39

Happy Birthday Dear Brad.

Here are 39 thank yous to my incredibly handsome, talented, good, husband to round out my grateful November.

1. Since you didn't have me at hello, thank you for continuing to say hello at least 100 times more (or so).

2. Thank you for being a spectacular kisser.

3. Thank you for being such a hard worker and a good provider.

4. Thank you for introducing me to medium rare steak.

5. Thank you for a warm, safe home.

6. Thank you for being so patient with my quirks.

7. Thank you for continuing to compliment my derriere in jeans even though it is no longer 25.

8. Thank you for being so sexy.

9. Thank you for sleeping on the side of the bed closest to the door.

10. Thank you for some sweet rims.

11. Thank you for liking my cooking, it makes life easier.

12. Thank you for always supporting me in my callings.

13. Thank you for sharing your talents with our children.

14. Thank you for loving that I served a mission.

15. Thank you for being such a handy man.

16. Thank you for being so clever (most of the time, sometimes you are too clever for your own good).

17. Thank you for always being willing to help our friends and neighbors.

18. Thank you for being nice to my mom.

19. Thank you for all the cat litter you've cleaned.

20. Thank you for the Randy Travis song you sang to me at our Wedding, my aunts still speak of it.

21. Thank you for avocado shakes.

22. Thank you for letting me often win.

23. Thank you for always being willing to serve.

24. Thank you for standing by me when I'm crazy.

25. Thank you for always telling me I'm the prettiest and the sexiest.

26. Thank you for loving sushi.

27. Thank you for being tender hearted.

28. Thank you for day dreaming with me.

29. Thank you for not being too much of a sports fanatic.

30. Thank you for being kind to animals.

31. When I taught you how to snow board, thank you for not rubbing it in my face that you were better then me after 4 attempts.

32. Thank you for allowing me to complain throughout my pregnancies.

33. Thank you for humoring me when I talk about things that don't interest you.

34. Thank you for being patient when I didn't change my name for 3 years.

35. Thank you for being my best friend.

36. Thank you for songs, laughter, and joy.

37. Thank you for the most beautiful children.

38. Thank you for being an amazing father.

39. Thank you for loving me always.

I love you.

So Many Things...

Last week I just about threw in the towel on blogging.
It takes time and effort and sometimes I feel guilty. I waffle back and forth about whether or not it is really a best choice.
Then I thought about how many good things I've already sacrificed in order to be a semi-good mom.
I've given up reading (this was a huge sacrifice).
I watch very, very little TV. Sometimes I watch silent TV while breastfeeding.
I never, ever watch movies.
I don't do anything with friends, well once in a great while.
I have employed a babysitter like 5 times in the past 4 years.
(By the way, these are not things I am suggesting every mom should do, they are just things I have had to do because I am a horrible multitasker)
So, after consideration, I decided to give it another week and I am so glad I did, because just look at all of the gratitude it has brought me today:

1. My friend, Wendy (who I met through blogging), is finally a mother after many prayers and a ton of patience. I haven't been able to stop smiling today because I am so happy for her.



2. My frustration at finding the above and being told by my 4 year old (who coincidently is named Norah Griffiths) that my 3 year old did the drawing on the door (who cannot write and who is not named Norah Griffiths) was quickly overshadowed by the knowledge that I am not alone because of this post.



3. Because of blogging, I remembered to take a picture of my girls in the new snow.

4. I get to direct everyone to my dear, talented sister in-law's blog so you can view our Christmas pictures (aren't you so excited) so I can tempt you with a family Christmas card. If you want one email me, marthagriffiths@gmail.com. Some of you will be getting them whether you like them or not, so please reserve a revered spot on your refrigerator or magnet board.

and lastly,

5. I get the opportunity to air my bouts with insanity on my blog so that all of you who live by me can understand my newly acquired ugliness.
I have a self mutilation problem. It has only manifested itself 3 times previously, but sadly, on Thanksgiving afternoon, I was stressed and sad and I took the scissors into my own hands and did something drastic. I chopped my hair off.


(please excuse my skin, stress is manifested in many ways besides chopped hair)

Like I said, I have done this before.



I did it once while in a very stressful companionship on my mission. I just grabbed all of my hair in front and cut it. I ended up feathering it to the side a la 80's style, which luckily seemed to fit right in with the inhabitants of the Provence/time warp I was serving in.



I did it during a not-so-good-for-me relationship back in my early 20's (the girl in the picture with me is my sister, and that is not the relationship I am talking about).

And I did it again after I had my first child.

