I Like Blocks

I do not consider myself crafty, but I am definitely making these blocks. I'm pretty certain that Nate needs them for Christmas. I heard of these from Martha Stewart, where there are instructions for those lacking vision and innovation (me); then I found them at their original Etsy store, hiccupdecor. Anyone who wants to try this with me, please come on over--I'm much more likely to tackle a project if I have a partner.

Just a Thought

I recently read the following thought on miracles from C.S. Lewis and found it so brilliant, insightful, and beautiful that I can't help sharing it.

"One of their chief purposes [of miracles] is that men having seen a thing done by personal power on the small scale, may recognize, when they see the same thing done on the large scale, that the power behind it is also personal--is indeed the very same person who lived among us two thousand years ago. The miracles in fact are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see....God creates the vine and teaches it to draw up water by its roots and, with the aid of the sun, to turn that water into a juice which will ferment and take on certain qualities. Thus every year,...God turns water into wine. That, men fail to see....But when Christ at Cana makes water into wine, the mask is off. The miracle has only half its effect if it only convinces us that Christ is God: it will have its full effect if whenever we see a vineyard...we remember that here works He who sat at the wedding party in Cana.

"...Do not imagine I am trying to make the miracles less miraculous. I am not arguing that they are more probable because they are less unlike natural events: I am trying to answer those who think them arbitrary, theatrical, unworthy of God, meaningless interruptions of universal order. They remain in my view wholly miraculous....True miracles express not simply a god, but God: that which is outside of Nature, not as a foreigner, but as her sovereign."

*C.S. Lewis, Undeceptions* (emphasis added)

Four-ness

After months of asking, "When is my birthday?" and weeks of, "What number is today?" Dallin finally turned four years old on September 24.

I remember the day he was born. Ten days before his due date I started having contractions that didn't hurt, but were inconvenient. And noticeable. Maybe regular, too, but since the other children had been late, I could not believe that I might be in actual labor. So I went and had a pedicure, which was my one major goal to be completed before giving birth. (After all, if nothing else looked good, at least I could see pretty toes. This pre-baby tradition continued with Nate, too.)

Pedicure done, home for dinner, bedtime for kids, and then because I was "tired and sore", I went to bed around 9pm. By 2am I could no longer sleep, so I rested on the couch and flipped channels. Still in denial. By 4am, I thought maybe I might be in labor. I woke Matt at 4:15, he called the neighbor who had offered middle-of-the-night services, and I could not stand long enough to brush my teeth.

We rushed to the nearby hospital, took the elevator to labor and delivery (should we put the maternity ward on the main floor? Nah, those ladies can make it a little farther), and assured the receptionist that I was not the 5am c-section, but I was actually in labor. They calmly led me to a room, calmly gave instructions, and calmly said someone would check in on me soon. Obviously, I did not look upset and pained enough. After tearfully dressing--and oh, I remember how difficult that was through the fast, painful contractions--I asked Matt to please, please find someone. Someone finally came, that someone finally checked my progress, and then asked if I remembered my measurements from my last doctor's appointment. "A one, I think?" I answered. "Oh, honey, you're not a one anymore," she said--and in my incoherent state I thought she was going to say I was less than a "one" and send me home--"Oh, honey, you're a nine and this baby is coming right now."

I had to admire how fast those nurses switch into business mode when business, so to speak, is immediately at hand. No doubt, I have provided more detail than anyone wanted to know, so suffice it to say: No time for epidural? I can't do that! Panic, faster contractions, panic and terror. One very helpful, also very pregnant nurse who coaches me to breathe and hum. Miracle of an available anesthesiologist who can give a spinal block. Again, seems unnecessarily slow. Relaxing and taking control of my brain again, as medication takes effect in seconds. Oh, there's a doctor, the one in the practice whom I hadn't yet met. Apparently he lived closest. And then, quick as that, came Dallin at 5:15am.

