The Nuclear Nine

Today at church my bishop invited a marriage and family counselor to present a lesson during the third hour. Yes, my church lasts for three hours every Sunday. Yes, it is long, and sometimes I become confused about the purpose of my attendance in the later hours because I spend most of my time pacing the halls with a very tired, wired Jdog. But even his busy, overtired state is extremely enjoyable. At least, it is to me. The devout lesson listeners sitting around me might be a little annoyed by Jdog's distracting grunts and whines, but they can't really blame me for doing by best to sift something enlightening from the meeting. And today I was very happy I stayed to pace and bounce baby J at the back of the chapel.

The counselor came prepared with a very intriguing list. He called it "the nuclear nine." It is nuclear because appropriately acknowledging and evaluating each item is at the core of constructing a good marriage. It is also nuclear because these items are the common bombs that break couples up. I expect that I will be thinking about this list for some time. Maybe I will comment on it later. But, for now, I want to write it down properly (somewhere other than a text to myself on my phone) so that it can marination in my mind. So, here they are, the nuclear nine (in no particular order of importance, except for the first one):

1. Selfishness: an individual pursuit that serves the self to the detriment of a relationship
2. Lack of commitment. Decision> commitment >conversion. Even if you are 98% committed to your relationship, that last 2% will kill it.
3. Lack of unity of purpose.
4. Reciprocity rather than striving for mutuality: doing things within the relationship because you are hoping for a response.
5. Not understanding the true nature and dynamics of intimacy.
6. Not understanding the nature of real love.
7. Inability to address discomfort.
8. Not working to be friends.
9. Expectations.

A lot of good things to think about. Can't wait to start.

Lovely Little Mess

I hate being alone at night. I feel so empty, like I need to fill the quiet with sundry sounds. Sometimes when the husband isn't here I turn on the dryer when it gets dark, just to hear the towels jostle inside. I love scent of fresh laundry and thought of warm towels makes me want to curl up on the couch and go to sleep. And if these quiet hours weren't so precious, I just might.

Peace comes to me during this time of day. My mind settles down from the restless rush of routines when I turn on my audio book and begin to clear the counters and the floors. I know that the boys will just get it all out again in the morning, but I love wiping away the messes of the day. I remember all of the funny activities Atrain embellished with piles of toys and puzzles and swords, etc. Today while I fed Jdog, Atrain insisted on creating a tower toys right on my lap. "They came in the mail just for you!" He said with smiling eyes. How could I not let him continue to bury me and J in everything he could find on the floor.

As I clear off the TV area, I'm reminded about how cute it was to watch little Jdog discover that he could pull himself up on the entertainment center. He stood there, grasped onto the ledge, scratching at the bubbly surface of the TV stereo area with such fascinated furry. That little boy's first test of anything new is how it feels to his scratching little fingertips. And then, of course, he shoves it in his mouth as expected. I think he has a rather large mouth for a baby. Today we spilled the bottle of balls to shoot baskets into J's baby bball hoop. I was momentarily frightened when Jdog shoved an entire ping pong ball right into his mouth. Jdog was also rather surprised. He stared at me with wide-eyed astonishment and confusion, unsure of what he had just done and whether or not it was un-doable. I helped him pop it out quickly, but immediately hid all of the ping pong sized balls lying around.

I love my little boys so much. I love the messes we make together. I especially love it when Atrain pitches in on clean-up duty. But, if bedtime comes around quicker than clean-up duty (as it does so often when my little mess makers exhaust themselves too early), I'm reminding myself tonight to try and remember the lovely memories made in the mess rather than loathing the mess itself. (And if plan A fails, I know my audio books or Beyonce play help me drown out the drudgery.)

All Nighter

I've been up all night tonight, watching Friday Night Lights, catching up on my writing and reading, and best of all waiting for the husband to call. He's somewhere on his bike in between home and Vegas. His five man relay team left this morning at 9:00am, ready to pedal through the night on their fancy road bikes toward the infernal heat of sin city. Sounds crazy and adventurous and extremely exciting. I wish I were there with him. Can't wait for him to be back.

Tonight while at the playground before bedtime Atrain watched a little girl catapult over a curb on her bicycle and face plant into the asphalt. It was a horrible scene--makes me cringe just thinking about it. I think Atrain feels the same way. Moments after the wreck he announced, "I'm ready to go home now." I don't think he's ever said that before. His sensitive spirit was a little shaken. Me heart ached for him. He walked his bike home and reviewed what had happened, "She needed to use her brakes...I will always use my brakes, I promise." I smiled back at him and did my best to calm his troubled mind, "You're a very good bike rider. Just always use your helmet and everything will be just fine."

