We loved having Jared and Maren and Preston (or "Presty" as Lacey Grace calls him) here. I think my favorite thing was just sitting around the table or in our teeny family room talking. I love being with family on Sunday especially, enjoying a quiet day and a little dinner together; I've taken that for granted in the past.
Other fun things we did: (Pictures up when Jay can get to them)
1. Painted ceramics at a pottery shop in Peterborough (Preston and Lacey Grace painted cereal bowls and the fellas painted dragons.
2. Went for a little ice cream at a fun seasonal ice cream place called Kimball's in Jaffrey.
3. Celebrated Maren's Birthday with a cake covered in nuts (Brilliant!)
4. Jared and Jay and the boys played Bocci and 500 outside our house.
5. Flew kites at Hampton Beach - one of the few beaches on New Hampshire's small seacoast and a place I love to go. Preston had no interest whatsoever in kites but lots of interest in sand and water. It was chilly and windy and we've never taken Lincoln before so that was exciting but, all in all, a fun time.
Mostly, it was just comfortable and so happy to have some of our family here with us. Thanks, Jared and Maren, for coming so far and loving us even though our bedrooms were messy, we had ants, and one of you had to sleep under a U of U blanket. We LOVED having you here.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Dancing with the Stars
Don't you all think that Jared is secretly appearing on Dancing with the Stars under the stage name Christian de la Fuente?
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Good morning! Yes, indeed.
I have a vague and fond recollection of sleeping late and waking up of my own accord. Perhaps someday I'll have a vague (and fond?) recollection of being woken up by happy children and so, to remind my future self of how it really is I record a typical spring awakening as the mother of four.
Clap! Clap! The first sound I hear in the wee hours is often Clap! Clap!. This is the sound of Lincoln's chubby hands applauding the entrance of another New England morning; specifically a New England morning because in the spring the sun is fully up by 5:30 a.m.. (I know Jared and Maren are excited to hear that as they will be here in 10 days!!!!!!but who's counting?) I admit that I have never once leapt out of bed and leaned happily into the crib to pick that little guy up. I sometimes feel more like bursting into tears; but I'm too tired; so I roll over and wait for the cooing to begin. Phase II of Lincoln's wake up ritual is a cooing cacophony; squeals, nonsense syllables, gurgles, and occasional giggles getting progressively louder while I pray for the strength to get out of bed and brush my teeth. When I do get out of bed I have to slide stealthily off our high bed and creep into the bathroom because if Linc sees me and I don't immediately greet, the cooing turns to heartbreak and that is no way to start a morning. All this baby song wakes up the next little person, Lacey Grace, who shares a bedroom with Ro and she comes prancing in (yes, prancing) and sings back. Every morning I say, "It's still very early. Why don't you try to go back to sleep or curl up with your human blankie (daddy) and rest a little while longer?" Four days out of seven she curls up with Jay for 5 minutes. Three days out of seven she insists that she wants to stay up with Lincoln and I and she does with great joy, gusto, vigor, and volume. One day out of seven she actually goes back in and lays down. Zero days out of seven she falls back to sleep.
Because Jay has been working so late I usually change Linc's diaper and we leave the room so he can rest a little while longer. Occasionally I give Linc a bottle and he falls back to sleep but the odds of him returning to baby dreamland are about the same as LG's, nil. ( I actually have never written the word nil before and haven't the foggiest how to spell it. Was that right?) And besides, what's the point, Lacey is awake and now, none of us will sleep. One morning when I told her to look at books so I could sleep just a few more minutes she did. I think she read all 12 words of the book, "No, David" before she returned and with her mouth pressed to my ear very quietly and insistently whispered, "Cock-a-doodle-doo" which, by the way, is very funny when Jay is the cockadoodle dude but less so when it's happening on my side of the bed.
