Month: March 2018

Reading this throwback post today, I was reminded of all the special moments of motherhood. I love the creative side of being a mom.

Reading this post also made me wish that I had continued the Welcome Home Snack tradition much longer than I did.  My kids loved it so much.

But before I could get too down on myself I thought of yesterday’s post and of how the Welcome Home Snack was just one of many of The Stories that I’ve shared with my children. We have a lifetime of moments like these to string together into the most amazing tale.

And we’re not done yet. There’s still plenty of whimsy, wonder and adventure to be found.

Who knows, maybe I’ll even bring back the Welcome Home Snack.

~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome home surprises…

September 4, 2008

Yesterday’s welcome home snack started with this note that led the kids on a treasure hunt throughout the house. I hid several clue scrolls that had them running up and down the stairs, laughing and squealing, “this is fun” the whole time. After a long search they finally ended up in the pantry where they found this:

Yummy welcome home snickerdoodles.

It was so fun to watch their excitement. How wonderful it is that with just a little preparation you can make a child’s whole day.
I went ahead and re-hid everything to surprise the older girls when they got home, and if you think that kids get too old for these kinds of things, you should have seen them running through the house trying to discover the prize. It was a great way to welcome everyone home.

When I picked Jamie up from school today she said that all day she kept wondering what snack she would find waiting for her this time. So cute.
Today I didn’t have much time so I quickly whipped up a batch of Paula Deen’s microwave peanut brittle, arranged it on our official after school snack cake plate and placed it next to a vase of fresh flowers and our welcome home sign. The kids were as thrilled as ever to find it and their smiles made my day.

It truly is the simple things that make life worthwhile. I love being a mom. I couldn’t ask for a better job or better kids.
It’s bliss I tells ya, pure BLISS!

 

When we find ourselves in Flagstaff, we like to visit the historic Riordan Mansion.  What I love most about the property is the example of family togetherness found in the story of two brothers who married two sisters deciding to build a mansion together, each having mirror image homes of their own on either side with a common gathering room joining them in the middle.

Seeing the Riordan Mansion made me long for a family compound–seven separate houses with a great room in the middle–of my own.

So when Marlee and Jaye recently decided to live in our backyard–in their own private bungalow–while finishing school, I did a little happy dance. It might not be a family compound but it’s a start.

Walking through their trailer made me long for a camper of my own.  A cute vintage one–just big enough for an adventure–with a kitchen and a bed.

“When I asked Adam what he wanted to name his boat he said, ‘I want to name her The Story.’ I realized that Adam saw this tattered sailboat completely different than most people would. Most would see an old jalopy of a sailboat better sunk than sailed.  For Adam, though, The Story wouldn’t be a sailing machine; it would be a story machine.  To him it was filled with whimsy, wonder, and adventure even before he untied it from the dock.”  ~~Bob Goff

Growing up, my dad bought our family’s version of The Story in the form of an old motorhome.  A story machine that filled my life with adventures that stretched across this entire nation.

Through the years variations of The Story have come and gone.  And I’ve found that it doesn’t really matter what form it takes–a vintage camper, a sailboat or even that family compound with a great room in the middle–as long as I’m awake, alive and aware of the stories it offers.

When I think about it, each new day can be named The Story because honestly, with a little whimsy, wonder and adventure,

that’s all I really need.

 

 

When I was a little girl I told my Aunt that one of our family members smoked.  “Don’t tell Grandma.”  She said.  “It will break her heart.”

I shrunk inside myself, knowing that her warning had come too late.  I had already broken my grandmother’s heart.

It was then that I learned the damaging effects of gossip (though I didn’t quite know how to define it at the time).  I learned that telling the secrets of others–true or not–wasn’t fun or helpful.  And that maybe smoking wasn’t the worst thing a person could do after all.  Maybe it was hurting others with our words.

This morning, while driving with Easton, I saw someone I know.  I waved to this someone I know.  Then I talked about this someone I know.  Expressing my opinions about some choices he’s made.

Again, I chose to be careless with my words.  Again, I committed the greater sin.

I quickly repented, telling Easton that I had no right to an opinion on a life I have not walked.

“The sin in question is one which I have never been tempted to commit.  I will not indulge in futile philippics against enemies I never met in battle.”  ~~C.S. Lewis

When I’ve studied the ten commandments, I’ve never found a passage admonishing me to make sure my neighbor is living them correctly.  But I have read that among the greatest commandments–second only to loving God–is that I love the someones I know, and even the someones I don’t know, even as I love myself.

Simply love.  Nothing more.

So next time I drive past someone I know, I’ll wave to that someone I know then I’ll talk about that someone I know.  Expressing the love I feel toward him or her.

And I won’t say another word about it–true or not–not even to my Grandma.

 

 

Twenty-seven years ago today Landon arrived, helping to fulfill my dream of motherhood and what I hoped would be the beginning of my nine boy dream family.

I soon learned that God had a different plan for me as one, two, three then four daughters followed Landon into our family.  Deciding our family was complete, I resigned to the fact that Landon would be my one and only son.