Tonight at family prayer Atrain reflected on the evening's scary circumstances, "And please bless that everyone will use their brakes--that dada will be safe on his bike race--and that he will remember his brakes..." He sure loves his daddy.

Escaping Sleep

I am trying to catch up. Really I am. But every time I sit down to write my eyes begin to flutter until I'm fast asleep. Last night was the first night my little Jdog slept through the night. I'm talking 7pm-5:30am. Pretty awesome. Except that I slept right through the night too. I do look forward to my sleepless nights. Somehow I feel more prepared for whatever is to come when I spend my time scribbling, studying and strategizing rather than sleeping. Hopefully I'll be able to evade my sleep schedule soon enough.

Wet Hair

I have two little sisters who drive motorcycles. Katydid uses her death machine to drive herself from home to school, to work, to her other work, back to school and then home again. She also has a license. Allerina, on the other hand, is yet to turn fifteen. She has been whipping herself around on the dirt bike for a few years now, but I never thought that I'd see the day when she came rolling down my parents driveway in her own little Honda Rebel. This girl has guts. And I love them. And I don't want to see them splattered all over the road. But that is not why I'm writing this angry post.

I'm mad because she got my hair wet. That is to say, she wrestled me into a kiddie pool of water--right after she squirted poor Atrain right up the nose with the hose--directly following my immediate warning not to listen to our little devil of a dad tempting her to do it--but not before I dunked her sorry face in first--all while my father leaned back into his camping chair chuckling at the scene he had orchestrated.

And, then there was poor Atrain, who misinterpreted our sissy screams and giggling grunts as a real-live family feud. He stood in the adjacent pool with tears streaming down his face, squirting the hose at my sister with all his might. I probably did more damage to the kid trying to defend him than Allerina did squirting him in the face in the first place. As soon as I saw his dismay the ruckus came to screeching halt and we all cracked into a thunder of laughs. After a few explanations and a salty-cookie trick to get back at mean Allerina, Atrain was as good as new. My hair, on the other hand, had to be washed three days sooner than expected. Blast that Allerina. If only she were still the small, brave little girl who used to run away from home in her Pooh costume. Then again, I guess not much has changed--except now she drives a motorcycle.

Menchies

Tonight Famous and I met Menchies: a delightful little yogurt shop that has stolen my heart. There's something magical about unlimited samples. I considered paying them a few dollars to let me sit in the back and endlessly taste test. But instead I weighed in with raspberry, cake batter and mocha yogurt in my cup. Not the best combination. I can't wait to go back for a second attempt at self-serve frozen yogurt perfection. I'm even more excited for future helpings of Famous' wise council.

We talked about dreams, about marriage, about our kids, and about all of the "noxious weeds" growing about, trying to strangle our outlook. Life is hard. Love is hard. It is hard to make choices, especially when you love so much and yearn so deeply for that choice to be the best for those you love. But it is given to us to choose. And, as Famous so soundly taught me tonight, we must "rejoice in the choice."

Thanks for the Menchies, Famous. What a bland existence it would be if all choices were as inconsequential as the flavor of yogurt poured into a cup.

Mutton Bustin

"Compassionate care is a crucial component to effective health care delivery." Or, at least that's what I wrote on the husband's homework tonight. No, I don't do his homework for him. I edit it--mostly. And you would too if it was the only way to get your man to take you to the rodeo.

That's right, it's Fiesta days in Spork again. Which, for some unknown reason, translates into an odd mixture of festivity: broncs and cowboys hashing it out in the arena; parades; the traveling carnival; assorted tributes to the Mormon pioneers; family water fights; and of course, fireworks. I'm not exactly sure who stole the phrase "Fiesta days" to describe my small Utah's town's annual celebration, and to anyone else it may seem misplaced, but it fits for me.

I love reintroducing Atrain to the rodeo year after year. With every experience he's more attentive, more inquisitive, and more adorable. This year we prepared for the rodeo by doing what we do best: scavenging through the DI for appropriate cowboy attire. Atrain came away with the most adorable straw hat, and wore it at the big dance with pride. He took a seat next to Bellzozo on Grandpa's lap, giggled at the clowns, admired every shiny big truck (asking, "can we go shopping for that one" with every other breath), and he couldn't get over the fact that we were sitting on top of the stables. But what was his favorite part, you ask? The tractor that came to comb the dirt, of course.

My favorite part was, as it always is, the 'mutton bustin.' It's when young cowboys and cowgirls (around age 4) try to ride a running sheep bare back. It's probably rather dangerous, but is extremely entertaining. This year a boy made it more than half way across the arena by hanging on backwards. I still giggle as I replay that image in my mind.

