Random Photos (from November).

Riding a bike and eating a corndog. Haha.

They got new stuffed animals and they're in love.

Family work! (They still think it's fun!) :)

Nate's birthday! We took cupcakes to the fire station!

Sonnet was an indian in the Thanksgiving play at school.

Sonnet's been reading lots this year! We just finished this book together.

Stetson has discovered the fun of Nerf guns!

Sonnet practicing her cartooning.

Sonnet is into astronomy lately. She wants a telescope for Christmas!

Thanksgiving.

We had Thanksgiving at our new house this year and it was super fun! Nate worked on Thanksgiving day, so we celebrated the day after. My parents and Nate's parents came. Sonnet made place cards and set the table. My dad smoked the turkey and my mom made rolls. Nate and I cooked and made pies... and then we all sat down to a nice meal. Everyone stayed for a long, long time and it was so wonderful to just be home, full, and with my favorite people!  I love Thanksgiving!

 

Grateful.

Today is Thanksgiving. We didn't have a big celebration today because Nate is at work. But tomorrow he will be home and we will get together with family and pig out! I can't wait.

Today the kids and I slept in late and played and cleaned the house and painted pictures and enjoyed the good weather and set the Thanksgiving table and read books and made a pumpkin pie. It was very nice. Then I stuck the kids in the shower, wrapped them up in warm jammies, and tucked them in my bed. Sonnet was softly snoring in two seconds flat. Stetson wormed himself right up next to me and fell asleep holding my hand. I tried to go to sleep, but I was hungry (as usual) and well, the spirit of the holiday starting puffing up my heart and I just had to let it out. I mean...

I have these two babies. They're perfect. They're so beautiful and innocent and funny and kind. They're healthy. The world is still an amazing place to them. They make me laugh! They have enthusiasm for life. They surprise me. They're mine! I made them and I get to hold them and love them. Boy, do I love them. I take my responsibility to mold them into decent adults very seriously. I am grateful for that challenge and blessing. I am grateful to be a mom.

I have this husband. He gets more good looking every year. He's so patient. He hardly ever thinks of himself. He is so good with the kids. He helps out around the house. He works hard. He loves his job. He tries to put himself in other people's shoes. He's fun to talk to. He's smart and handy and honest and reliable. He's easy-going. What you see is what you get. He's committed. He's nice. Like, really nice. He's funny. He's been my best friend for going on 14 years now and I am grateful he is my Nate.

I love our house. Love it. This time last year, we'd just sold our first little house and barely started hunting for a new place. It was a long few months, but we're here and we're settled and it's just so good. The house is beautiful. The neighborhood is awesome. The ward is good. We're right where we wanted to be and I love that we have a clean, safe, functional, pretty little abode to build our lives in. We're working hard to make it our haven and I am grateful to be here.

Right now, we're all healthy. No one even has an ear infection or a cough. (Knock on wood!) We all have these bodies that stretch and grow and learn and perform without the worry and pain of illness. What a blessing that is! We can play and read and explore and work and I am so, so grateful for strong, healthy bodies.

We both come from good families. My in-laws are kind, faithful people who raised a good son and continue to offer him love and support as he gets older. They are nice grandparents to my kids. We are blessed that we live just minutes away from both sets parents. We see my parents about once a week and I am grateful to have their support and example as I raise my kids. My kids just think they're fun, but I see how they teach them and reinforce the importance of things like god, faith, education, recreation, and good manners. I appreciate the help. I adored my grandparents and I'm grateful I got to spend so much time with them as I was growing up. They were pillars in my life, and I am sad they're gone, but I am grateful that my kids can have the relationships with their grandparents that I had with mine.

I'm grateful that my parents are now my friends. My mom is a good example of kindness and happiness. She makes things fun and she uses her creativity to turn everyday events into special occasions. She is always thinking of others and sending a card for someone's birthday or dropping off a baby gift or calling someone on the phone or inviting someone over for dinner. She has a gift for taking care of others and she is a good friend to many who need her. My dad is strong and smart and successful and stalwart. He is just the dad I need. I've always looked up to him, but over the last few months it has become very clear to me that he was chosen to be my dad because, while I am grateful to have had him as a dad to direct me in my younger years, I think the Lord knew that someday when I became an adult I would need him even more as my ally, my confident, and my friend. He was put in my life to influence it for good and to help and support me for the long haul. I am grateful for that.

