Busy Bug

I've been bit by the summer busy bug. I keep trying to stay up late, trying to record everything before memories sink into the recesses of my mind. Even when I'm able to recall things, they're not as fresh. But, I'll keep trying. There have been family reunions, wedding plans, family reunions, bachelorette parties complete with a penis cake, flatish tires, anxiety attacks, more missing the hubby, summer runs, laundry piles, and on and on.

There's a lot I haven't done, but at least I got to watch Atrain race down the hill on his bike today. At least I was able to sit and listen to him "read" his favorite books to me today while Jdog crawled to a stand on my shoulder. At least I finally ordered a pair of $9.00 glasses online so that I can begin to see things far away again. At least I have a few blog entries saved, though unfinished. Tonight I fell asleep at the computer again. Hopefully I'll get caught up soon. But if not, I'm going to use my new favorite that Atrain and I use often. "It's okay. I won't worry about it."

The Bachelorette

Tonight I went to a bachelorette party for my soon to be sister-in-law, Hill. She is the coolest. She laughed off the ribald gifts, and squealed with delight at the sight of the contents of the "pleasure chest" we gave her. My favorite quote of the night was, "Thank you! My two favorite things. Eating and sex...I hope."

Dall-o-rama

I kidnapped my little brother from my family's home today. Really--apparently my father was half-awake when he gave Dalliwag the "go ahead" to come to my home for a few days. I recruited his help and company for the bachelorette party tomorrow. Don't worry--he's not planning on coming to provide any sort of live entertainment. Yuck. Can't believe I even wrote that. He's just the babysitter, and a pretty good one at that.

If I had to pinpoint Dallin's babysitting superpower, it's that he's funny. He won't talk about real things--whenever I ask him any sort of serious question like, "How did you scratch your nose?" he responds with, "It's a battle scar!" And, then when I probe him, "No, really--it looks like it hurts, what happened?" He says, "MJ, how many times do I have to tell you--I got it in battle." And he won't let up. It's not that anything embarrassing caused the scab...I eventually squeezed out the real info (that he bumped it on the bottom of the pool), but for some reason he thinks it's great to torture me with misinformation. Atrain loves it too. He has been saying, "Silly Dalliwag," all day long. Oh so silly. Can't wait to have teenage boys.

Sleep Over

My mind is like mush. It often feels this way after I put the kids to bed. Today was not the greatest day. I didn’t get anything done that I wanted to do. Instead, I spent my time making up for my mistakes. I left Baby J’s port-a-crib (the handy, portable bed that has been his bed by my bed) at my mother’s house yesterday, so the bulk of my time was spent putting together the real crib. And, for some odd reason I decided to put it up in Atrain’s room.

The experiment needed to happen at some point. I’m just not sure if now was a good time for it. My state of being is not exactly stately right now. The weight of worrying for the kids alone is wearing on me. I know that the husband worries about them, but in the day to day ‘to dos’ it means a lot to have someone else’s voice chime-in to harmonize with mind. It’s not that I am incapable of reminding Atrain to put his pajamas on twenty times in a row. It’s just that when the number of requests I’ve issued exceeds the number of fingers on my hand, my confidence begins to crack. I wonder if the words coming out of my mouth make any sense. I wonder why I’m even speaking at all. And I wonder why—when given the express choice—Atrain prefers “time out” over dressing himself. Othingnay akesmay ensesay.

Until, that is, I hear my boys giggling and blowing raspberries at each other as they “try” to go to sleep in the same room. For some reason, those sounds bring me back home. I’m laughing as I listen to them live it up after hours, even though I know that I’ll have to go in there soon enough to break up the party. I already went in there once to remind Atrain that he needs to stay in his bed. He tried to convince me that his new bed on the rocking chair counted; too bad that it doesn’t. I’m sure that I’ll hear Atrain trying to join his brother in the bed we ‘built’ today. I can’t even think about how angry he will be when I tell him he can’t. Even with a mushy mind, it’s easy to understand how much they love each other.

So, maybe I’ll just join the slumber party. I’m sure that my presence will greatly increase the chances of the Sandman joining in the fun too. Who cares about the hallway full of homeless odds and ends that became displaced when the crib moved in. Never mind the sink full of stinky dishes. I’m not even going to try to catch up on the blog. I’m going to have a sleep over.

That Bites

When Atrain was just a little tyke (well, littler) two small, calloused lumps appeared on the surface of his skin. They itched. He scratched. They swelled up to the size of a quarter. I drew lines on his skin to monitor the growth of the strange, red, risen lumps. Twenty four hours passed and they only grew larger. So, being a first time mom, I did what I knew how to do best: panic.

I called the dermatologist and exclaimed that I had a medical emergency. They wiggled a bit of room in their schedule for my lumpy toddler. When I got there I had to hold Atrain in my arms while they took a core sample of the strange circular growths. I guess they needed a pathologist’s trained eye to tell me that they were simply bug bites. And Atrain had an obvious allergic reaction.