This was Jdog's first rodeo, and he rode it out like a champ. He may have even enjoyed it. He loved giggling on Grandpatty's lap and was content to sit and stare at every interesting spectacle (of which there are many). He has such a sweet spirit, so content to sit on my lap and gurgle his spit while chewing on my key string. I do my best not to take advantage of his patience, which is why I ended up breast feeding him in the warm-up arena part way through the show. Shaved ice can only satisfy for so long.

We returned home long before the cowboys saddled up on the broncs. With work and school in the morning it was hard to justify staying out too many hours past the boys bedtimes. Not to mention the fact that I still hadn't finished editing the husband's paper. As we were on our way out I said, "Oh that was so much fun." The husband smiled back at me with his crooked grin and said, "It sure was. You should do my homework more often."

A Tantrum and a Dream

I felt like throwing a tantrum today--like burrying my face into a patch of grass while I wept and wailed and gnashed my teeth. I didn't, but I should have. I was seconds away from leaving for a girls night with my sister in law when I received a text reminding me about a meeting that I neglected to put on my schedule. Darn.

That was when I wished that I had developed sluffing skills while in school. But for some reason I have never been able to let myself off the hook. Maybe some day, but not today. Instead, I'll just imagine my little tantrum, paint a smile on my face and then be on my way to where I should be...dreaming of the day when I have the audacity to cut out on my own schedule. Wouldn't that feel nice? Especially if I kidnapped myself to go dancing with the husband. Oh, a girl can dream.

Strut My Stuff

I had to get the struts replaced in my car today. This is the second pair of struts we've purchased the past sixty days. Our cars must be losing their cool. Actually, that probably happened about a hundred thousand miles ago when I traded in my rockin' wrangler for my grandma's sensible four cylinder four door Rav4. It was a good choice (as much as I miss roaring down dirt roads, laughing without a care as my hair whipped the windshield). Yes, car seats don't exactly fit with topless jeeps. And my little Toyota has treated me well.

I hate taking cars into the repair shop. I feel like I have a bulls eye painted on my purse with "perfect target" written across my forehead. I don't know a thing about cars, and it would be extremely easy for any repair shop to take advantage of my lack of knowledge. So, when the guy behind the desk said, "and if we see any other problems while we're replacing your struts, I'll give you a call," I politely gave him a piece of my mind. "I appreciate that, but I don't know anything about cars and I'm always nervous about being swindled...not that I think you guys will do that (smile), but I hate that I can't tell either way."

The Pep Boys mechanic was a little taken aback by my honesty, then he smiled and said, "I understand. He then pulled out a diagram of my struts and did his best to explain what other parts may be affected by worn down struts. I was sort of satisfied, but he sensed my ongoing hesitation. So he pulled out a coupon for 10% off repairs and said, "This should help cover any unexpected fixes we find on top of the price we quoted you." I smiled and thanked him. And, eight hours later, with the coupon he gave me it ended up being less than the quoted total--which was $200 less than the quotes given to me by Big O and the Toyota dealer. I was pretty happy...or at least as happy as can be when strutting away from a $400 repair.

In Sorrow

I’m home alone again tonight, and I’ve been wrestling with my complaints. I think I may have just won: a moment of peace in a world of confusion. But I’ll chalk it up as a victory, nonetheless.

I hate admitting to all that whirls around in my mind, but it’s therapeutic in a way—seeing my naked words lying on the blank page. Self acceptance is beautiful; directed change is divine.

Tonight my mind was running laps around the med school trench: loathing the schedule; aching for more time with the husband; festering with bitterness on behalf of our kids, who need their daddy; and shoving away inklings of jealousy—wishing that I were the one learning to save lives rather than doing (or not doing) the dishes. It is what it is, and tonight it was hard to imagine that it will ever be different.

We dream in ideals and sometimes it’s sort of foolish. An 8-5 schedule won’t make life more manageable, a house that is more than 650 square feet certainly won’t be easier to keep, and being a parent will only get scarier as my kids get older. When I was young I thought that life would be easier “if” and “when.” Sometimes I still do. How silly of me.

I got wrapped up in reading and rereading about Adam and Eve tonight. It helped me gain my footing—steadied my perspective. God told Eve that “in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children,” and said to Adam that, “cursed shall be the ground for thy sake; in sorrow thou shalt eat of it all the days of thy life.” The ground was cursed for his sake, and Eve was told that it would be sorrowful to bring forth children. It’s supposed to be this way—for our sake. Adam said, “Blessed be the name of God, for because of my transgression my eyes are opened, and in this life I shall have joy, and again in the flesh I shall see God.”

It hurts to stretch. It’s hard to grow. It hurts even more and is even more difficult to help my children do the same. This is life. There is joy and there is sorrow: the greater the sorrow, the sweeter the joy. And it is so sweet.

