust. With a little bit of patience on the side.

Before Tim and I were married, we contemplated "not waiting" to start a family.  I'd read enough literature and understood my temple covenants well enough to know that although when one decides to try for children is a personal matter, I wanted to err on the side of not being overly selfish about my time alone with Tim.  Plus, there was always the nagging possibility that children wouldn't come as easily as they do to some.  So, although we decided that a honeymoon baby was probably not our cup of tea, within nine months of being married we "stopped preventing" children.  Anna was born 10 months later.

And so it was with all four of our children.  We'd "stop preventing" at uncomfortably close intervals, allowing for the possibility that pregnancy would not occur within the first month.  But it always did.   We were blessed with fertility, and were abundantly grateful to welcome four children in less than six years.   I'd like to think I did not take that gift for granted.

The postpartum period after having my fourth daughter, Eve, was particularly challenging, for a number of reasons.   In haste, I gave away all of my maternity clothes to a friend who was in need at the time, thinking to myself, there is no way I'm going to put myself and my family through that again (postpartum depression, that is).  But time has a way of healing those wounds, and in their place I discovered a deep and abiding faith, shaped largely by those dark months of despair.  As my children grew, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and found a renewed appreciation for the opportunity to bear and raise children.  I realized that the child-bearing years are actually quite short, and that the joys far outweigh the chaos and frustration and sorrow that I'd felt just a few years before.

Tim and I reached this epiphany at just about the same time and decided we weren't ready to throw in the towel yet.  We "stopped preventing" once again.  We're going on nine months now.   I was concerned("baffled" might describe the emotion better) after we didn't get pregnant the first month.  Now I'm pretty sure something is up.  Plus, I happen to be 35, which is apparently some magical age when fertility (statistically speaking) takes a nosedive.  I wasn't planning on being part of that statistic.

So why am I sharing this so publicly?  (I'm sure Tim is cringing inside that I am unabashedly proclaiming that we've been "trying" for number five for the last nine months... let's just draw everyone a picture, why don't we?).

Here's why: I like to document the learning that occurs when I encounter various challenges.  I cannot let this experience pass me by without recording some of the feelings I've had recently.
First, I have more compassion than ever for those who want desperately to have children and cannot.  Having borne four children quite easily, I can't profess to understand completely(okay, really, not even close), but I've now a glimmer of some of the disappointments.  The sting of comments by the fertile (comments I'd probably made in the past) that unintentionally make the less fertile feel inferior or trivialize their pain.  The confusion about why, when both Tim and I felt so strongly about adding to our family, why are we not being blessed for our righteous desires.  The wondering why babies are born to unfit parents every day, when there are willing and able couples who, through no fault of their own cannot conceive.  The false (but underlying) notion that God must not trust me to raise more children, or he would reward us for our willingness.  I could go on and on.  I don't dwell on any of these emotions, but I can't say they haven't crossed my mind.  There's much that seems unfair in the world.

So here's why I don't prescribe to any of those negative thoughts:

First of all, let's be real.  I have four children.  Might I make it perfectly clear that I recognize this as a tremendous blessing? And, in spite of my desires to expand our clan, I can count each child as a precious gift from above.

More importantly, though, I trust my Father in Heaven.  I have been through enough, and seen His hand in my life enough times to know that He has nothing but my best interest in mind.  My trials have been nothing short of defining moments in my life, they've strengthened me to know that God is a rewarder of those who seek Him, and that joy is available to those who are willing to see the big picture.  I don't know if another pregnancy announcement is in my blogging future.  However, whether or not I have four or five or ten children is not the issue.  What matters is who I am becoming in the process.  And I happen to like that person.  So far, anyway.  :)

It's showtime!

Each year, thanks to the intense labor of several volunteers at our school, my kids get to audition for a play.  This year, Anna and Rachel were a wolf and a raccoon, respectively, in Red Riding Hood.  Lily got to do the green show - correction - she got to rehearse for the green show and then skip the performance, thanks to a fever.

And here are the stunning performers (behind their makeup and masks):

Anna tried to guilt me into awarding her flowers.  I responded by saying that, while I was very proud of her and thrilled that she got to perform, I would not be living up to that expectation.  And then I made both her and Rachel a bouquet of flowers out of Tootsie Pops and crepe paper.  She seemed satisfied.  Happy, even.  Phew.  Dodged a bullet on that one.  Some kids and their entitlement issues...

Thank you PTO for giving our kids this opportunity year in and year out!