Ever since then I try to carry a bottle of bug spray with me whenever summer time rolls around. But why does it take me one bad night of bug bites to make me remember just how important it is to be thorough? The poor kid got eaten alive the first night of the family reunion. I thought I sprayed him down well enough, but I thought wrong. Some hungry, blood sucking, deet-immune mosquito feasted on the back of my little boy’s forearm. Now Atran’s little arm is so swollen it looks like Pop-eye’s. Poor kid.

I left church today to break the Sabbath by buying Benadryl and Cars band-aids. Hopefully having Lightening McQueen smiling up at him from his inflamed forearm will help his arm look a little less lop-sided. Right now I’m really having a hard time believing in the importance of biodiversity.

Truck Bed

Today marked the beginning of the 2012 Francypants family reunion. When I was a little girl I always wondered what people did at family reunions. My family never really had "reunions," we just got together. Often. Mostly on Sundays. We would eat, watch the classic musicals with my cousins (The “King and I” was my favorite), see who could climb up the swing-set the fastest and (inevitably) who could give Grandma the most grief about coming down. Then at the end of the evening we always snuggled up in quilts on Grandma's patio, reading books while we listened to the mosquitoes meet their zapper doom.

When I married the husband I learned that family reunions are a lot like Sunday get togethers—except that there is a schedule, and a gigantic slumber party. It’s extremely exciting. The Kelkat clan opens up literally every room in their house to anyone who wants to stay the night. Everyone who attends fulfills a food assignment to feed the 50ish people who come—and we’re talking crepes with all the trimmings and marinated teriyaki chicken. MMmmmm.

This year I borrowed my dad’s Super-Duty pick up truck to take the boys down to Gunisack for the big event. The truck is so large that it feels like you’re flying at low altitudes when you drive it. It has a hard top over the truck bed, so we occasionally toss a mattress in the back to make for easy camping. My plan was to have my first camp-out with the boys over the reunion weekend. My mother in law and Atrain had other things in mind. Milly suggested that she sleep in the truck bed while the boys and I took the room down the stairs. Though I vehemently opposed the idea (kicking my mother in law out of her bed), Atrain overheard her plans and thought it would be fantastic to camp out with Milly instead of me. So, when push came to shove, Atrain won.

I still feel guilty about steeling my mother-in-law’s bedroom, but I must admit that seeing Atrain snuggled up to Milly in a sleeping bag, and listening to her stories by the light of his bumble bee lantern was rather adorable. I love how much he loves his family. I love how thrilled he gets at the prospect of spending time with them. His eyes beam with anticipation every time we talk about it. He will be talking about his night with Milly in the truck bed for a long time to come.

Attention to Detail

The things that attract Atrain's attention astonish me. He showed his adept attention to detail at 9 months old when he would cry with distaste if I pulled my hair back in a pony tail. No joke. He's a little more lenient now a days when it comes to my hair-dos, but if he disapproves, he lets me know. "Let me take your elastic out for you, Mom," he says, then adds, "I'll go slow, I promise...I promise!" As I wince when he pulls, plucking hairs out of my pony tail.

Today he focused his attention on the wheels of a little Hot Wheels car we bought from the big grocery store. We were there to pick up a present for my Dad's birthday and Atrain wanted to get Grandpa a car. I'm pretty sure he had ulterior motives, because of course he needed one to match. So, we brought home two toy cars today: one for Atrain and one for Grandpa.

But as soon as his new car hit the speedway (aka our couch) there was an immediate problem. Atrain was wailing as he looked at the car and exclaimed, "It's broken! It's LOOSE! My car is broken!" I examined the vehicle, but could see no apparent problems. But Atrain was not satisfied. So, I sat patiently with him, trying to understand the source of his anguish. "It's LOOSE! See! Do you understand?" He continued to ask me. I was trying really hard to interpret Atrain, who was now flailing his body against the floor. I put the car on the cushion and rolled it to and fro (just like Atrain does), and I finally spotted the problem. The circular paint that encases the rim of the tire was slightly off. So, when the wheel turned it appeared to wobble. It looked loose.

"Wow!" I said, "this is a huge problem!" as I rolled it toward Atrain. "I can't believe the wheel is loose." And with that, Atrain immediately perked up. Bingo. We were speaking on the same wave length. All he wanted was to be understood. "I bet Grandpa will be able to fix it. Do you think we should trade him cars for now?" Atrain cheered right up as we traded toy cars with grandpa. Luckily, all four paint jobs were up to par with Atrain's high standards. If only all three year old obsessive crises were as easily averted.

Baby You're a Firework

My baby sister Allerina came to visit for a couple of days. Having her around is like spreading out a big quilt on a summer’s night and watching fireworks dance in the sky. She makes me laugh. She loves playing with my kids. She even does my dishes. And then she sits by me and giggles as we watch “So You Think You Can Dance.” I love not being alone at night. I fell asleep beside her on the couch tonight with a smile on my face. She is such a good girl. I love it when she pops in to light up my life.