Tuck it In

Tonight the husband discovered that he can tuck my hair into my pants. We both laughed. Such revelations should probably result in an immediate hairdresser appointment, but the thought scares the willies out of me. Every attempt to chop off my locks in the past caused crestfallen feelings and irreverent prayers, "and please bless that MJ will like her new haircut." I don't even want to think about what Atrain would do. It can't be common for a three year old to regularly tell his mommy not to cut her hair. I wonder how easy it would be to fashion a stuffed animal with a braid of human hair for him to hold at night time.

The husband's odd discovery reminded me of a few funny things my mother used to regularly remind me to do. I can still hear her voice telling my five year old self to, "Remember to pull your hair over your shoulder when you are going to the bathroom." I don't really remember ever having a hairy scary bathroom accident when I was little. I wonder if she had any premise other than paranoia for her preoccupation with my placement of my ponytail while on the pot. And then there was the "tuck it in" rule she regularly rehearsed when she dropped me off at gymnastics class. Her worse fear was that I would break my neck while back-hand-springing. So, I was always advised to tuck my pony tail down my shirt before swinging into a round of flips. How funny. Maybe she's the reason I'm still so attached to having long hair. I had to work so hard to keep it clean and safe, I guess I'm still not ready to give it up.

It Feels Like Happy

Today the husband and I took Atrain and Jdog exploring in the creek by our home. It's just a three minute walk across yards of pavement toward the pebble laced stream. Then out of nowhere the asphalt ends and a tree lined dirt trail leads down to the creek's tiny bank. It was a shady little haven for our family this afternoon. The husband and Atrain lobbed in every rock they could find, laughing as each splashed into the cold mountain run off. Jdog hung out in the front pack while I kicked off my sneakers and waded in the water.

There was something magical about the moment when my feet met the icy stream; I felt like I was twelve years old again, leaping across the rocks in the river behind my Grammie's house in Canada. My mom grew up there, and when I was growing up she would take me and my sisters back to her home for weeks at a time during the summer. I loved everything about that place: the lush forest that encased Grammie's home; the fireflies that flickered around in the evening; the green worms that hung from the trees and how my mother loathed them; and of course, my far away family. If only it were possible to live in two places at once.

I giggled like a little girl as I stood in the water with my eight month old baby strapped to me. I wanted Atrain to feel the little river running around his feet too. So, when the husband heard nature calling and had to cut his end of the adventure a little sooner than expected, I handed Jdog to him and then held Atrain's hand as we scouted out the perfect wading spot. "You have to be so careful," I said, "never let go of my hand," I repeated a few times before stepping in. He nodded, then slowly dipped his toes in. A giddy smile grew across his face once both feet were firmly planted in the running water. "This is so fun...it feels like cold," he said as we waded up the stream a little ways. "I think it feels like happy," I said as we gathered a few smooth stones from the bottom and tossed them down stream. "Yeah, happy," he agreed.

Craving

Early this morning Atrain awoke with one thing on his mind, "I want a popsicle!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. My first instinct was to ignore his odd outburst--he often talks in his sleep. But as the yelling continued, it soon became clear that he was indeed wide awake, craving a popsicle. It took me a half hour to convince him that he had to wait until the morning. I should have just handed one over, dove back under my covers bed and called it even. Maybe next time.

Learning to Walk

I didn't get to kiss the husband goodbye this morning, and I won't get to kiss him goodnight tonight. He is on call in the hospital, tending to sick children. And, though I'm not in the hospital, I'm also tending to my sick child. I've been curled up next to Atrain since the wee hours of the morning, whose feverish forehead I've been kissing all day long. That poor boy. It hurts to watch his little body battle off this infection. At least it's not vertigo.

Jdog had an awesome day indoors--crawling and climbing to his content. Yes, I just wrote climbing. He barrels over toys and pillow piles like they're nothing. And today he started pulling up onto the couch. The little rugrat was so proud of himself. Every time he pulled to stand he would pause, look at me, then giggle as he grabbed a handful of Atrain's hair. Usually Atrain is a pretty good sport about Jdog's lovingly abusive behavior (he has a knack for clawing into and and clamping onto skin, hair, what have you). But today Atrain just said, "I don't want you doing that baby J." And, I don't blame him.

So, as Atrain lay sick on the couch, Jdog and I attended to his every need. But in between temperature taking we piddled around, read books, and resurrected old toys. Atrain and I used to comb the shelves of the DI for great learning toys. We still do, but not nearly as much as we used to. I ran out of storage space. I love toys. Our bag of puppets brought back so many memories: guaranteed fun for everyone. I was thrilled when Jdog started signing "duck." So adorable.