The divine interventions that then took place to insure the birth of our son Waylon are miraculous and are something I thank my Father in Heaven for everyday.

So when I recently cried unto the Lord telling Him that I didn’t want Him to help make my dreams come true, I meant it.  “You see things that I can’t see.” I told Him. “Please make your dreams for me come true.”

“Tell me about the God you love; tell me about what He has inspired uniquely in you; tell me about what you’re going to do about it, and a plan for your life will be pretty easy to figure out from there.”  ~~Bob Goff

I know I have to start with a plan–guided by the inspirations God has placed into my heart–and that I must decide what I’m going to do about setting that plan in motion.  But just as God helped to tweak my plan for motherhood, replacing my dream of nine sons for something that was a much better fit for me, I know He can do the same for me now.

Which is why–after becoming bogged down with the what next, what-ifs and  whys of my recent plans–I surrendered to the Lord, asking Him to guide me to His dreams,  “Your dreams for me are always better than my own.”  I said.

So much better.

 

My dad looked at me with a gleam in his eye.  A gleam that told me I was important, that I was loved.

At the viewing before his funeral many people approached me, offering their love and condolences.  I felt grateful for the support, but I also felt numb and lost.

Until, with a tap on my shoulder, I turned to meet that same love filled gleam in the eye of another.

When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!

Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home.

A flood of peace washed over me as I fell into the embrace of a man who–though he had only been a part of my life for a short time–looked at me the same way my father had.  He made me feel important, he made me feel loved and he made me feel safe.

 

I felt the spirit whisper, “Behold thy Father” and I knew–with the sweetest comfort–I wasn’t alone.

My father-in-law’s death, sixteen years later, was sudden and surreal.  He–like my dad–left way too soon.

As I lay in his bed that night after he died, his spirit washed over me, engulfing me–with the sweetest comfort–in the warmth of his love.

I miss him.  Especially on days like today, his 75th birthday.  I imagine what it would be like to have him here.  To bake him a cake.  To sing a song.  And to hear his laughter.

I want my kids to have their grandpa, both of their grandpas, and I want my dads.

But though they are gone, I still feel them sometimes.  With that familiar tap on my shoulder and spirit embrace.  And I know they’re looking after me–the love filled gleam still shining in their eyes–reminding me I’m not alone.

 

 

My desire to view the world with childlike wonder reminded me of this throw back post from 2012.  Trying to embrace everything I experience as a “special mug” moment has really opened me up to the magic all around me.