Tantrum

Every now and then I have mothering moments that make me feel like I’m in the middle of a three ring circus, trying to tame a lion in front of thousands of onlookers. But, I don’t have a whip. All I have are a few repetitive phrases. And lions like Atrain don’t really care for words when they’re angry. They just bare their fangs, throw their heads back and roar.

We were just going to get toilet paper. That’s all. That’s all I wanted. And maybe just a little sneak peek at Target’s curtain selection to see if they sell anything stylish and suitable to help me trick my boys into bed on time. I’m getting tired of looking at the blankets hanging in the bedroom windows. (Why can’t the summer sun go to bed at a decent hour?) Had I known that the curtains live next door to the bicycles, I would never have ventured near such temptation. But as soon as Atrain spotted the shiny wheels, he was hooked.

I acquiesced his request to “just check out” their bikes. Mistake #2. When we got there he couldn’t see a single bike that wasn’t hung on a rack. “Phew,” I thought. Jdog and I weren’t going to have to follow him around in the store for an hour pretending we have purchasing intentions after all. But, Atrain had other, more elaborate dramatizations up his sleeve. “I want that bike bell,” he said. “You already have one, but if you want another one you can earn it,” I responded. He crinkled his nose, tightened his vocal chords and said, “NO. I don’t want to earn it. I want to buy it!”

I could see the ground beneath his feet begin to shake and knew that his volcano would erupt soon. So, I braced myself as I said, “Remember Atrain, we earn things. We can’t just buy them.” An immediate, distraught scream exploded from his throat, right on cue. After a few unsuccessful attempts to contain the damage, I did what anyone would do if a volcano exploded in the middle of a store: take the baby out of the cart, leave the goods behind and head in the opposite direction.

Atrain followed me, as I knew he would—and his outbursts continued, as I knew they would. But I was proud of myself for keeping my cool in the heat of the situation. As he roared and screamed and pulled my arm I asked, “Do you think this is a good choice or a bad choice, Atrain? Is this the way we act in stores? Are you earning a new bell for your bike when you act like this?” He finally began to come to his senses as we neared the entrance to the store. “I’m sorry!” he said. “I’m sorry! We left our toilet paper! Can we go back and get our toilet paper?” So after I gave him a big hug, we went back to retrieve our toilet paper.

This is no the only tantrum we’ve encountered in the last few weeks—and certainly they are nothing new, just more often. I don’t know what has spawned this string of horrible episodes of late. Maybe it’s all of the changes we’ve experienced in the last few months: new school class, dada in Texas, shifting summer sleep schedules (or the lack thereof), Jdog becoming evermore mobile and into Atrain’s toys, etc. Or maybe it’s just that he’s three. I don’t like it when he’s unhappy. And I don’t enjoy feeling like a ringmaster. Maybe I need a new approach—better taming methods. If you have little lions yourself and you know a few good tricks, I would love to learn them.

Missionary Monday

Dear Elder I,

I’m late in writing this letter to you. I seem to be late a lot these days. I’m not sure why. I keep trying to catch-up with myself, but I feel like my feet are running faster than I can follow. Or maybe it’s that my list is always longer than the hours I have in the day. Time is turning so quickly that I’m getting dizzy. But I am doing all that I can to make the most of it.

We only have a week and a half until the husband returns from the great state of Texas. He is ready to come home. We are so excited to have him back. Atrain keeps checking the count down, “Two weeks, Daddy, then only one week, then you will be home?” He sure loves his daddy. I tear up every time I watch Atrain talk to the husband on the computer. He brings all of his toys over to the screen and plays out all of the imaginary scenes running through his mind for his father. Then, when we have to leave to run an errand he begin to panic, “You stay there Dada,” he instructs him. So, often we leave the home for a few minutes with skype still running and the husband’s face fixed in the screen. The other day Atrain said, “When Dada comes home, he will not have to work any more.” I corrected him, reminding him that Dada will still have to work at his school, but Atrain was insistent. “Nope. Dada will work from home.” Lucky for Atrain, the husband will take the “home work” shift while I’m training for my job in August. That will be fun for all of them.

Needless to say, Father’s day was a little disappointing this year. I had this idea of how I wanted everything to perfectly pan out, but none of my plans worked. And really, I was just fighting off that lonely-for-the-husband pit in stomach all day long. But I really have nothing to complain about. I have been blessed with the greatest father figures a girl could ever ask for. I know that you agree. I think that our Dad’s secret ingredient is rather simple: unconditional love. He never overemphasized his concern for the marks I made in school. In fact, one time when I was particularly anxious about a class he dared me to get a “C” and told me that he would pay me $500 if I did it. How did he know that I wouldn’t take his bate? He is a true fisherman. I always know that he loves me and is proud of me—no matter what. Which somehow made me want to prove that I was worthy of such great love and trust. Magic.