Sometimes it's hard to know how much my kids acknowledge my existence--or if I'm just like any other implicit part of their day: like the color of the sky or the ground beneath their feet. It's hard not to feel like just an extra appendage my children have hooked to them to carry them, clothe them, feed them, etc. But then they begin to do something you do: to say what you say, or smile with the same crinkle in their brow. And, like magic, you remember how much they are looking to you, learning from you, turning to you for every need. It feels good to be theirs: to be their dirt, their grass, their concrete, and to feel their little feet learning to walk on mine.

Las-ter-day

-noun

1. any point in time preceding this day, possibly referring to the previous week.

2. a short time ago: Remember lasterday, Mom? When you bought me the saw man car at that grocery store? Let's go there that again.

-origin:

around 2011; Atrain; three year old english;

-related forms:

las-ter-year

Nearly Perfect

Today was nearly perfect. Days like this happen, occasionally, but not often. Atrain was so delightful—always obeying, so sweet in his responses, and recalling the “You are Special” book we’ve been reading a lot lately and reminding me that I am special. I remind him too. We all need that sometimes. He told me he was excited to make good choices today, and explained that listening to God helps us make good choices. He even said, "whatever you want, mom" a few times. Wow. I occasionally say that to him, but it sure feels good to have the phrase reciprocated. Maybe I shouldn't worry so much about whether or not he'lll turn out alright after all. Phew.

We played and cleaned and cooked together as baby J made is hobble-crawl way around the apartment. I don’t remember the last time that I polished my furniture. Now I feel like my dresser is smiling at me. The day’s only downer came when my phone officially stopped working. Remember the dive it took in Texas? I guess the rice fix is only temporary. Apparently water damage causes deterioration over time. Darn. At least I showered before noon today. That makes everything feel better.

Missionary Monday

My dear brother,

I hope that you are doing well. I’m sad that you haven’t received any of my emails in the past few weeks. There was not one last week (because of the 4^th I thought you would be checking your email the following day), but there were emails the weeks before. I was a little confused about why you hadn’t responded. I don’t expect large responses at all—I know your computer time is short, so you can make my emails short and sweet if you must. I’m going to send this twice today just to be sure you get it.

So, yes, the husband is home. It’s wonderful to have him here—a little more like life should be. But now the poor guy is on his pediatric rotation, which means he must spend every 4^th night in the hospital caring for sick children. He is ready to be done with medical school. And we are all certainly ready to have a little more time with him. There are so many choices and changes coming up in the next year for our family. We are working on the husband’s residency applications that we will send out to about 80 programs. It’s like fishing, with a lot of lines in the water. Then we just wait to see what bites, and once we get a few fish on the line we size them up and rank them from most to least desirable. Funny thing is, each fish (program) is doing the same thing with all its applicants. And, then a big computer decides which fish and which fisherman are most suited for each other. So, I guess it’s not anything like fishing after all.

We received some disappointing news the other day; the Radiation Oncology program in our state (most likely) won’t be offering any spots this year. So, by the time you get back, I’ll be somewhere else. But, home is wherever my little family can be together—maybe it will be in the great state of Texas. The husband enjoyed his time there on rotation, and when I was with him I liked it too. The people are very kind—hospitable and accommodating. There is something to that “southern hospitality.” The husband is still listening to country music stations. But I’m sure that any state is different from a missionary’s perspective. Did you get the letter where I confessed that I asked your mission president for permission to go to your ward in San Antonio?

Many things have been happening lately. Baby J knows how to crawl. It’s actually more of a hobble/hop crawl and every time I watch him make his way across the room it makes my day. He keeps one leg strait and scoots his lower body forward in one swift hobble. He’s just seven months and he’s already trying to pull up onto furniture. Yesterday at Sunday dinner my father in law said, “He is such an Ike baby….I see so much of his uncle JD in him.” And, he’s right. Jdog somehow ended up a lot like his momma. I would feel bad for him, but he does have a couple handsome uncles, so I don’t think he got too short sided. ;)

We have had a few very busy weeks in the Francypants family. My nephew Shmibbers was baptized and the husband’s brother Esteban got hitched. He had been engaged for a little while, but it was a rather quick decision to move their wedding up a few months. It was a beautiful ceremony—a white wedding in the Manti temple. Great grandpa performed the ordinance. As I sat there reflecting on the covenants we make with God—from baptism to sealing marriage vows—and all that is promised to us I felt so humbled. Sometimes I feel like such a small piece in God’s puzzle. But as I witnessed the progression of promises made in the last few weeks, I felt the Holy Ghost testify that God knows me, and knows how hard I am trying to live up to the covenants I’ve made with him. How often am I like Celopas, whose eyes were holden on the road to Emmaus—walking with God but not able to see Him? I know I feel His presence and His spirit. I need to trust and rely upon the truth that fills and burns in my heart.