If it's a school morning Topher and Ronan are very tired and beg for extra time (I actually have found that if I carry Lincoln in and put him on the bed beside each one, respectively, they wake up in a good mood because the first thing they see is a drooly, happy, little chubster who is delighted to see them) but if it's a weekend and especially if Lincoln has gone back to sleep, they spring forth from their beds instantly. Then a party begins on the bed Jay and I bought before we had children; the very high lodgepole pine canopy bed we purposely chose so the children couldn't climb in with us. We now grimly joke that we didn't buy a bed, we purchased an indoor jungle gym. What fun!
On these Saturday mornings Lacey is already snuggling with her daddy and Ronan comes and climbs in between Jay and I. He wrestles around a bit adjusting the pillows and cheerfully greets Lacey Grace in the loudest whisper possible. Very occasionally he doesn't come in but lays in bed and sings. I've never heard an actual drunken sailor singing but I think I have a pretty good idea... However, he only sings on the mornings that Lacey Grace has not woken up early and gotten out of bed. On these mornings, laying beneath him in the lower bunk, she gets a taste of her own medicine. And then they both come into our room.
Being quiet is relative. To an adult, quiet means quiet. To a child it means small segments of stillness punctuated by loud shushing, giggles and scuffling. Even talking out loud is completely acceptable to a child being quiet if what he/she has to say is important enough. "Stop touching me!", "I'm so hungry!" and "Give it to me!" are examples of important statements to a child. Other examples include "My baloney has a first name," and "O-di-lay-di-hoo!"
Topher is ten. He comes in less frequently in the early mornings. This is because he barely left our bed. When Jay works late Topher comes in and sleeps in his daddy's spot. Then when Jay gets home at 1 or 2 or 3 a.m. he herds Toph back into his own bed by way of the bathroom. Speaking of drunken people, this is a sight to see. He bobs and weaves like a champ which makes him, I believe, a drunken boxer.
Because Toph likes to stay awake late and read he is less likely than the others to come in the following morning. He is growing up. Which is why I need to record all of this; because they're all growing up and I never want to forget
The Rooster, The Coo-ster, The Sailor or The Champ and what it feels like to be their mother at 5:30 a.m..
Clap! Clap! The first sound I hear in the wee hours is often Clap! Clap!. This is the sound of Lincoln's chubby hands applauding the entrance of another New England morning; specifically a New England morning because in the spring the sun is fully up by 5:30 a.m.. (I know Jared and Maren are excited to hear that as they will be here in 10 days!!!!!!but who's counting?) I admit that I have never once leapt out of bed and leaned happily into the crib to pick that little guy up. I sometimes feel more like bursting into tears; but I'm too tired; so I roll over and wait for the cooing to begin. Phase II of Lincoln's wake up ritual is a cooing cacophony; squeals, nonsense syllables, gurgles, and occasional giggles getting progressively louder while I pray for the strength to get out of bed and brush my teeth. When I do get out of bed I have to slide stealthily off our high bed and creep into the bathroom because if Linc sees me and I don't immediately greet, the cooing turns to heartbreak and that is no way to start a morning. All this baby song wakes up the next little person, Lacey Grace, who shares a bedroom with Ro and she comes prancing in (yes, prancing) and sings back. Every morning I say, "It's still very early. Why don't you try to go back to sleep or curl up with your human blankie (daddy) and rest a little while longer?" Four days out of seven she curls up with Jay for 5 minutes. Three days out of seven she insists that she wants to stay up with Lincoln and I and she does with great joy, gusto, vigor, and volume. One day out of seven she actually goes back in and lays down. Zero days out of seven she falls back to sleep.
Because Jay has been working so late I usually change Linc's diaper and we leave the room so he can rest a little while longer. Occasionally I give Linc a bottle and he falls back to sleep but the odds of him returning to baby dreamland are about the same as LG's, nil. ( I actually have never written the word nil before and haven't the foggiest how to spell it. Was that right?) And besides, what's the point, Lacey is awake and now, none of us will sleep. One morning when I told her to look at books so I could sleep just a few more minutes she did. I think she read all 12 words of the book, "No, David" before she returned and with her mouth pressed to my ear very quietly and insistently whispered, "Cock-a-doodle-doo" which, by the way, is very funny when Jay is the cockadoodle dude but less so when it's happening on my side of the bed.