After it was over, and I had this beautiful, black-haired baby boy in my arms, Matt and I reflected on how surreal, yet wonderful, this experience had been. We had been accustomed to waiting for several hours through hospital labor, with epidurals, monitors, and even movies. We had previously seen all the "necessary" staff come through our room before, during, and after labor and delivery. We had packed a bag before. But, Dallin's birth turned out to be as unique, unexpected, and precious to us as his own little personality.

And now, four years are gone. How fast they fly and how torn I am between wanting Dallin to grow and learn and progress, and wanting him to stay a cuddly, little guy full of sweetness and funniness. He is so glad to have finally reached this anticipated day, that when I asked him today what made him happy about his birthday, he said in his usual accent: "All my four-ness."

Before I forget...

But how could I ever forget this party, where the hats set a mood of old-fashioned elegance. Where the food overwhelmed me as I wondered how I could both appreciate the current course and leave room for the upcoming. Where the conversation with friends lasted until the moon rose and the mosquitoes bit. Special thanks to Bekah for giving me a night from someone else's life, and to Mary for sharing her beautiful photos.

The entire group, happy before we even get started.

Sitting at table one: Mary, Annie, Hadley, Erin, Bekah, and Holly

And at table two: Megan, me, Ginger, Elizabeth, Eden, and Paige.

Thanksgiving Point actually brought the chef and servers down to the Secret Garden to prepare the food right beside us.

Can you believe I ate six courses of food that look like this? Luckily, when the main course came (that was fifth), the servers said we could have take-home boxes. Otherwise, we might have taken it home in our purses.

Just a Thought

"...My heart assures me that the dearest possession a man has is his family."

*David O. McKay, Pathways to Happiness*

Maturity

I have sometimes wondered when exactly I became an adult.  Did it occur with a birthday, perhaps on my twentieth, when I officially left the teen years?  Or earlier, when I moved out of my parents' home to go to college?  Maybe I became an adult when I took on responsibilities such as a full-time job, or motherhood, or a car payment.  Or when I started noticing and caring about people and circumstances outside myself?  When exactly did I become "mature"?  

Jamie Beth answered that question for me when she asked me a question this morning:  "Mom, when I'm twelve, can I crack the eggs and read in the bathtub?"  Ah, now I see; those privileges are truly the marks of maturity.

These two...

Nathaniel and Dallin, August 2008

Note Granddad's bent left ear on both of them.

In the past 24 hours...

• Dallin buried one of his socks in the sand at the playground. "It's gone fo-wevo."
• Nathaniel ate play-doh.
• Both removed their shoes and their socks in the one-minute interval between errand A and errand B.

These two boys are major contributors to my vague sense of moving backwards: yes, I finished the dishes, but what disaster has occurred at their hands during that time? Still, they are such sweet, hilarious little guys that when the frustration is past (and particularly once they are sleeping peacefully), I am very glad for the kookiness they bring to our family.

Odds and ends

1.  You might wonder whether Matt contributes to our family blog.  Besides reading the posts and comments, he also fixes all the html problems I manage to create.  In addition, Matt will be responsible for any widgets you see in the future.  

2.  Because a friend recently told me that the following information made her feel better, I will share my secret with the world:  I bathe my children only on Wednesday and Saturdays.  

3.  I just saved 20 cents at the grocery store simply by bringing my own re-usable grocery bags.  Our local Smith's surprised me by applying their "bag refund" to my bill, at a rate of 5 cents per bag.  I had no idea that I had technically been paying for those plastic sacks, and I am glad to have the bonus pennies...in addition to the good, environmentally-responsible feelings, of course. 

4.  Yesterday, a woman had just sat down on the pew in front of us when Dallin tapped her shoulder and said, "You are in my way.  I cannot see Sister Trujillo." (He really loves his Primary teacher and wants to be sure she notices him.)  The woman kindly and laughingly scooted a few inches to give Dallin a better view.  

5.  I really need to make another batch of plum jam before the bucket of plums rots away in the refrigerator.  The result is always so gorgeous, gratifying, and of course delicious; I just need a little more get-up-and-go (or maybe a little less laundry) to start the process.