Atrain is doing alright. I feel like he’s going through a bit of a rough time right now. A lot has been happening in his busy little life, and I think he’s also trying hard to interpret and keep up with it all. It’s got to be hard for a little guy when his brother begins to encroach upon his time and territory. I’m sure that the craziness of the past month has also taken a toll on him. We’ve been talking about feeling the Holy Ghost and how it’s hard to feel His happy feelings when we make bad choices. Yesterday out of the blue he said to me, “I will make good choices mom, so I can feel the Holy Ghost.” I told him I would do the same. Last night I sat with him reading the “You are Special” book Grandma gave us a few Christmases ago. We read it again and again, and talked about the message. I hope he knows how special he is to me. There is nothing more important than my Atrain and Jdog. I want to try harder this week to help my boys feel that. Especially when life gets busy I want my boys to know that they are the most important pieces of my day.

I sure love you, brother. I get to teach Relief Society on the first Sunday of next month and I think I need to teach about missionary work—having a game plan about what to do when you’re asked, “What is the difference between you’re church and mine,” like I was that day in Texas. (Did you get that letter?) Any pointers? I’m sure you have a lot. Keep up the good work, brother. I love you.

Love,

MJ

In Over my Head

I finally finished the header for July today. Not that it takes all that much time to sit down and put a Photoshop collage together. I just haven’t been around. And when I am around, I spend most of my time packing, unpacking and playing with the boys. I do love playing with my boys. We haven’t had enough unstructured playtime lately, and I think it’s taken a toll on us all—especially Atrain. He has had an accident every day for the past four days: strange. Particularly the one where he was standing on his scooter in the kitchen and all of the sudden his scooter was rolling in urine. Ew.

And then there’s been an increase of fits, a needy “I can’t do it by myself” attitude toward things he used to be excited to do alone, whining and whining and whining and odd baby-like behavior (steeling Jdog’s binki and curling up in his crib). Hum. I think Atrain is a little off kilter. Perhaps all of the coming and going and subsequent motivating, begging then insisting has made him feel a little out of control. And, I’m at a loss. I feel like I’m a first-time carriage driver trying to rein in a steed that’s galloping toward a cliff.

Maybe that’s a little bit of an overstatement, but I do feel rather unprepared and incapable of doing the simplest things—hence the upside down boots in the header. I feel like I’m in over my head. Why is it so hard to tell my three year old that we can’t just mimic baby J’s loud screams during sacrament meeting at church? Correcting him today only amplified the problem. Perhaps he needs more positive reinforcement, and more one on one time with momma to remind him how much I love my big boy.

I read the “You are Speical” book with him tonight. Then we read it again, and again. I want my kids to grow up knowing that I love them no matter what happens, and for who they are, no matter what they do or don’t do. Obviously, bad choices mean bad consequences, but I never want my discipline and/or encouragement to be so overbearing that they question my love and admiration. So I’m going to set a special emphasis on my unconditional love for my boys this week and forever. Moroni 7 46-47 is the best reminder, “…if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail—but charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.”

Yeah

I'm still working on about 6 catch up posts at once. I'm so far behind I feel like I'm trying to rescue a runaway train. But I won't give up. The husband has been a good cheerleader. He even kicked me out of bed last night so that I could go write. I think that's a good thing--just that once, though.

Baby J is growing up so much. He melts my heart into a puddle of love every time he flashes his crinkle-nose smile my way. He also gets a horizontal wrinkle right between his eyes and breathes in and out of his nose as he examines strangers. Funny baby. The other night I had a meeting at my house with a lot of medical school wives. Jdog stayed up to be a part of the fun. He hobble-crawled around the room with one leg strait, then pulled himself up on his knees with the help of the new set of legs he found. Then he scrunched up his face, pushed air in and out of his nose and flashed his two-toothed grin. How could you not laugh out loud?

Jdog also has acquired a few funny "words." He isn't big on conversation. It's ironic that big brother Atrain (who was only aided with two sumo strength hearing devices) was 'talking' more at his age: more gibberish exchanges. I love the differences. Jdog mumbles on about "dadada" and "geekgeekgeeek" most of the day. And lately he's come up with the funnest little expression, "Yeah!" He says it quite frequently. The word bursts from his mouth with rising intonation all day long. And I egg it on--all day long, trying to get him to answer my questions, "Are you a cute baby? Yeah! Do you love your momma? Yeah! Does momma need to do the laundry? Yeah!" I hope this lovely little word lasts forever.