If it's a school morning Topher and Ronan are very tired and beg for extra time (I actually have found that if I carry Lincoln in and put him on the bed beside each one, respectively, they wake up in a good mood because the first thing they see is a drooly, happy, little chubster who is delighted to see them) but if it's a weekend and especially if Lincoln has gone back to sleep, they spring forth from their beds instantly. Then a party begins on the bed Jay and I bought before we had children; the very high lodgepole pine canopy bed we purposely chose so the children couldn't climb in with us. We now grimly joke that we didn't buy a bed, we purchased an indoor jungle gym. What fun!
On these Saturday mornings Lacey is already snuggling with her daddy and Ronan comes and climbs in between Jay and I. He wrestles around a bit adjusting the pillows and cheerfully greets Lacey Grace in the loudest whisper possible. Very occasionally he doesn't come in but lays in bed and sings. I've never heard an actual drunken sailor singing but I think I have a pretty good idea... However, he only sings on the mornings that Lacey Grace has not woken up early and gotten out of bed. On these mornings, laying beneath him in the lower bunk, she gets a taste of her own medicine. And then they both come into our room.
Being quiet is relative. To an adult, quiet means quiet. To a child it means small segments of stillness punctuated by loud shushing, giggles and scuffling. Even talking out loud is completely acceptable to a child being quiet if what he/she has to say is important enough. "Stop touching me!", "I'm so hungry!" and "Give it to me!" are examples of important statements to a child. Other examples include "My baloney has a first name," and "O-di-lay-di-hoo!"
Topher is ten. He comes in less frequently in the early mornings. This is because he barely left our bed. When Jay works late Topher comes in and sleeps in his daddy's spot. Then when Jay gets home at 1 or 2 or 3 a.m. he herds Toph back into his own bed by way of the bathroom. Speaking of drunken people, this is a sight to see. He bobs and weaves like a champ which makes him, I believe, a drunken boxer.
Because Toph likes to stay awake late and read he is less likely than the others to come in the following morning. He is growing up. Which is why I need to record all of this; because they're all growing up and I never want to forget
The Rooster, The Coo-ster, The Sailor or The Champ and what it feels like to be their mother at 5:30 a.m..
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
JeNeale
I love all my sisters-in-law (how lucky can a girl get?) but today I am thinking about one in particular - JeNeale. We met for the first time right after Cassie was born if I remember correctly. I had just returned home from my mission. I don't remember a lot about that initial meeting because I was so ga-ga over Jay but I remember her little toddler, Dalin, with his ice blue eyes and big smile, and her chubster baby, Cassie. I remember that after our wedding we stayed and opened all our gifts before leaving on our reception because she and Brent would be returning to Arizona before we got back and we wanted her to be able to share that with us. The very next morning we called her from our hotel because we had forgotten our coats and she and Brent met us in the parking lot. I felt then that both she and Brent were happy for us and loved us deeply.
Our first Christmas she gave us a cookbook with handwritten recipes. Some were recipes she and Brent enjoyed and many were recipes she and Jay had grown up with in mom's kitchen. I have since acquired many cookbooks but that first one is still the one I most often reach for. Two weeks ago the back cover fell off and recipes that I had slipped into pockets on the back came spilling out all over. I picked everything back up and rubber-banded the book together. Some things just can't be replaced. Some of our favorites have been tater tot casserole, mom's chicken enchiladas and her hot fudge sauce. I have made them hundreds of times.
Since then I have received many gifts from her. One birthday she gave me a book called Simple Abundance and a gratitude journal inscribed by her. Most recently I received a white long-sleeve T-Shirt that I wore 3 of the 7 days of the week during the winter and early spring. She seems to innately know what I like. I remember going to a clearance sale at Old Navy with her during a time when money was very tight. I was going simply for the company. As we headed to the register she quickly turned back and with a "don't give me any nonsense" look that only mothers possess she picked up a skirt she had seen me admiring and bought it for me. Many things have been bestowed upon our family by her bounteous hand. My children have received the most wonderful care packages from Aunt JeNeale with candy, small gifts, "real" golden dollars, cards and clothing. She is one of the most generous people I have ever known.