Poor thing

School has again provided us with the opportunity to stretch our immune systems. Sick, sick, sick...that best describes out last 11 days. The problem starts with an upset stomach (you know what that means...and it's always the middle of the night!), and then continues with a fever that forces my energetic kids into their beds for hours. Worst of all is the relapse a couple days later. Jamie Beth has been down three separate times, Matthew twice, Dallin once, and luckily, Nate has been fine (so far). The latest patient was little Jamie Beth, starting at 4:30 this morning. She is much better now and just complained that she hasn't had enough to eat today. So, I thought that while she is on my mind, I might post some recent pictures of the munchkin. Here's to happier, healthier days...both past and future!

At cousin Scott & Amie's home in Idaho, August

With cousin Gaby, July

At Tracy Aviary, July

Lady Liberty on the Fourth of July

After her first dance recital, May

Sunflower at sunrise

Wait at Walmart at 3am on the day after Thanksgiving so I can save $20 on a bike? Go to RC Willey on a Saturday afternoon, not to buy furniture, but to get the free hot dogs and drinks? Stand in line for hours to get tickets for the first showing of some movie? I don't do that. (Okay, once years ago I did wait in shifts with friends for two days to see the re-release of Star Wars...but I was single and crazy, so that doesn't count.)

So what was this urge I felt to awake before dawn, carpool with two sisters-in-law to Sunflower Farmer's Market, and eagerly join the long line of customers who gathered for the grand opening...just for the chance to be one of the "first 200 who will receive a free bag of groceries (with in-store purchase)"? We pulled up around 6:40am, and immediately wondered whether we would make the cut. Who knew so many people actually read those small words on the mail flyer? Despite our mounting doubts, we joined the line and waited for an employee to approve or reject us. We assured each other that, even if we didn't receive the reward, we had made the trip (possibly one mile!) and might as well stay. But then, oh yes, that good employee handed us our cards...numbers 147, 148, and 149. We were in.

It's really just another health food store selling organic products that I would like to buy, but can't afford to buy on a regular basis. But then, they entice me with their inexpensive produce; that alone pulls at my frugal-and-trying-to-be-healthy side. In addition, today they generously handed out all sorts of free samples--including chocolate--thus creating a friendly atmosphere (or addiction) designed to welcome me and the rest of the early-riser community. I loved it. And that wonderful, mysterious, birthday surprise-like bag of groceries? I loved that, too; it was simply fun. There was something, something, about that gimmick that made the waking and the waiting worthwhile.

After all, aside from the bread, baby carrots, and shampoo, I have definitely been needing bottled "firehot" red peppers.

Dang it! I nearly had the laundry done before more laundry piled up! The last load is in the dryer and I see in the dirty hamper: Matt's softball uniform, two bibs, one errant T-shirt that I found in my "clean" pile. So close...
(This is amusing today only because I am in a good mood...otherwise, a little discouraging.)

Tales beneath Timp

On Saturday evening Matthew and I went on a "date" to the Timpanogos Storytelling Festival. We went to the Laughin' Night and loved it (despite our poor blanket location--precariously perched on the far, far stage right slope, hoping gravity didn't launch me into somersaults). The storytellers perform with such ease and comfortable friendliness that they ignite a little spark within me. "These people are great and I love these stories," I think. "I tell stories to my children sometimes...I like to talk...I should try telling stories to a small audience...maybe I could go professional...that's it! That's how I can pursue my dream of traveling! Yes! This can work!" And so the tiny flame grows out of control into a bonfire, until I remember..."Oh, I don't like to be the center of attention, and it is likely that large groups of people would stare at me if I were a professional storyteller." So, as I come back to reality, truly the talent and atmosphere at the festival inspires me to tell more of my own stories to my children, and even, dare I hope, to write down some of those memories. Those are worthy and attainable goals for me. And, maybe next year I could even volunteer. Be still, my dreamy, storytelling heart.