Esteban and Hill's Wedding: The Perfect Storm

When I was young(ish) I heard tell of a fiery fellow who was the older brother of the wonder boy I had a huge crush on. Rumor had it that wonder boy’s brother generally did not like the girls he dated. I do not know if there was any truth to this hearsay. But I do remember being afraid of him, or at least of what he thought of me. Whenever we play ‘Word on the Street’ I still sort of am. I do not know why. Probably because he’s extremely intelligent, and occasionally when conversing with him he morphs his face into a fierce interpretation of “The Scream.” It’s pretty scary.

But on the inside Esteban is all heart. I can see his sweet insides ooze whenever he’s around my boys. And they love him too. How could they not? He is funny, a great playmate, and can grow a killer beard—all traits that his new wife Hill adores as well. I adore them both and I look forward to every chance we will get to spend time with them.

Esteban and Hill’s wedding today was like a dream: an intimate setting, a classy feeling, finely tuned details and a whole lot of love. If I could go back I would copy her bouquet—peonies, fresh hay grass and various green buds. Esteban also wore some sort of green bud on his lapel, to which Atrain said, “That’s crazy, uncle Esteban!” And then he proceeded to pick all of the grass flowers he could find for the newly married bride and groom. I admire the way Esteban and Hill do things. These two will be inspiring me for years to come.

The couple married later in the day and then had a beautiful dinner with close friends and family out on the farmland great Grandpa worked for decades. It also took a lot of work to orchestrate their dutch-oven dinner there—especially with the thunderstorm that rolled through during the temple ceremony and literally tore the tents, tables and décor apart. When we came out of the Manti temple and heard the thunder rolling in the distance, anxiety levels were peaked. My heart was aching for Hill. But Esteban held her tight, said “oh, don’t cry,” and then rushed to the scene to put it all back together.

It was beautiful: not just the way the way the light canopy twinkled in the sunset; the way the bushels of sage and basil were strewn across moss and potato sacs down the tables; the linen topped hay bails used as seats; the blue-grass music drifting across acres of green crops; or even the eclectic, take-home memento china plates the steaming dutch-oven dinner was served on. It was the way it was done—their vision, careful planning, persistence, and desire for the family to be—not just an accessory to, but a part of their special day. Being there made me feel special.

I can’t wait to witness and learn from all the incredible things these two do with their lives together. They inspire me—so much that I revised a well-known blue grass song, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” in their honor. I posted the words yesterday. We had a lot of fun performing it out on the farm during the wedding dinner. Famous and I played the parts of the cast-off ex girlfriends doing the “single ladies” dance during the devil’s musical interlude. Not sure if anyone else thought it was funny, but man it was fun. I’m sure lucky that I love my in-laws. And, let it be on the record that I do not think Esteban is like the devil. Aint no truth to that comparison made in this revision. But truth be told, I do believe Uncle Esteban has a heart of gold.

The Devil gets Married

“The Devil went down to Georgia”

*Revised for Esteban and Hill's wedding*

‘Ol Stevie went up to New York

He was lookin’ for a heart to steel

He was in a bind, ‘cos he was 29

And he was willin’ to make a deal.

When he came across this young gal

Sawin’ into hearts (and she was HOT)

So Stevie jumped up on a road bump

And said, “Girl let me tell you what…”

I bet you didn’t know it,

but I’m a player of hearts too

And if you care to take a dare,

I’ll make a bet with you.

Now you’ve got a pretty good game girl,

but give “ol Stevie his due

I’ll bet my heart of gold against your soul,

‘cos I think I’m better than you.

The gal said, “My name’s Hillary and it might be a sin,

But I’ll take you’re bet and you’re gonna regret

‘cos I’m the best there’s ever been!

(CHORUS)
Hillary rosin up your bow

And play those heart strings hard

‘cos Hell’s broke loose in New York

And ‘ol Stephen deals the cards

And if you win, you get his shiny heart, made of gold

But if you loose ‘ol Stevie gets your soul

‘Ol Stevie opened up his case and said “I’ll start this show”

And fire flew from his finger tips as he rosined up his bow

And he pulled the bow across his strings and it made an evil hiss

Then a band of ex-girlfriends joined in and it sounded something like this

When ‘ol Stevie finished, Hillary said, “Well, you’re pretty good ‘ol son

But sit down in Times Square, right there, and let me show you how it’s done!

F­­­­­ire on the skyline, run boys run

Hillary is in the house of the risin’ sun

Cookin’ in the bread pan, makin’ lots of dough

“Ready for your first night?”

“No, child, no.”

“Ol Stephen bowed his head because he knew that he’d been beat.

So he laid his golden heatt on the ground at Hillary’s feet.

Hillary said: “Stephen just marry me, and we’ll play again and again.

But I told you once, you son of a Pat, I’m the best that’s ever been.”

And they played fire on the skyline, run boys, run.

Mam-Frands built a house in the risin’ sun.