When I have gone through those times in my life that have been very painful she is one with whom I have shared my deepest sorrows. After London died she was the one who pointed out that I might be going through clinical depression and the one who urged me to get help. She was the one I called and still call when I have questions or concerns about this illness.
She came with other family members and held our baby and cried and wrote both Jay and I individual and deeply personal letters of encouragement that we still treasure. She even had a grandchild named London (Cassie's doll). :) During another profoundly difficult time in my life she listened quietly and became an advocate for me and the decisions I sometimes made that didn't appear to make sense.
She does not judge me for the foolish things I've done or the unkind or downright absurd things I have said like the time right after my mission to a third world country when my heart was broken over the poverty of those great people and I wildly stated that mothers shouldn't rub expensive Bath and Body Works lotion on their daughters when other mothers didn't even have milk for their babies. I still want other mothers and children to have what they need and try to be aware and helpful but, I confess, sometimes Lacey Grace smells a little like a human grapefruit proving that JeNeale is kind enough to love and forgive even a complete hypocrite. She always gives me the benefit of the doubt.
She loves my children and my husband and wants our family to succeed. I feel that. She laughs at our jokes and compliments budding talents. Last year when Topher performed his very rudimentary tap dance for our family I had tears come to my eyes. I looked around at all the family noting their encouraging and amused smiles and and saw that JeNeale was looking at me. No words were spoken but in that moment I felt her vicarious love of my son and her tender sentiment toward me - an inordinately pleased mother.
She loves the work that Jay does and values his skills. She gives genuine compliments to him and to me and to our children. Once, after speaking at a funeral and completely losing my composure I found a note which I still have tucked away in my scripture journal. Among other things it said, "I am blessed to be your sister."
That is exactly how I feel. Blessed.
Our first Christmas she gave us a cookbook with handwritten recipes. Some were recipes she and Brent enjoyed and many were recipes she and Jay had grown up with in mom's kitchen. I have since acquired many cookbooks but that first one is still the one I most often reach for. Two weeks ago the back cover fell off and recipes that I had slipped into pockets on the back came spilling out all over. I picked everything back up and rubber-banded the book together. Some things just can't be replaced. Some of our favorites have been tater tot casserole, mom's chicken enchiladas and her hot fudge sauce. I have made them hundreds of times.
Since then I have received many gifts from her. One birthday she gave me a book called Simple Abundance and a gratitude journal inscribed by her. Most recently I received a white long-sleeve T-Shirt that I wore 3 of the 7 days of the week during the winter and early spring. She seems to innately know what I like. I remember going to a clearance sale at Old Navy with her during a time when money was very tight. I was going simply for the company. As we headed to the register she quickly turned back and with a "don't give me any nonsense" look that only mothers possess she picked up a skirt she had seen me admiring and bought it for me. Many things have been bestowed upon our family by her bounteous hand. My children have received the most wonderful care packages from Aunt JeNeale with candy, small gifts, "real" golden dollars, cards and clothing. She is one of the most generous people I have ever known.
When I have gone through those times in my life that have been very painful she is one with whom I have shared my deepest sorrows. After London died she was the one who pointed out that I might be going through clinical depression and the one who urged me to get help. She was the one I called and still call when I have questions or concerns about this illness.
She came with other family members and held our baby and cried and wrote both Jay and I individual and deeply personal letters of encouragement that we still treasure. She even had a grandchild named London (Cassie's doll). :) During another profoundly difficult time in my life she listened quietly and became an advocate for me and the decisions I sometimes made that didn't appear to make sense.
She does not judge me for the foolish things I've done or the unkind or downright absurd things I have said like the time right after my mission to a third world country when my heart was broken over the poverty of those great people and I wildly stated that mothers shouldn't rub expensive Bath and Body Works lotion on their daughters when other mothers didn't even have milk for their babies. I still want other mothers and children to have what they need and try to be aware and helpful but, I confess, sometimes Lacey Grace smells a little like a human grapefruit proving that JeNeale is kind enough to love and forgive even a complete hypocrite. She always gives me the benefit of the doubt.