You may think this is not a big deal, but it is. I have a very pronounced widow's peak and bangs DO NOT WORK. I know this, yet I continue to chop off the front of my hair every time I feel major amounts of stress. This must be a metaphor for something, I just haven't figured it out yet.
So stare if you must, but know-I don't think this is pretty either.
In fact, my hair dresser passed me in the hallway at church Sunday and told Brad to hide the scissors.

Thankful for the Special

Last year I didn't decorate for Christmas. I did the tree. That was it.
I had just had a baby and the doctor had ordered 2 weeks bed rest (as if, what mom has that luxury?).
Anyway, I wasn't up for it.

The other day, as I was driving down the highway, Norah noticed the lights on the trees surrounding the entrance to our community. With childhood fancy, Norah said, "All the Christmas lights and decorations make me feel special mom". I smiled. I loved being young and believing in something magical, larger than life, and the possibility of anything. I want my children to believe as long as possible. I want them to believe in angles, peace, and happiness. I wish the weight of the world could be light and that all of God's children could avoid the sobriety of 'reality'. Such is not the case, sadly. So decorate I did, if only to perpetuate the specialness for the short Christmas season.



Brad, being a special dad, decorated the outside of the house with ethereal lighting.





I quarantined all the 'crafty' childlike decorations, snowmen, and snow globes to the familyroom/children's rec area. Decorations must know their place, they cannot mingle.



I hung colorful, graceful ornaments in the windows upstairs.



Actually, I hung glass ornaments in every possible light blessed spot (I'm a sucker for pretty light).



All of these were hung from my pot rack so that gold and amber light adorn our breakfasts (notice Brad ruining my picture from the deck).



An extra large amount of silver and turquoise draped itself all over the living room.

And my incredibly unsteady hand caught the magical drama of our night lights overlooking the valley below.



Even if all of this tangibly only amounts to a heap of glass, plastic, and electricity, it is worth the effort for the warm feeling of something extra-ordinary. And I will tell my children the incredible, fantastic, magical, peaceful story of Christmas. And we will bask in the special.

Macaroni and Cheese

The autumn night was warm and still. The azure sky was painted in fire and gold.



The peaks of Timpanogos were bathed in pastels.



The humble garden offered her last tomatoes and suggested the use of her forlorn, dying chives.



With shallots and great expectations on my mind, I undertook the feat of composing the most delectable macaroni and cheese ever.



There were 3 gourmet cheeses. Heavy cream, basil, tomatoes, and bay leaves swirled in heated effort.



A lonesome can of Costco crab meat sacrificed itself for the good of the whole.



Penne and paprika alliterated the dish.

The children were called with the promise of deliciousness.

The excited feet bounded up the staircase in hot pursuit of such a simple pleasure.



As the first enticing bite was placed in Lulu's mouth, enthusiasm and anticipation quickly turned to tears and bitter disappointment.



Lulu can still be heard to mutter pained, knowing lyrics of deception, trickery, and duplicities.

I am a fallen momma.

Abram

There were many battles to overcome from February to November in 2006.
There was the battle to keep my food down.
There was the battle to ween my currently breastfeeding baby.
There was the battle to overcome daily migraines.
Starting at nine weeks, the battle began with my veins and the pain of pooling blood.
Ted hose are a battle all their own, both ugliness (why do they only come in wretched dark suntan?) and their vice grip strength made me constantly reconsider their necessity.



Then came the needles, the tests, the fasting(no pregnant woman should have to go without sugar and carbs that long), the classes, and the diagnosis of gestational diabetes. Although my husband really believes the diagnosis to be insurance fraud (always the attorney), there was a blessing in drawing blood from my forearm 4 times a day, my blood sugar was very low, and I was able to correct my hypoglycemia with regular sugar indulgence.
There were the constant screenings with multiple doctors, parinatologists, and many, many midwives.
There was the ultrasound with the short femurs. Apparently, short femurs are a soft marker for down syndrome, so there was more testing.



As Abram's arrival drew closer, the testing, the threats (yes, there were threats), and the daily battles with the doctors grew more intense.
I knew that I would be overdue (I'm always overdue). I knew that my baby was not large, he in fact was my smallest (were there not daily ultrasounds to prove this?).
But I complied with the redundant testing, the NST's and the ultrasounds (thank you to all of you who watched my daughters during this time, it made this bearable).
Abram was due on November 10th. I gave up the battle on November 17th and surrendered to my midwife, Melissa, at the American Fork hospital. Abram took his time for a 3rd baby, and there were complications.
Through all this, my greatest battle was the feeling of inadequacy. I and my body were not ready for another baby. I didn't know if somewhere inside of me was a mother who could love and support 3 very young children.