Cookin’ in the bread pan, makin lots of dough.

“Stephen will we ever fight?”

“No, child no.”

Speaking Firework

Today our little family had one plan, and one plan alone for the fourth of July: watch Cars 2. So, that's exactly what we did. It was awesome. And the movie wasn't half bad either. Atrain was enchanted by the action--literally on the edge of his seat as Mater was dragged into a top secret spy plot. I don't think he necessarily cared (or followed) the sinister plot line, but he sure loved seeing all of Mater's disguises. He's been compiling a list of the cars he needs to earn ever since.

That night we invited ourselves over to Pance Farmstrong and Famous' home to watch fireworks. We're really good at doing that. They weren't even planning on being around until later, but welcomed us in anyway. (I can't wait for the day when people want to invite themselves over to my home--really, I do hope you all pay me back someday. A lot.) I started baking a cake for my mother-in-law's birthday the next day, but my good intentions were soon interrupted by an assortment of explosions. I looked out the kitchen window and saw the skyline dancing with bursts of billowing light.

The husband and Atrain opened the patio door and took a seat on the deck, along with Bil, Deej and family. This year our state legalized personal areal fireworks, and everyone was celebrating their independence in style. P&A soon returned home to watch the show. The hill their house sits on was the perfect place to relax and revel in the neighbors' festive displays. The kids bounded about on the grass with glow sticks in hand, giggling uncontrollably, and then stopping on occasion to stare with jaws-dropped as sparks grew into fiery willow trees, then disappeared right before their eyes. I never want to forget how my heart bubbled with excitement as I held the husband's hand and watched Atrain's little silhouette jump across the star burst sky. My niece Bellzozo laughed without restrain and squealed with each explosion, as if to answer them back. "She's speaking firework," said Pance (my new nickname for P-diddy, since he loathed my previous attempts). If only we could all speak firework.

All is Well

Being at church with the husband is heavenly. Having someone there to share with, to snicker at, to smile because of, and to look forward to. Just being with the husband is heavenly. Of course, all of the to-dos are a lot harder without him, but it's the emotionally empty feeling that is most difficult to bear. I never realized how heavy the burden of being 'alone' is until he came back. Perhaps that means I didn't appreciate him enough. Or maybe it means that there were many seen and unseen hands helping be along the way. Probably both. At any rate, when I head him whistling this weekend I finally felt at home in my own home again. All is well.

Super 8

Today was the baptism of my 8 year old nephew, Shmibbers. It was also his eighth birthday—the age of accountability. So many thoughts flooded into my mind as I watched this sweet boy make such big promises to God. Eight is such a tender age to covenant that you are willing to serve God and keep His commandments, bear one another’s burdens, and stand as a witness of God at all times and in all things, and in all places. Yet there was Shmibbers: so sweet, so smart, so willing, and so full of love.

I was just eight when I made the same promises. I remember my excitement—how much I looked forward to making covenants with God, how much my father and I practiced the immersion dunk (sans water) in our living room, and how much I wanted to be perfect. I remember my white dress, my fluffed bangs, my family smiling down at me in the baptismal font, my father’s strong hands that held mine—how large they looked around my tiny wrists, the warmth of the water rushing over my face, and the feeling of peace that wrapped around me when I surfaced. I smiled, hugged my father, and turned to see my mother there at the stairs, smiling and crying as she waited for me in the dressing room.

I know a lot more now than I did then: about my faith, about my church, about my worldview, and about this life—but I knew then just as much as I know now that God loves me. He trusts me now, as much as he trusted me then to keep the promises I made. “I am a Child of God,” was scripted on the necklace my great aunt Cat gave me that day. I am still such a child. I am so far from perfect—so much further than I was when I was baptized. But I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep taking the sacrament every week to repent and renew my promises with God. And as I do, I know that He keeps His end of the bargain. I love how clean, new and motivated I feel when I remember that this is all that life is really about anyway. Thanks for the reminder, Shmibbers, and happy birthday.

Coming Home

The husband is en route to our lovely little apartment. We simply can't wait to have him home. I can't wait to hold him, to smell him, to watch him tickle the kiddos, to hear him whistling in the bathroom, to see Atrain's excitment and Jdog's recognition when their father walks through the door, and to stay up late talking, snuggling, smooching, etc.

We are all craving time with the shmub. Yesterday, while talking on the phone with his father, Atrain relayed a minute-long list of the things they were going to do. No joke. The husband said, "And what will we do when I get home?" Atrain responded without even taking a breath, "We will play football, and take off my training wheels, and watch Cars 2, and play soccer, and watch football, and ride bikes, and tickle, and watch Jdog and laugh hahahaha." We can't wait. Drive safe shmub. See you soon.