I'm grateful for good friends, brand new ones and ones from long ago, who work hard to span the space of time and distance and work to continue to be special parts of my life.

I'm thankful that we aren't hungry, that we aren't unemployed, that we aren't lost. I'm grateful for the ability to progress, to learn new things, to ask questions and ponder and find peace, to forge my beliefs, and see at least a few steps down my path.

I'm grateful that right now, we are where we are. There is nothing better than falling asleep with a pudgy little hand in mine and a heart overflowing with gratitude.

A Good Morning.

It’s Tuesday morning. Sonnet doesn’t have school on Mondays (just a standing play date with her buddy from Boulder City) so Tuesdays are kind of like our Mondays. We always have a three day weekend, and we love that.

This morning, we’re back at it. The alarm went off earlier than we night owls would prefer. Sonnet got up, got herself dressed and made her bed. I got up and did some yoga. Then I did Sonnet’s hair (pony tail today, please) and we headed down stairs for breakfast: a bagel, a banana, and some milk for the girlie. We reviewed some math facts while she ate breakfast (the 7’s multiplication tables are on the agenda this week) and I packed her lunch.

Stetson came shuffling downstairs in his jammies with sleepy eyes and a lopsided grin. “I all done sweeping!” he said. “You hafta hold me!” There are few things better than holding a warm, solid, groggy baby in your arms and rocking back and forth while they wrap their legs around you and lay their head on your shoulder. Ahhhh. That is more powerful than yoga for sure.

Stetson asked Sonnet for some of her bagel, took one bite, and then decided it was time to start bouncing off the walls, like usual. She rolled her eyes and laughed and took the bagel back. I wish a bite of breakfast would perk me up like it does my two year old. I’m still waking up…

Then Nate got home. Everyone loves Daddy the most, even me. The dog could behead someone with the rapid speed of his wagging tail. He got fed and took a wander outside. Sonnet got a nice long, long hug from Daddy, which totally lights her up. Stetson showed Nate the new toy he got yesterday and Daddy made the appropriate fuss over it, which made Stetson almost shake with excitement. Nate put up our flag on the front of the house for Veteran’s Day and we talked about what the holiday means and who we know who has served our country.

Then we stood by the door in a circle and wrapped our arms around each other and had a family prayer, where I pleaded for safety and strength for everyone in my family, like I do every day. Everyone hugged and kissed everyone, Sonnet got her backpack, and Nate said he would drive her to school. Stetson wanted to ride along and since the weather is so gorgeous, even the dog was invited and right now he’s probably happily flapping around in the back of the truck someone between here and Green Valley while Sonnet chats Nate’s ear off and Stetson yells out songs that he wants to hear on the ipod from the backseat.

I waved them off and walked back in my calm, quiet house to wipe off the breakfast bar and go hop in the shower. But instead, I walked in the kitchen, sat at a barstool, and took a moment to notice how wonderful this life is. There’s a lot of routine, and sometimes it gets old, and I hate waking up to an alarm in the mornings, but all these small things add up to a good life. I think taking care of my babies, working alongside my husband, and creating a home that is a haven, is a sacred privilege. There’s something so beautiful in just doing the best you can, over and over again, believing that there’s a point to it all, whether you have all the answers or not. There is joy to be found if we stop and look for it.  And this morning, I have a little in my heart. And I'm grateful.

i feel better now.

They say that if you can’t say something nice, you shouldn’t say anything at all.

So I’m a pretty quiet person.

Most people baffle me. Actually, most people disappoint and frustrate me. But being rude isn’t good, so I just keep my mouth closed.

But then sometimes someone will go and say something to me that I find offensive. Like most people, I don’t like that. As I said, I try to avoid that sort of thing. But people do what they do. Usually I just ignore snarky comments. I have enough self-esteem to let them roll off my back. If it’s really called for, I can make a quick and clear response, but generally I just shake my head and move on.

