A Love Story

Michelle, made me realize that I've written very little when it comes to Rosemary(except to complain of the short term goal she undertook, to drive me insane).

So here you go.



Previous to Rosemary, I had been blessed with 3 beautiful children. Difficult, yes. But beautiful.



Norah is passionate and loving. But the girl never slept, still has sleeping issues. She also, has never been still, ever. As a baby she never allowed me to snuggle her close or rock her to sleep(slightly heartbreaking for a first time mother).



Lulu is a blessing in my life. She makes me a better mother. But she was colicky. She would start to fuss at 4pm. By 9pm there seemed to be nothing I could do to console her. Most nights her crying lasted until midnight, others until 3am.



With his enormous eyes, Abram has been charming right from the start. But, he woke repeatedly every night-until he was 2! When I decided I could no longer spend hours rocking, comforting, or breastfeeding him, he spent hours crying and screaming. You know how they say that if you let them cry it out, within a short while they learn how to put themselves to sleep? Yeah, right, unless you consider 18 months a short while.

Are you starting to see a pattern here? I used to tell people that I loved my babies, but I had a hard time liking them until they reached the year mark.

Enter Rosemary.



Besides those trying 2 weeks, Rosemary is a dream come true. I don't love her more than I do my other children, but I enjoy her. It's such a blessing to have a baby that is easy to enjoy. I'm so grateful that I get to experience her patient, gentle companionship. She reminds me to slow down, to hold her(and the others)close.



Her eyes always seek my company and lock upon my glance intensely without being demanding.



She is a hungry girl. Her appetite is voracious. She loves and seeks the enjoyment of her siblings. And they love her(mostly).



With each child, the feeling of familiarity has grown stronger. As I grow and develop as a mother, the sense of recognition deepens. When our eyes meet, somewhere, there is a glimmer of remembrance. I know Rosemary. She is familiar to me.



I have very few 'concrete' beliefs. But this I do know, salvation comes in the power of a babe.

Sabbath Snow Storm

Outside, snow flakes fell free and heavy Sunday afternoon.

Inside, children clamored for a bench seat to sit upon while stuffing stockinged feet into pink cowboy boots and Velcro sneakers.

Outside, a hush blanketed our street and gully.

Inside, a force, 3 children wide, pushed through a door jam breaking free into the escapable garage.

As the garage door welcomed the expanse beyond it, inside met out. Two girls and one boy fell silent under mother nature's offering.



After a moment, I prompted Norah to climb in the car. She said she was busy thinking about Jesus(I suppose that wins her a few extra seconds).

Upon a second prompt, she climbs in.

I turn to Abram and ask him to climb into the car.



He responds, "I tinking bout Jesus".

Hmmm.

The 80's Never Did Look Good On Me

I was a number of things in high school: thin, athletic, creative, imaginative, and fashion forward(this was easy to be in a small town). But living north-east of central Minnesota, amongst a sea of Lutheran Scandinavians, I could never quite capture cool.

One self-conscious 8th grade day, as I made my way into the cafeteria girl's lavatory, I passed a crowd of star-struck female adolescents under the tutelage of the 9th grade hopelessly 'cool' girl. Her name was Ann. She was blond(with frosted tips), she wore city slicker pink lipstick, her jeans were shredded beyond repair, she was 'developed', and she was ratting her hair. I surveyed the scene and realized very quickly, that I was very unlike Ann. I was skinny and underdeveloped. My hair was devastatingly dark, extremely unfrostable. My lips were too red to hide under the hip paleness of City Slicker Pink lipstick,my dad would have kicked my trash had I worn jeans with holes in them that close to my derriere, and my hair was too heavy to rat.

Ann moved to Alaska that summer leaving a vacancy for a new cool girl. This vacancy was soon filled by someone named Carrie, or Amy, or even Delray; never by a Mormon named Martha.

Somehow I navigated my way through high school without being able to catch coolness. Ironically, my so-called glory days came after I had returned from a mission.I had more dates and admirers than I wanted and it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Luckily though, I had one last shot at achieving 80's stardom.
Last night as I frayed my paint splattered t-shirt, turned my collar up, placed my feet in lace pumps(jealous?), and teased the heck out of my hair, I thought(as Wendy would say), "I look freakin' awesome".


After the hair 'fell' and with my extremely tall(seriously 6'2"?!)counselors.

I partied like a 16 year old and sang and danced my heart out. And at the end of the night, with my baby on my 36 year old hip, I made my way up the stairs and heard the 'cool' young woman say to me, "You're a really good dancer Sister Griffiths and I really like your hair".

Maybe I'm closing in on cool after all.

Preface

So tonight, Brad's music room finally becomes relevant. We are holding the YW/YM combined activity in said room for the purpose of 60's/70's/80's/90's superstar karaoke.I am dressing to the tune of an 80's superstar(because I am best acquainted with the bodacious fashions), and am thinking of something along the lines of this,



for my hair. And this,



(or something like it, perhaps a little less titillating, although that would be a good way to get fired) for clothing.
I'll post pictures tomorrow, I just wanted to make you aware so there could be a bit of anticipation, or at least forewarn you.

While I was shopping at Deseret Industries for some awesome attire, I came upon these,




white milk glass vases for $.50!



I've been collecting milk glass vases(for a much more expensive price)and am thrilled.

Hot dog! Not only is it a beautiful inaugural day, christened with joy and hope, but I got lucky in American Fork, Utah!

The Blessings of Creation

I'm a little better rested then I was last time we met. Rosemary is now sleeping most of the night only waking twice(at least that is what my husband says, I am sleeping down the hallway in Norah's room and am summoned when the baby needs to eat).