Atrain started school last week. He has been having a difficult time. I don’t know if it’s all of the adjustments that have come with a summer schedule, but the poor guy has been hanging tightly to my apron strings. Last Monday when we arrived at school it wasn’t what he expected: new classroom, new teachers, new friends, etc. I could see the questioning look on his face, but then a girl from his former classroom grabbed his hand and brought him into the group. It’s so sweet to watch him gather his confidence and leave my side. But, then it all unraveled when I realized that I forgot his sunscreen and had to go back in. Never again. He threw a tantrum the size of a hurricane when I left, and it didn’t stop. I watched him through the two way glass for about fifteen minutes before going back in to rescue him from himself. I stayed until he told me that it was alright to leave. It took about an hour, but eventually he decided that his friends were much cooler than I. Some day that decision won’t feel as satisfying. But that day, it did. And I was happy to see my smiling Atrain when I picked him up an hour later.

It is good for him to be pushed, to get out of his comfort zone and learn from new, different environments. Even though it’s hard for me to watch him stretch so that he can grow, I know that it’s good for all of us to do that. But it’s hard to change. I need more faith to let God bring mighty changes in my heart. Home is not far. God is always watching behind the one-way glass. And he won’t ever forsake us or leave us comfortless.

Jdog is changing a lot. And it’s hard for him too. Every new month he meets new milestones, grows new teeth, and gains greater agility to get himself into tricky positions. He is my yoga baby. I’ve never giggled so much watching a little baby learn how to use his body. He will prop himself up on his hind legs and lift one arm high in the air, then he’ll do a leg extension, then straddle wide and sit down in the splipts. Seriously. This kid’s god a future in the Olympics. It’s so fun to watch him grow, even though I hate to watch his little tumbles. He is a trooper. I love being the one to hug and shush and love his tears away.

Well, brother, I must go. Keep up the good work. I am proud of you.

Love, MJ

Father's Day

I wish this day wouldn’t have happened. I wish I would have pulled a “P&A”—pretending that it wasn’t Father’s Day at all. We could have made up for it later, when the husband was actually here to celebrate with us. But it wouldn’t have worked out. Especially since it’s Sunday, and Atrain would be hearing the “I’m so glad when Daddy comes home” song in Sacrament meeting. That makes the “pretend it isn’t Father’s day so I don’t cry when the primary kids sing in church” plans a little complicated. So, on we went.

I tried to paint a smile of my face. I tried to call the husband to have the kids sing to him. I tried to give him a good gift that he would enjoy during his last few weeks in Texas (even though I ended up complaining at the end of the day that the Netflix present we gave him kept him up way past his bedtime, causing him to sleep through his children’s “Happy Father’s day” wake-up call). I complained way too much today. And I really have nothing to whine about.

I have the best Fathers in my life. My father’s love is more steady and sure than the sunrise. The husband’s love for our children is sweeter than the sound of a giggle and stronger than gravity. The Doc’s love for our family is like a firewall against every imaginable evil. Oh that every little girl could have such good fathers in their life. I will never know how I managed to be one of the lucky few that do. I don’t feel like I deserve them, though every day I’m reminded how much I need them.

I hope that my Heavenly Father can see past the complaints I bemoaned today. Since the day didn’t pan out as planned, I’m going to shoot for a make-up Father’s day in the near future: when the husband is home; when we can stay up together until 5am navigating the world of Netflix; when the boys can actually be “so glad that Daddy came home, pat his cheeks and give him what? A great big kiss.”

Soccer Mom to Be

I was a full fledged soccer mom today. It was awesome. I loaded six boys—ages 7 months to 10 years—into a minivan and rolled over to the local peewee field to watch the 6 year old tear it up at his final game. I also watched a lot of other games. There was the the “pay me a pile of wood chips to go down the slide” game; the “capture then re-capture the exhausted moth” game; the “roll down the hill until all of our bums turn green” game; and, of course, the “get as close to the actual soccer game as you can without getting chided” game. It was a hoot.

Atrain adores these cousins (sons of my cousin, actually—but cousins all the same). Every time we get a chance to watch them it’s as if we board a pirate ship and sail off to explore uncharted waters. But these boys are much better behaved than a bunch of scurvy buccaneers—they even ask “please may I be excused,” after we eat a meal. And they share their treasures with Atrain. And they always greet him with the biggest hugs and highest high-fives.

I love watching this crew. I look at them and I see my family in just a few years. I hear their excitement about all things boyish and brotherly—caring so much about what the others are doing (good and bad). I feel their energy and it’s easy to get lost in their world. Though I’m sure it isn’t easy to raise a bunch of boys (and do as good of a job as my cousin has done), it sure is easy to love them. Atrain agrees. Tonight in family prayer he said, “And thank you to us watching the boys.” Yes, thank you.

Sunset Run

Tonight we went on a sweet sunset run. It was a great way to decompress after our two-day long audiology appointment. I love taking my boys out in the stroller. They love it too. Jdog is even big enough to be propped up like a big-boy without his car seat attachment. He mumbles delightful “sshchhskisshc” sounds, scratches the various fabric textures and kicks the tray as we jog down the sidewalk.