But on days like today, I’ve just had enough. On a day like today, a rude comment might just boil inside me and mush up with all those other rude things that have been directed at me over the last few months and turn into a ball of anger and I figure I’ve got to spew it up before it really makes me sick. So here’s the verbal vomit…

I went to my cousin’s baby blessing today. A bunch of my family was there. I really didn’t feel like going, but I did. I really didn’t feel like smiling or talking to people, but I did. When I went to talk to my uncle, he said something to me like: “How’s life with the beautiful people?”

I didn’t quite get it. Are you saying I’m pretty? Thanks.

He continued:  “You know, up there where life is perfect and everything comes easy and you have no problems. Where you just have the perfect kids and the perfect job and the perfect house. Aren’t you the president of that club?”

Huh?

Out loud I said, “Yes, my life is very blessed. I feel grateful.” And then I changed the topic of conversation.

In my head I said, “What the?! WHAT?!”

I mean, what a presumptuous thing to say! Yes, my life is wonderful, but no one’s life is perfect. And treating me like a shallow prissy who has no idea what’s going on down in the “real world?” Well, that’s just offensive.

Everyone has problems. Some are bigger than others. Comparatively, mine are what I call “first world problems.” I’m not living in a mud hut or starving or burying my babies or facing tribal war outside my front door. I know that. I acknowledge my blessings as often as I can.  I actually seem to think that showing gratitude will somehow ensure continuity of those blessings. It’s probably not true, but I’ll take all the help I can get. And really, I know how amazing my life is. I say my prayers before bed every night and I just feel so lucky for my house and my husband and those perfect sleeping babies of mine that I start to think no one has ever had a better life than me and I actually worry that life is too good and I’m due for some major disaster. I get it.

But challenges are a part of life. Everyone has them. It’s arrogant to assume that you know what someone else’s life is really like. And while I don’t like to focus on the negative, and I’m really not trying to play a game of who’s life is sadder than who’s, I don’t think it’s fair to discount the struggles that others face and assume they’re just floating around on a cloud of bliss all the time.

I sort of stared at my uncle in disbelief. He’s not a mean guy, so I still don’t really get what he was trying to say. But it was a sarcastic comment. (And I hate sarcasm. Hate it! Just because you cloak your bad manners and mean intent in a joke does not make it any less rude! I've had so many "innocuous" sarcastic comments thrown my way lately about my life that I just can't handle it anymore.)

So part of me wanted to yell: “Yes, my life is beautiful. I find my monthly bouts with depression very beautiful. Do you know how down I’ve felt lately? Do you know how hard it is to get myself out of bed on some mornings, and how I mostly only do it because I have kids to feed? Do you know the sheer effort it takes to get myself in the shower, put on clothes, breathe in and out, and not sit down and give up even though I feel like I have nothing left to give? How I forced myself to get up and get ready today, to get myself and my kids here to support you because I know some of your kids are struggling with a connection to this church that you and I value and I wanted to show my support for this ordinance and your family?”

“I also find being an extreme introvert very beautiful. Do you know how much I hate social gatherings? How I literally dread them? How small talk makes me uncomfortable and siphons my energy? How being around big groups of people makes me feel sad and lonely. But I’m here! I’m talking to you because I thought it was the right thing to do, even though I’ll probably leave here and spend the rest of my day wondering what’s wrong with me and why I feel like I don’t fit in. Do you know that I've felt like an outsider my entire life?”

“Yes, my life is beautiful. (No sarcasm this time). My life is very blessed. But do you know how I battle to keep it that way? How I feel like I go to war every day to protect my faith, my virtue, and my beliefs in a world intent on destroying them? How I fight to preserve and defend my convictions, spirituality, knowledge, hope, and sanctity in a world that laughs in my face for even using words like that?”