I’m so grateful for the example children set.

~~~~~~~~~~~

So Special

March 1, 2012

I bought four mugs. We have seven people currently living in our home, but I bought four mugs. It’s all the thrift store had. Four. I debated, but they were cute. So I bought them.

I set the table with my four new mugs. We have seven people currently eating at our table, but I only had four new mugs. So I alternated them with complimenting white mugs. It looked cute. I felt satisfied.

“Why don’t I get a special mug?” I heard Jamie say. Followed by, “Ooo, I want a special mug.” Coming from Waylon. So we adjusted and did some rearranging until all who wanted “special mugs” had one.

And I thought, “I love children.” I love how their precious little minds take the simplest of things and make them “special” and exciting. If only we could remember this as mothers. Oh the world we could create for these wide-eyed, magical little souls. And oh the world we would create for ourselves in the process.

Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass;
Alma 37:6

It was like some sort of a bad dream hangover, the way I felt when I woke up a few days ago.  I don’t remember what I had dreamt about but there was no other explanation for the darkness I felt.

I sat tick, tick, ticking off–from a list in my head–all of the reasons I wasn’t an adequate mother or overall human being.  “I haven’t done it ‘right’.”  I told myself.  “The way it’s ‘supposed to’ be done.”

“Right” and “Supposed to”.  Oh how these ideals have conspired against me trough the years.  I have read, studied, watched, asked, learned and tried to mimic those who seem to have mastered “right” and “supposed to”.  I’ve tried to follow their examples to no lasting avail.  Because as it turns out, another’s “right” and “supposed to” are often quite different than my own.

“But at the end of the day, your intuition as a guardian should govern your action. Don’t let any study or opinion keep you from listening to the heart of your home. Your home has a rhythm, a flow and a voice that is unique to your family.  Trust it.”

~Brooke Hampton

I’ve come to embrace and often thrive in my own rhythm of “right” and “supposed to”.  But for  years I struggled, calling my rights wrong–compared to those of others.

I think my bad dream must have taken me back to that place, tempting me to forget all I’ve learned, to forget who I am and to silence the voice that’s uniquely my own.  But I can’t forget.  I’ve come too far.

So I’ll shake off the darkness, tear up the list, and continue down this path I’m supposed to be on .

Trusting that the Lord will take what I offer,

and make everything right.

 

 

2017 was the year of Disneyland.  After a family meeting and an agreement to forgo all birthday and Christmas presents that year, we bought annual passes to the happiest place on earth.

Though Disneyland truly is my happy place and has been since my childhood, there were times throughout the year when I found myself thinking, “I’ve seen all there is to see.”  Knowing–with Disneyland’s attention to detail–this couldn’t possibly be true, I began the “find something new” game.  Everyday looking, with childlike wonder, for something I’d never noticed before.

Last Saturday, after strapping a walking boot onto my poor damaged foot, we decided to check out the Arizona Renaissance Festival.  I’ve always been curious about the festival and with a spring break in desperate need of repair, I figured it was as good a time as any.

Disappointment–for several reasons that I won’t dwell on now–set in shortly after entering the gates and though I tried to remind myself of my new motto, “things don’t have to turn out perfectly to make it worth turning out”, it wasn’t until I sat down to watch a bell show that my heart began to change.

With the same childlike wonder I had summoned in Disneyland I felt a smile rise up and fill my whole body.  “I’ve never seen a birdman play a giant bell instrument before.”  I reminded myself.

My smile remained the entire performance as I not only pondered the wonder of this beautiful world I live in but also my ability to perceive it in any way I choose.  I can choose as easily as the flip of a switch to see the secret pockets of magic that swirl all around me or I can stay in a place of, “I’ve seen all there is to see”.  Knowing the latter–with my Father in Heaven’s attention to detail–couldn’t possibly be true.

During the economic crash of 2008 we, like so many others, almost lost everything–even having an auction date for two days after Christmas placed on our house.

It was a very stressful, scary time.  But as I sat crying, praying in my parked car in my dark garage one evening, wondering how we were ever going to survive this mess, these words entered my heart, “If I told you everything was going to work out would you believe me?” I felt the Lord ask, “If I told you everything was going to work out would you find peace?”

After pondering for a moment I answered, “Yes.  I would believe you.”

Then, filling me with a gentle yet firm assurance he said, “Everything is going to work out.”

A short time later we were able to secure a modification on our mortgage and our house was saved.

Tuesday night, after deciding to break several toes and my foot by running full force (trying to outrun being attacked with purple chalk powder) into a door jamb, I was able to find peace–even knowing all plans for spring break were now ruined–by applying this lesson.  “Everything is going to work out.”  I told myself.

But yesterday, after realizing that I had somehow misplaced (completely and utterly lost) all of Jamie’s official documents, I dismissed the Lord’s promise and wallowed in anguish all day.  I had my focus set on the one outcome I believed would make everything work out and it wasn’t until I surrendered to other possibilities–less appealing as they may be–and put my trust in the Lord that I was able to find peace.

I believe this is what the Lord wanted to teach me that night in my dark garage so many years ago. Though I’m certain He knew before hand the positive outcome concerning our mortgage, I believe what He really wanted me to understand is that even when things don’t go quite in the way we envision and even had we ended up living in a van down by the river,  He has a plan for us and in that plan–one way or another–

everything always works out.

 

 

Today I thought about what life would be like had we continued forward, leaning on our own understanding.

What life would be like had we stopped at four kids or even five as we’d planned.

I don’t know what life would be like had God not blessed us in spite of ourselves.

But I do know I’m grateful I didn’t miss out on moments like these.

~~~~~

Sugar, spice and a side of snails

July 2009

“Why are you dressed like that?” I asked. And I wasn’t referring to the fact that they looked like hoochie mamas. What I was really trying to get to the bottom of is why my son was dressed like a girl.

“I’m teaching Waylon how to be a girl.” Jamie explained. “Can we have some lipstick or nail polish to put in our purses?”

“No. Absolutely no makeup.” I had to drawn the line somewhere.

“Okay.” They said as Waylon sneakily grabbed something off of my vanity and headed for the door.

“You’d better not be sneaking makeup.” I warned him.

“Sorry.” He said with a sheepish grin, putting the stolen nail polish back where he had found it.

“Thank you for telling the truth honey. I’m very proud of you.” I told him.

With pride of his own he raced after Jamie and asked, “Hey Jamie, do girls do that? Do girls tell the truth?”

“Yes Waylon girls sometimes always tell the truth.” She informed him. Then continuing her tutorship she explained to him that girls love to talk, “So we need to sit down on the couch and have a talk.” she said.

“So,” Waylon began, “have you ever seen a dead dog?”

“No Waylon.” Jamie snapped in disgust, “Girls do not talk like that.”

“Oh.”

“And girls always sit with their legs crossed like this.” Jamie modeled daintily.

Waylon sat copying her for a moment before announcing, “Yeah, but this squishes my penis a little.”

Then after a picture and a request by Jamie to put it on my blog, “Girls always put things on their blogs.” She explained. The two of them ran off to change for the “how to be a boy” portion of the evening.

I didn’t catch as much of this conversation but I did learn, along with Jamie, that boys like to sit like this, that they always drink their sodas with no lid or straw, and when Jamie laughed too enthusiastically at something he said Waylon informed her that, “No Jamie, boys do not laugh as much as girls do.”

It wasn’t until I learned from one of my older kids that Waylon was upstairs smashing one of my baskets because, “Boys like to break things” that I put a stop to their education and sent them to get ready for bed.

I’m constantly shaking my head with these two, but they do keep me laughing.