She loves my children and my husband and wants our family to succeed. I feel that. She laughs at our jokes and compliments budding talents. Last year when Topher performed his very rudimentary tap dance for our family I had tears come to my eyes. I looked around at all the family noting their encouraging and amused smiles and and saw that JeNeale was looking at me. No words were spoken but in that moment I felt her vicarious love of my son and her tender sentiment toward me - an inordinately pleased mother.
She loves the work that Jay does and values his skills. She gives genuine compliments to him and to me and to our children. Once, after speaking at a funeral and completely losing my composure I found a note which I still have tucked away in my scripture journal. Among other things it said, "I am blessed to be your sister."
That is exactly how I feel. Blessed.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Things I love
1. The feeling of a 22 pound baby boy snuggled up against me as I go downstairs. The sound of his babbling and the way he reaches for me everytime he sees me. When he sees the piano he makes little wimpering sounds until someone sits down with him and lets him play.
2. Hamburgers or anything else fresh off the grill
3. The sound of croaking coming from all the ponds and swamps nearby. When I hear this for the first time each spring I roll down all the windows and listen in rapture. This is the song of spring after a long New England winter.
4. Topher's new glasses - red frames with thick black temples. Very hip. He is his father's boy.
5. Homemade pretzels hot from the oven and a houseful of little friends eager for a bite. Rolling them out with my good friend Jen who can do anything and noting that, amazingly, there is one thing I can do that she can't.
6. Talking with Jay. About art and music and children and our friends, the Devlins, who are taking the discussions. About books and writing and general conference and his job. About sticks and stones. But not about the cost of gasoline, or the fact that the missionaries are coming over for dinner and confirmed with him and not with me, or that he caught an older gentleman who stood up in Sacrament Meeting and fainted while I sat 3 chairs away, totally engrossed in a talk and didn't see. (I only learned that this happened tonight from another church member who observed the whole thing from several rows behind and the opposite side of the chapel!!!)
7. Emergency lullabies composed spontaneously by LG when Lincoln starts crying with words like, "Don't cry, my little candy heart," repeated over and over very softly to random melodies.
8. Sleeping through the night
9. Ronan's love of children and his attention to their needs. I call him "The friend of children" like Joseph Smith was sometimes called because he is. I love this tender side of a tough little boy.
10. My children's giggles when I read from the Dragonslayer's Academy series at night. The way they are understanding the scriptures and feeling the love of the Savior. Their courage to stand alone in a school where there are only 4 other members of the church. Their kindness.
2. Hamburgers or anything else fresh off the grill
3. The sound of croaking coming from all the ponds and swamps nearby. When I hear this for the first time each spring I roll down all the windows and listen in rapture. This is the song of spring after a long New England winter.
4. Topher's new glasses - red frames with thick black temples. Very hip. He is his father's boy.
5. Homemade pretzels hot from the oven and a houseful of little friends eager for a bite. Rolling them out with my good friend Jen who can do anything and noting that, amazingly, there is one thing I can do that she can't.
6. Talking with Jay. About art and music and children and our friends, the Devlins, who are taking the discussions. About books and writing and general conference and his job. About sticks and stones. But not about the cost of gasoline, or the fact that the missionaries are coming over for dinner and confirmed with him and not with me, or that he caught an older gentleman who stood up in Sacrament Meeting and fainted while I sat 3 chairs away, totally engrossed in a talk and didn't see. (I only learned that this happened tonight from another church member who observed the whole thing from several rows behind and the opposite side of the chapel!!!)
7. Emergency lullabies composed spontaneously by LG when Lincoln starts crying with words like, "Don't cry, my little candy heart," repeated over and over very softly to random melodies.
8. Sleeping through the night
9. Ronan's love of children and his attention to their needs. I call him "The friend of children" like Joseph Smith was sometimes called because he is. I love this tender side of a tough little boy.