On special occasions I even let Atrain bring his scooter along. Tonight was one such occasion. But I made him get dressed in his one piece pajamas before we left the house, just so I could giggle at how cute he looks scooting down the sidewalk in helmet and PJs. He chugged his little legs along side me and the bob as we watched the sun set slowly on the horizon. The perfect way to end a stinky day.

Fat Tomato

Today felt like getting hit in the face with tomatoes: juicy, giant tomatoes that snickered as they splat against my forehead. Atrain awoke at 5:45 with a grumpy hangover. That didn't bode well for the day's activities: mapping the cochlear implants at the audiologist--a series of sound tests that also test Atrain's patience. So when we arrived at the audiologist I should have been more prepared for a difficult appointment. But I wasn't; especially because Atrain's vertigo spells had an effect on his cochlear maps. I guess that it's kind of like getting so sick that you experiencing drastic changes in vision and need a new glasses prescription overnight. Not a common phenomenon.

I definitely hadn't braced myself for impact of that fat tomato. My son's hearing has been somewhat 'blurry' since our trip to the ER on mother's day--maybe even before then. I hate things I can't control and don't understand. I especially hate that no one really knows what he is experiencing, that there are no solid warning signs or certain triggers, and essentially no answers. It's all educated guesswork, and it's hard to trust a trial and error process when my son's health is at stake.

Atrain is fine. He did much better at the appointment than I did, in fact. He took the tedious appointment in stride, patiently playing the electrode beep computer game and telling the audiologist what he could and could not hear. All the while, I sat there annoyed by my ignorance and all that I can’t control. I even started to imagine every rude, irresponsible thing I wanted to do when we left the office: cut people off in traffic without using my signal, change a poopy diaper on a restaurant table, allow my kids to yell, run and wreak havoc in a public library, etc. Then I pictured myself snapping back at all of the people shooting dirty looks in my direction. “Deal with it!” I yelled at each and every one of them. If only I were so brave. I’m sure it would feel good right now. Release some tension. Maybe even make me laugh. I need that.

Pegleg Jdog

Baby J crawled today. He has been rolling around, playing stink bug and rocking and chugging his chubby little legs in crawl stance for three weeks now. His maneuvers across the floor are rather impressive. I espacially love it when he winds up squatting in a straddle position or sitting in near splits. He looks up at me, proud as can be and I applaud and cheer as he scrunches his nose, smiles and shows off his two lower teeth. (Did I mention the set of chompers he grew in Texas?) He is the most squishable, kissable kid.

Today we went to Katydid's home to spend the night and prep for Atrain's audiology appointment tomorrow. She just got a new dog. Jdog loves doggies--so much that he took his first few crawls towards Katydid's new pet. He got up into position, then advanced one arm toward the dog. His knee followed, and then with a big swinging motion, the other arm. Finally, he stretched his other leg forward--stick strait--like a baby pegleg pirate. As soon as he saw that he was just inches away from the furry creature, he laid down on his belly and reached his hand eternally forward. Lucky for him, the dog acknowledged his efforts and met him half way. Who wouldn't have? He is the cutest little pegleg Jdog there has ever been.

Lose Yourself

Many strange things have happened to me as a mother. I’ve watched my abdomen balloon to the size of a basketball and independently wobble with life inside; I’ve become completely tolerant of touching many disgusting bodily byproducts; and, random line-ups of toy cars are an integral part of my interior decoration scheme (just to name a few). But, perhaps one of the strangest things that occasionally happens amidst all of the things I’m trying to find (sunscreen, keys, the card, the grocery list, the email responses, the dirty diaper, where Atrain may have put Fin McMissile, which side I fed Jdog on last, etc. etc. etc.), is that it’s easy to loose myself in the mix.

It’s strange, really, when I search for the familiar sense of self I thought I knew so well, only to find pieces of that person and some undefined stuff in between. I hear my voice and the nagging, “Please obey me when I ask you the first time,” words I speak and I idealize the former version of myself, wondering where the fun, sweet, spontaneous me went. Next, I lose focus, which then inevitably leads to a harrowing, guilty conscience. Yesterday, I actually asked my mom, “Why do we do it?” The words tasted biter and full of regret as soon as they left my tongue.

Of course I know why. And the only reason I asked my mom such a stupid question was because I knew she would understand what I really meant: help. After a few good conversations and some un-tethered time catching up on my scripture study, LDS conference council and enjoying my kiddos sans household duties, my perspective is a lot clearer. I am a mother because I love God. I am a mother because I love my husband. I am a mother because I love the little souls I am blessed to nurture—so much that I want to turn myself inside out to protect them. I am a mother because I know that raising good kids is the greatest contribution I can make. Nothing is more important than this responsibility I chose to bear.

Perhaps that is why it is so difficult; I want to be the best mothering-me I can be, but I am still learning who she is. I’m sure I will always be, and I am ok with that. This weekend the words of a familiar scripture wrote themselves so clearly in my mind, and took on new meaning:

Matthew 10:39, “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

I want to get lost in motherhood. I don’t need to be concerned about that me that I was when I didn’t have kids and how she compares to the me that I am now. I am going to focus on who I am becoming, rather than who I was. And, when I’m wishing for a little more of myself to go around, I need to remember that God can make more of me than I could have ever make of myself.