The neck is another story. I have now had this throbbing in my neck and forehead for 12 days. I've decided that I am going through menopause or something as equally devastating(hormonally speaking). In lay man's terms, my body is whack. I suppose I should go see my OB, especially since I never went in for a six week appointment.

The good news is, I have had the pleasure of being distracted by many a project this week. Of course, there is YW. I dreaded it's arrival on Tuesday only to find that the headache disappeared while we(again)made chocolate. Seriously, I'm so sorry Rosemary, I only had 3 bites.



She soon forgives me though.



Abram, on the other hand, is always a heart breaking project. He loves me, he loves me not.



The above is right before he hit me for daring to capture his tantrum.



On a sunnier note, I've been organizing and claiming the office as mine.



It is a warm, sunny spot that I can breath in and be my own.



I get to be the Martha that creates(a little)everyday, and it feels good.





Here are a few things I've been working on:







I am working on matching quilts for Norah and Lulu as we prepare to move them in together(oh brother). This is my first pieced quilt and it is not perfect, but I've really enjoyed it, although through this quilt it has come to my attention that I do not know how to count or how to measure.





I've had pictures and clippings stashed and set aside now for a years, waiting to grace a board. Now, since I have claimed this room as mine, I decided to go ahead and make one.



I bought extra fabric to make pillows for this window seat at the front of the office.



I've been decorating my home a tiny little piece at a time. Do you mind if I document each tiny piece?



One other thing I would like to document is my awesomeness at placing 2 children in time out at the same time.Holy mothering skills, I usually(very unsuccessfully)am only able to make one sit and not very quietly at that.

And I did all of this with a sore neck!
Blogging is the only way to (re)write history, no?

Back to Good

On August 3rd, 2008, when I was called into the bishop's office and asked to be the YW president, I was 2 days overdue with Rosemary. That day was also fast Sunday and my birthday(I know I've been over all of this before but I like to repeat myself). I obviously accepted and on the short drive home my husband gave me the look(the look that says, "what the freak did you do that for?"). All I could think was, "I don't know, but I'm trying to trust that there is a reason".

My faithful husband then decided that his fast(for the remander of that day) would be to be blessed with a good baby. You see, we are blessed with the most beautiful children in the world(this is not up for debate), but our first 3 children were very trying infants. Even though the pages of many sleep and baby books have been worn, weathered, and studied, our children were sleepless terrors. In fact, Abram, at 2 years of age now, just barely started sleeping through the night.



But his eyes are just too intoxicating to begrudge the injustice that he has laid upon his mother.

Back to my story, the days came and went, shortly(or not so shortly, by pregnant woman definition), I gave birth to Rosemary. And she was good. So good. There is a God!



She rarely cried, she slept like a dream(only waking a few times a night); she was basicly perfection in pink.



In the last month, on most nights, she woke only once. Sometimes I like to read into things that don't need being read into and pretend that just maybe God was smiling upon me because I really deserved this angelic being.



But tragedy struck. Last Saturday, she developed a fever. She was up multiple times that night, the next and the next. As her fever subsided, a throbbing in my neck intensified. When her illness passed, my neck pain was at a fever pitch. And even though the virus has run it's course, she continues to wake, 6-7-8 times a night. I don't think I need to tell you what this has done to my neck and to my sanity.



On Friday, when I was about to throw myself off of a cliff, I pleaded with the doctor to fix it, fix it all(is that to much to ask?). She shot a steroid into my neck(not as horrible as it sounds), and promised that the pain would subside.

It is now Monday, and still there is pain(cursed steroid), and no sleep.



My feeling is that the pain in my neck will not go away until I get some sleep.
So my question is, what do I do? I have a lot on my plate, and I had it good for a while,but now it's gone. How do I get it back? Is it typical for a baby to fall out of sorts after a sickness? Should I sleep in the basement and let Rosemary duke it out with my husband(remember I breastfeed, and the basement is cold)?

I'm tired.

Magic Resides on Ravencrest

As the pink morning sun chased the last bit of night from the rosy bedroom, I pulled an electrically charged fleece pajama top over a tumble of caramel colored ringlets.



When the fleece separated from the tiny body which it had warmed, the ringlets sprang to life, a la Medusa; wild and radiant.



Lulu squeals, "Mom, look at my hair". I say, "Yes, it's crazy hair".

"No, it's not!", yells Lulu. "No, it's silly hair...", I say.



Lulu replies in a hushed voice, "No mom, it's wondrous hair".

She places her hand on my shoulder and with merriment, whispers in my ear, "It's magical hair mom".



Yes it is Lu.

Resolve

It is on a sunless day such as this, stripped of babies, duty, demands, and distractions, that notice is taken. A stillness is replaced by somber and seeping emptiness reveals a cavity. Gone is the glitter and diamond encrusted snow, exposed are soiled patches of faults and short comings.

As the slate sky casts it's unforgiving shadow over me, I am forced to become acquainted with the chasm between what is and what may be.



Through my window is a gully; deep, dividing, precarious. Gazing at the barbed, barren scrub brush, I feel conquered and oppressed by my deficits. It is cold. The slope is unyielding.
But somewhere, lightly grazing the weight of hopelessness is a promise. Beyond the boulders and tumbled weeds are wholeness and clarity.

So I will seek:
Him.
answers.
understanding.
the ones whose hands need holding.
the daughter who tries me, again and again.
the daughter that needs extra love.
more connection.
cleaner hands.
a pure heart.
dependency.
self reliance.
charity.
forgiveness.




And as I commence on yet another venture to become better, the sun breaks through and beckons me.