“You don’t know that I don’t sleep well at night and that I’m physically exhausted because I worry so much. I worry that my husband won’t come home. I worry that I’ll die and leave my kids- my sacred duty- my most precious possessions- to be raised by someone else. I worry that my kids will get stolen or hurt or make bad decisions that bring them eternal pain. I worry about this world we live in and how the things I stand for seem to have no value anymore and how the things that threaten the core of my beliefs are celebrated. I worry about this country that I love and how the principles of liberty, righteousness, strength, and accountability that it was founded on are gone and no one seems to care. I fight to protect my kids and shelter them from bad influences. I get crap for not letting them watch certain TV shows or wear certain clothes or have certain friends or go on sleepovers. I get crap for not spending all of our sacred family time in the car, shuttling them back and forth to extracurricular activities, for insisting that they read, use good language, help out around the house, say their prayers, and follow the rules. I get crap for being a stay-at-home mom, a job that I believe is the most important one I could ever hold. I get crap for scrimping so I can afford to send my kid to a special school where the things that I teach at home are reinforced rather than reversed. I believe there’s a war going on and I make sure we’re armed. But I feel very much alone. Everyone else thinks I’m nuts. That’s not such a beautiful feeling.”

“You think my life is perfect because my husband has a good job. He loves his job and it’s a great job and we’re grateful for it, but it’s a job that he struggled for 4 long years to get and that he devotes himself tirelessly to. A job where he leaves his home and his family for 24-72 hours at a time so that he can be ready to answer any call for help from anyone, anytime day or night. He puts his body on the line to help the helpless, the sick, the life-threatening cases, the homeless, the unloved, the confused, the lazy, the addicts, the needy, the hypochondriacs, and even the lonely who call 911 and drag an entire crew out of bed at 3am every single night because they just don’t want to be alone. And he’s glad to do it. He never complains when he gets an hour and 15 minutes of sleep total in one night and then has to come home and go to class or do a job for his side business or interact with his family or fulfill a church responsibility and then go back to the station the next day and do it all over again… over and over again. He never complains when he has to go pick up drunk people off the side of the road, or perform CPR on a woman for 35 minutes straight only to have her die at the hospital, or pull a small child out of a car wreck, or get a gun pulled on him by a war vet in a diabetic stupor. You just know that the news says that all firefighters sit around in recliners all day and pocket boatloads of tax payer money. So yeah, that must be true. You’re right: It’s nice up here with the beautiful people.”

“You think my life is perfect because my house is nice. Seriously? I can’t tell you all the crap I get from people because my house is clean. Clean! Not because I’m a hoarder who lives in filth and you want to call CPS because you’re worried about the safety of my children. You call me weird because my house is too clean and organized. I must be a freak, you think. OK, well, actually, yes I am. I mean, I like a clean house. A clean house is nice. It feels good. And it’s a priority to me. Cooking, gardening, shopping, TV, working out, sports, etc. are not, but a clean, organized, calm, deliberate home environment is, so I expend a bulk of my time and energy to create a haven. And I wish you’d leave it at that and respect my work.

But as long as we’re unloading here, the part you don’t know is that I also do it because I don’t really have a choice. I keep my house this way because I have a touch of OCD and I don’t think like most people think and I can’t live like most people live. But you don’t know that. You don’t know how I literally can’t function is a disorganized environment, how I can’t force myself to touch certain things, or how I have an irresistible compulsion to touch others, how I can be driven to distraction by disorder, how I experience unnatural levels of anxiety and anger in unclean places, how loud noises unnerve me, how I wash my hands so many times a day that they’re always raw, how I don’t like to sit on other people’s couches or go to church or stay in hotels because I fixate on all the germs I’m coming in contact with, and how the only time I really, really let down is when I’m standing naked in a hot shower covered in Dial soap.”

Yes, my life is very beautiful. But it’s not perfect. And it never will be. I’m just doing the best I know how. And I'm fine with that. I deal with my crap as quietly and efficiently as I can. Someday, if things get truly bad, I hope I can handle it. For now, I show up as much as I can, like I did today, looking and acting “normal” and I thank the universe every day that my life is my life because I know it could be worse and I wouldn’t trade the good parts for anything. There are a lot of good parts. I'm the first to admit that most of my life IS beautiful. But I’d appreciate you not making assumptions. No one needs one more straw on their back. If you can’t say something nice, do like I do: be quiet.