Missionary Monday

Hello Brother,

I hope that you are doing well. I sure love you, and I'm so proud of you. It's been a busy couple of weeks in my little family. I've been doing a lot and learning a lot. And, yes, I talked to your mission president. It was more by accident than anything. We wanted to see where you had been transferred to and get your package address. I thought that I was calling the mission home, but nope. When the phone was picked up on the other end the voice said, "Hello, this is President Jones." I was a little stunned, and apologized for calling his personal number by accident, but went on with my original question anyhow. He was very nice. It was fun to listen to his voice and wonder how he sounds as a mission president.

I actually also emailed him, but for a totally different reason. When I was just a few hours away from you in Texas I wanted to come see your sweet face. We thought that it would possibly be a good idea to go to church in the ward you are serving in. But I guess it wasn't such a great idea, after all. President Jones relayed the official mission rule (in a very strait forward, matter of fact way...seems like a good, by-the-book kind of guy), and after hearing that missionaries are not allowed to have visitors from home, it really made sense in my mind and heart. I'm sure it would be quite distracting to have a visit from your sister and her family. And, I wouldn't want to do anything that would make your mission any harder, or make you long for home any more. It was hard, though, showing up to church on my last Sunday in Texas and seeing the missionaries in the ward there, knowing that I could have been seeing you. But it was for the better, I'm sure.

So...life. It's been kind of interesting lately. I have had a few experiences that have challenged and helped me build my testimony. In my Patriarchal blessing I'm told that my testimony will be challenged as I go through life and that I will face obstacles--but it also says that I will make the correct choices and that I will be courageous in my pursuit of excellence. It was sweet to reread that after this experience. I have a friend from high school who has fallen away from the church. So sad. It has made me do a lot of thinking about my own testimony and which areas need to be stronger. Then, while in Texas I had an interesting conversation with a mechanic (our car broke down while we were there) who asked me point blank, "What is the difference between your church and my church." Elder, I stumbled in my response. I mean, I did my best to tell him about the Book of Mormon and the restoration of the gospel through Joseph Smith, but I was so unpracticed and rather unprepared. When it came to telling someone who has no knowledge about the church and its beginnings, I felt so unsure of my words. Right then and there, I wished that I had served a mission. I would have known exactly what to say. But I didn't.

After thinking a lot about that moment, I came to the conclusion that I need to work of a few things. I need to have a game plan for when that question comes at me again. I don't want to fumble that opportunity (though dad believes positive things probably came from that interaction). I need to gain a stronger testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and practice sharing it with others. Not that I don't have a testimony of the Prophet, I do--I know he was called by God to restore the fullness of Christ's gospel in these latter days--but I need more confidence and practice sharing it. I read a conference talk that was given by a convert from Brazil who read the history of the Joseph Smith that is included in the scriptures and prayed about its truthfulness. Thus far, that has been a great experience for me. For members of the church like me--the "average Jane"--who haven't served a formal mission for the church yet, and was baptized when they turned eight years old, I think it's good that I had a moment like this. It helped me realize what I need to do to be a better "member missionary." And, I'm excited to work on it.

This weekend was Gavin Aina's baptism. It was a very sweet moment for me to watch this young boy make those big promises, especially considering the thoughts that have been flying through my mind lately. I cried as I watched him be immersed in the water. I felt the spirit so strongly, telling me that the promises I made with God are real. They are still intact. And, that I always need to work to keep my testimony growing. Sure, I was baptized at eight years old and perhaps I didn't understand the incredible promises that were made at that point in my life, but I think that knowing, understanding and sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ will be a lifetime pursuit. I know that this is God's church and that Christ is at the head of it, instructing our latter-day prophet to help me navigate this life, and make something more of me than I could ever make of myself.

Well, brother, I must go. The babes are waking. They sure love you. I'll leave you with a funny story from my blog about the weekend that I know you will enjoy.

Love,
MJ

Little Miracles

There were a lot of moments this week that were honest, undeniable gifts from God. They came at a time when I really needed to see them—when I was praying for them: those assurances that He is watching you, and watching out for you:

· When my Dad mysteriously showed up behind me as I was walking into the church building for my cousin’s baptism. I was carrying both boys in my arms, holding tight to both of them, but also telling an (just awoken from his nap) ornery Aaron that he had to let go as soon as we got to the church’s door because mommy’s load was getting heavy. Then my dad came up behind me and took Aaron in his arms and said, “let me help you.” I was almost shocked, “How did you know I was here? And that I needed help?” I asked. He replied, “Mom told me to come find you. She felt like you needed help.”

· When the husband texted to tell me that he loves me right after Atrain had a minor meltdown. I hate it when he hits me. I try not to take it personal because he is only three, after all, but I always need a good reminder that someone loves me after moments like that.