10. My children's giggles when I read from the Dragonslayer's Academy series at night. The way they are understanding the scriptures and feeling the love of the Savior. Their courage to stand alone in a school where there are only 4 other members of the church. Their kindness.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Sticks and stones
My children's favorite playthings are sticks. Our front porch is covered with walking sticks, swords, spears, and lances, and wands. I remember being a little bit surprised that a close friend of mine, the mother of many boys, had so many pretend weapons for her sons to play with; swords, guns, etc.. I gave in when my boys started biting their toast into the shape of pistols and sword fighting with bananas. We made the rule that the fellas couldn't point the guns at each other but had to shoot wild beasts or dangerous monsters and other such creatures. Is that rule realistic? or is it absurd? I don't know. But that's how it is at our house.
Slaying imaginary dragons with stick swords only brings so much satisfaction, though. They don't really make very challenging opponents. So dueling occurs in earnest in the forest around our house. It's not just our boys, it's all the boys and some of the girls in our neck of the woods. For the most part it's good natured fighting (did I really just write that?) and the worst injuries sustained to this point have been grazed knuckles. The clacking of weaponry outside our house is as familiar to us here as the croaking of frogs.
Recently our neighbor, Jenn, who grew up in Colorado wondered out loud, "What is it with our kids and sticks? I don't remember ever playing with a stick when I was growing up. Jay matter of factly reminded, "What sticks? We had no trees." Oh, yeah.
Rocks are right up there. I rarely turn on the dryer without hearing thudding sounds. I know instantly that the rocks I just cleaned out of the washer weren't the only ones left in pockets. Every day when I find rocks on the counter I open the front door and throw them back out into the driveway. This works well as long as no one is sword fighting in that precise location. Occasionally one of the children will rediscover a rock that they had previously brought in for their "collection" and bring it in again. This astonishes me. "How can you be sure it is the very same rock?' you may be thinking. One day we put rocks in the oven and when they were very hot we drew with crayons on one side of them. When the children weren't looking a few days later I chucked those guys (the rocks) back out into the driveway. Within days the children had found all of the crayon rocks and another that didn't have crayon but was shaped like a heart and they had been returned to their home on the kitchen island.
Slaying imaginary dragons with stick swords only brings so much satisfaction, though. They don't really make very challenging opponents. So dueling occurs in earnest in the forest around our house. It's not just our boys, it's all the boys and some of the girls in our neck of the woods. For the most part it's good natured fighting (did I really just write that?) and the worst injuries sustained to this point have been grazed knuckles. The clacking of weaponry outside our house is as familiar to us here as the croaking of frogs.
Recently our neighbor, Jenn, who grew up in Colorado wondered out loud, "What is it with our kids and sticks? I don't remember ever playing with a stick when I was growing up. Jay matter of factly reminded, "What sticks? We had no trees." Oh, yeah.
Rocks are right up there. I rarely turn on the dryer without hearing thudding sounds. I know instantly that the rocks I just cleaned out of the washer weren't the only ones left in pockets. Every day when I find rocks on the counter I open the front door and throw them back out into the driveway. This works well as long as no one is sword fighting in that precise location. Occasionally one of the children will rediscover a rock that they had previously brought in for their "collection" and bring it in again. This astonishes me. "How can you be sure it is the very same rock?' you may be thinking. One day we put rocks in the oven and when they were very hot we drew with crayons on one side of them. When the children weren't looking a few days later I chucked those guys (the rocks) back out into the driveway. Within days the children had found all of the crayon rocks and another that didn't have crayon but was shaped like a heart and they had been returned to their home on the kitchen island.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
My Easter Talk
I gave a talk on Easter Sunday that I'd love to share but it's way to long and way too personal to put on my blog. If anyone is interested leave me your E-Mail. I feel a little embarrassed soliciting readership but I share it because I learned so much and because I love you guys - my family. I'd love to read any of your talks since I never am there to hear them and learn from you in person.
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