But Abram was beautiful. His large eyes conjured up magical resources of love from my soul.
Not everyday of the past year has been magical. It is difficult. There are days that I wonder if I am the mom for these beautiful children.
But all in all, I am grateful. I am grateful to you Abram. Your smile, your eyes, your tiny hands (and femurs), are a gift. You are making me a mother. I have to dig deep, but there is the possibility of being a great mother. You forever remind me of the dependence that I need to place on the Lord. You constantly remind me that greatness is not in me, but through me.
I love you and I would battle again and again for you.



Happy Birthday!

The photos were all taken by the fabulous photographer, Kate Benson.

Happy Birthday to My Sweet Baby Girl

Happy Birthday my sweet Lu.



No one is as loud, stubborn, silly, or as sweet and precious as you.



I am grateful for every minute of these past 3 years. And I will be grateful for every minute you continue to call me mommy. I love you forever and ever and ever.

A Lovely Saturday in November

Saturday was beautiful. Not only was the sky it's bluest, but the temp. was in the mid 60's. And not only did Brad stay home from work, he also took the girls up to our new home site in order to watch the driveway and steps be poured.



Never has concrete been so fascinating.



Never have HVAC cardboard boxes been so artistically decorated.



The view from the back of our home is of the hang gliders at point of the mountain. Brad took the girls to get a closer look.





While I was walking around our new home, the central vac. installer(who had multiple piercings and was in his early 20's), approached me and said, "I'm not going to be able to finish this job today". I said, "Oh yeah?". He said, "yeah, I just found out I have a party to go to". I considered this for a moment. I have to assume that parties are not only paramount on the agenda of a 20-some-year-old with multiple piercings, but imperative (this is not based on any research only narrow mindedness and stereotypical thinking). Understanding his plight, I let him off the hook.





We also captured our children's tiny hand prints in our new driveway cement for whoever buys our home after we tire of it to enjoy forever and ever (seriously, I hope we never ever tire of it).



After the children went down for a nap, I was able to escape (seriously) to a delightful bloggers lunch date. I am so glad I went because I almost changed my mind. These women were so much fun. I was able to spend time with old friends (Laurie W. and Leslee), and make new friends (Heather, Annemarie, Laurie from Texas, Lisa, and Melissa.
I laughed hard as I listened to stories and experiences. These ladies made me happy to be a blogger. Making new friends and being able to meet them in the flesh is wonderful. I hope to have many more blogger lunch dates just as lovely as this one. Thanks ladies!


I am grateful for the beauty of the day, for my husband's help, and for the friendships I've made through blogging.

Saturday's this gratifying are few and far between, but really need to be praised.

The Other Catagory

Remember when (it could be just me) you were young and you would look at the older generation and think, "when I get older, I will never: let myself go, wear ugly mom clothes and mom shoes, listen to mom music, have ugly mom hair, get wrinkles, not shave my legs, and talk about children's bowl movements (at the wise age of 16 I was too sophisticated to use the word poop)".
Well, those all knowing, carefree days have come and gone and now I am a mom with: unshaven legs, stretched out tummy skin, my mom's hair, unpainted toenails, ice age taste in music, some sketchy clothing, great skin (I am still in denial about my wrinkles), and a limited vocabulary littered with the word poop. I know this post is supposed to be about gratitude and I am getting to it.
These days I have found comfort in shallow indulgences. When the poop is plentiful and the whining at a fever pitch, I put on a pair of pretty shoes.



A pretty shoe can turn tired, unkempt feet into a vision of grace and femininity.



A pretty shoe can turn an overworked housewife into a girl with people to see and places to go (even if the only thing on the agenda is the grocery store).



Pretty (and colorful) shoes put a skip in my step and a swing in my hip.



Pretty boots can hide a multitude of sins. Boots cover my unpolished toes. My hair covered legs can go undetected by a tall pair of boots. The ugly side of maternity is hidden by a good pair of sturdy boots (and the pair of strong, suntan colored ted hose that I had to wear summer of 2006, and no you cannot see a picture. Those days will have to be the subject of fables and folklore).



No matter how many wrinkles I accrue,




or how much poop I clean up,



I will always be grateful for the quick-fix of a pretty shoe.

The Pretty

I like the pretty. I am grateful for the pretty. My husband would argue that I like too much pretty and may be an over zealous consumer of the pretty.
But this is not the pretty I speak of today. I am thankful for the simple, less contrived pretty.



The pretty that gently persuades.



The pretty that is free of an agenda.



The pretty that easily goes unnoticed.



I depend on the pretty to remind me.



When things (or I) don't feel pretty, I embrace pretty, and pretty becomes part of me.



Call me silly or shallow, but I love the pretty.

If only I could fit shoes into this 'pretty' category.