· When we sang, “Because I Have Been Given Much” in church and I felt the Spirit bare witness of all the good gifts God has given me in my life. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I thought of my family, my friends, my good life and my desire to give all that I am and can be to God.

· Whenever baby J looked up at me from his crawl stance with his big two bottom-toothed grin, so proud of himself. I’m so proud of him too. I can’t believe he has two teeth, and that he’s already trying to crawl. This weekend I couldn’t help but be completely astonished by his patience whenever his attempts to move forward wobbled into a dive for the floor. That happens to me a lot too. I’m lucky to have a little sweet six month old to remind me about what it means to have patience. “In your patience possess ye your souls,” Luke 21:19.

· My sister Bambie’s birthday party and learning from her selfless approach to life.

· Listening to a conference talk by Claudio M. Costa about the Prophet Joseph Smith and feeling the desire to read Joseph Smith History.

· When I watched my little cousin go under the waters of baptism. It was so sweet. So pure—the promises he was making to God at such a young age. Eight years old seems so young to understand what a great commitment you are making. And yet, it is an inspired commitment that needs to be made continually after you enter the waters of baptism, an inspired way of life.

Grandpa Ike

My dad makes a wonderful grandpa: he’s silly, always has a bag of M&Ms handy, built his own garage and filled it with an assortment of toys, trucks and tools, and he’s a great tickler to boot. Best of all—he loves being a grandpa. In fact, in his personal history he wrote that he pictured himself being a grandpa before picturing himself as a dad (however that works out). He has always called himself an old man. And, he had a special relationship with his own grandpa that shines through in his interactions with the grandkids.

However, tonight Atrain spotted a few gaps in Grandpa Ike’s super powers. It was Bambi’s birthday, so we went to Spork for an overnight visit. I asked my dad to help me drag an extra mattress into the guest bedroom so Atrain could sleep near me. But, Grandpa doesn’t know how to ‘help’—instead he flung the entire queen sized mattress over his back and packed it up the stairs *by himself* like a sack of grain. I protested the entire way, “Dad, what are you doing? Dad, stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself—please, let me help, I’m not that big of a wimp,” then, giving up, fired these words in his direction, “Arg. You silly old man.”

My dad didn’t hear the last phrase I uttered. (He was too busy compressing the disks in his backbone as he hurled a bed over the banister for me). But he would have laughed, the same way he laughed when Atrain repeated my phrase when we reached the top of the stairs. I repeated, “Dad, you really should have let me help you with that,” and Atrain chimed in, “Yeah, you silly old man.” I’m still laughing at that one.

Also, Atrain brought his little taxi car along because it has a squeaky wheel, and of course, Grandpa Ike was bound to have something to fix it. After we got unpacked Atrain drove his little toy car over to Grandpa for a mechanical consultation. Grandpa Ike pushed it back and forth, but found no problem with Atrain’s machine. Atrain was thoroughly confused, and continued to roll the car to and fro saying, “The squeaky tire, that one. That! Do you hear that?” But my dad just returned Atrain’s confused expression with one of his own.

And that was when we all realized—almost simultaneously—that Atrain was hearing an annoying high-pitched noise that was out of Grandpa Ike’s hearing spectrum. He turned his head and tried to hear it with his “good ear.” Nothing. My dad looked up at me and I looked at him. “It’s time, dad,” I said with a smile. “Can I please take you the audiologist? Your deaf grandson can hear things that you cannot.” But Grandpa Ike just laughed it off. What a silly old man.

Keep on Plugging

I feel somewhat stuck in a rut. Gray clouds are gathering overhead, challenging my perspective. Maybe it's a post-vacation hang over. Or maybe it's because I'm having an incredibly hard time conjuring up a bit of quiet, reflective, reading time of my own. It could be that Atrain has developed a silly/snappy/stubborn alter-ego I've deemed his 'Darth' side that requires me to endlessly nag and remind him about good and bad choices and their coinciding consequences before he obeys (and after he disobeys). And I don't have the patience of a Jedi knight.

It's hard when I don't feel like myself, and when I don't like the self I seem to be. I've crumbled to my knees a lot lately--especially when I remember that I forgot again to say my prayers--seeking inspiration and more peace of mind. That's hard too; turning to God to ask for help when I don't quite feel up to par. It's kind of like going to a cousin's baptism with my son who stained the seat of his pants on a slide doused in Gatorade. We go on anyway. I pray on anyway. God came to Earth to mend the brokenhearted and strengthen the weary. He can also help me relocate the bit of myself that I somehow misplaced.

Missing Texas

Home is sweet. As soon as we walked through the door I felt my entire body exhale. It’s good to be back in our beds. It’s good to be back by our neighbors (two of my favorites helped me carry in all the bags from the car in one trip—a fete that is rather impossible when attempted alone). It was even good to greet the pile of laundry in the hallway.

But we will miss Texas. We will miss the pool. We will miss the produce (the best cantaloupe and avocado I’ve had in a long time). We will miss the escape from ‘real’ to do lists. But most of all we will miss the husband.

Tonight Atrain ran to the door and swung it open when he heard that dada was on the phone. The husband usually calls around quittin’ time, and Atrain loves to greet him at the entrance to our apartment building. I tried to explain to him that dada is still in Texas. His face scrunched as he screamed, “NO! Dada will be home in five minutes.” I tried again to tell him that he is still in Texas. Atrain repeated his “NO!” response. He is very tired from the plane ride yesterday, and almost everything was a battle today. It didn’t take long for me to become exhausted with explanations about how “it will only be three more weeks.” So I just stopped trying and let Atrain believe that “NO—it will be only one minute!” I sure wish.

Hello Party

I'm crying. We don't want to leave the husband. We have been packing and planning a goodbye party all day to hopefully leave with smiles rather than tears. Silly me. I don't know why I tried.

We picked up the husband from work for the last time in Texas and not long after we told him of our party plans Atrain changed his mind. "I don't want a goodbye party," he said glumly. "What do you want?" the husband asked. "A hello party," Atrain replied. Me too, Atain. Me too.

I'm sorry

Sweet Atrain, sometimes sorry isn’t enough; like when it’s said while you’re hitting your mom, thrashing your body against the floor, and wailing about forewarned consequences. Sorry is a magic word, but not magical enough to get you back into the pool. You still have to sit on time out. I know; I hate it too. I really, really do. It would have been a lot easier to just lazily ignore your repeat-offender misdeeds tonight; not that you’re a bad boy, you’re not. You’re an incredibly good boy—the best. But everyone makes bad choices. And when we make bad choices we get bad consequences. You know that. We talk about it a lot, but the things in your head will never sink into your heart unless you do them (or in this case, have them done to you). That’s just the way it is. I’m sorry.

Like a Pig

Today I took the boys to the zoo. It was a great Texas adventure. There were bathing baby elephants, an albino American alligator, gorgeous greenery, and an incredible collection of serpents. But between exhibits the boys' attention always turned to the hot, humid, Houston heat. “Texas is SO hot…my legs are feeling tired…I need to ride in the stroller,” was Atrain’s chant. Jdog was without a mantra, but his big sweaty rolls and blushing cheeks spoke heaps. But we pushed on and enjoyed an afternoon of animals, play and especially profuse perspiration. It was zoolicious. I felt like a little pack of wart hogs: darting in and out of the shade, hiding in cool caves, craving the opportunity to roll around in mud. I’m just glad we weren’t on display behind plexiglass. It sure felt good to jump in our water hole when we got home.

The Price of Rice

Good news. The car and the phone are up and running again. It only took $1,054 to literally put the spring back into the step of our little old Ford. It was really hard to swallow that one. We honestly considered selling it and using the money to buy a ticket home for the husband. But there were a few glitches in that plan: close to no one wants to buy a broken car; even if the car is practically worthless, it sure is handy when the husband needs a ride to his rotation at 5am; and, of course, without that little red car the husband’s bike would be without a ride home.

The phone, on the other hand, made a miraculous recovery for $1.89: the cost of a bag of rice. Yes, let it be known to all who own a phone that failed to swim when it fell into the pool, rice can rescue it. Take it apart, put it in an airtight bag of rice and let it sit overnight. With a little patience, the phone was as good as new. Thank you for the tip Pdiddy. I do love having a phone that is smarter than I am.

Dear June,

Welcome. It’s hard to believe that you are here already, but here you are. We are half way through the year. I am living in a sublet apartment in Texas as the husband invests two months of 2011 to bolster his residency applications. And then I wonder where residency will lead us. Temporarily setting up shop here has thrown my mind into imagination mode. I can’t stop looking at real estate websites and online house plans. I can’t stop pondering the possibilities for the future: our city, the kid’s schools, Atrain’s audiologist, the climate, the culture, our apartment, or even (gasp) maybe our house. Though that would rock my world harder than Elvis rocked Rock ‘n Roll, all that really matters is that we rock on together. Or something like that. Home is where the heart is.

Time to refocus. In just a few days I'll be returning to our apartment to spend the rest of your month with half of my heart. That’s right. I’ll be leaving the other half in Texas with the husband. But don’t worry; he’ll take good care of it. He always does. Besides, in an attempt to ignore the bleeding hold in my chest cavity, I’ve been making plans: swim lessons, family reunions, rock climbing, summer reading series with the boys, cousin sleep-overs, spiritual renewal, home improvement (de-clutter) projects, gardening, etc. etc. etc.

I’m excited about our plans—about being deliberate in the outcomes I want to achieve with the kiddos. I want us to be happy, to learn (which means occasionally being sad), to adventure, to find buried treasure, and to patiently await the day daddy will return when we will all celebrate at the theaters with Lightning McQueen, Finn McMissile and the rest of the Cars 2 gang. It won’t be perfect, but at least that’s what we’re shooting for. For now, I have seven days of you left with the husband. And we’re going to have a blast.