Super Heros go to School

Wonder Woman and the Bat Girl are off to school, deflecting bullets and fighting crime.

This last (cold) week of October

We've been preparing for Halloween,



I finished the last costume accessories this afternoon. My sewing machine needs a break.



We've been making roasted soups, vegetables, and scavangering for anything that isn't yet dead in the garden.



The young women who are no longer my young women, heart attacked me last night as I sat sewing. I pretended that I didn't know, and continued to sew. I walked out onto my porch and cried over all the notes and laughed at the pumpkin, which is obviously a rendering of me.

Looks like it will be a wonderful Halloween.

A little weekend to remember

I barely remember what Norah was like as a baby. I sort of remember what our life felt like. I would pay a handsome sum to be able to slip into the shoes I once wore and feel my new mom thoughts and Norah's tiny hand.

My regrets: I recorded very little. There are very few photos, and far too few written feelings, which makes the revisiting difficult.

So to get back to the roots of my blog, I am going to try to record the glimpses, the mundane, and the tiny hands-just for me. I need it to remember and appreciate. If you would like to visit, be my guest.



Rosemary is the sweetest thing I've ever known. She is done with her spider crawl-she rarely let her knees touch the ground...and it's gone. She loved to place mom or dad's shoes on her hands and "walk" around, that is fading as well. But she walks like a tiny robot, stiff, jerky, and muttering a foreign tongue.



I can't get enough of her, and she loves having her photo taken.



Norah and Lulu are a crazy handful. Sometimes, I wonder about the penance I must be doing, but they are so beautiful and thoughtful that I am grateful for the time I have with them, even if it is nuts.



I went to my first movie to be seen in a theater in 7 years! While driving to the theater Norah kept asking me if I had ever seen a movie theater before. She informed me that it was dark, had a big screen, and that I shouldn't be scared.

I enjoyed the movie, but I still prefer my "away from the kids time" to involve conversation and good food.







Preparing for church was the same: Abram expecting to leave the house in his bike helmet, hair pulling, threats, yelling and pretty girls. But church was different, only one young woman attended. Starting from scratch to restructure a program that draws a little crowd is daunting. But magic seems to happen when it is truly the Lord's work.

So here it is again, Monday morning and I am back on the crazy train.

A Broken Hearted Love Story

Moving slowly and turning my swollen belly sideways to reach the faucet, I washed counter tops and swept floors. The phone call from the executive secretary with the message that the new Bishop wanted to meet with me early Sunday morning hung heavy in the kitchen. We had not yet met as a new ward and this new ward consisted only of a bishopric and a few hundred uncalled members.

My husband sat on a stool, "what do you think it is?", he asked. "I don't know, maybe relief society or primary", I replied. "It couldn't be about Young Women, I can't do that right now with a new baby. There is camp, youth conference, weekly activities, meetings, teenage drama-I'm just not in that place right now".

Of course, half of this conversation took place in my head-listing all of the reasons I couldn't possibly be called to YW. And I really didn't think I would.


Sitting stunned across from the Bishop and his counselors, I thought about all of the hours he had already dedicated in that short week, organizing a new ward, seeking the Lord's direction to make right choices, praying for help. As he looked at me sincerely, and waited for my answer I felt no burning desire or revelation to serve the YW. I only felt the need to follow through with a covenant.

In the days that followed, I tried to organize an auxiliary, have a new baby,and figure out what in the world I was supposed to be doing.

My first Sunday with the YW didn't produce any breakthroughs, it only reaffirmed my suspicion that I lacked teenage conversation skills and that I was clueless. I went home hot, sweaty, fat-about to burst, and ashamed that I wasn't more of a drill team leader kind of gal.

I had such a small understanding of the program that I really didn't know what to pray for. So I settled on love. I needed to love them, teenage girls need love-I know that I did.

Now, almost 15 months later, our bulging-at-the-seams ward has split. And although I am still the YW president in my 6th ward, 16 of the 24 girls are going with the new 7th ward. I still don't know what I am doing, I am still not cool, I am no better a drill team leader, but I have fallen in love.

I love the silliness and the teachability.

I love the silver smiles and the sweet hugs.

I love the laughter and the tenderness.

I love to feel how precious they are; I always come home high after an activity. There is no greater blessing than the Lord sharing His vision and the worth of souls with you.

And all of this just to have my heart broken.

But broken is better than unbreakable, and I am better for the opportunity.

The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.
~Dorothy Frances Gurney, "Garden Thoughts"




My fledgling garden has been a place of refuge. I've spent hours upon hours covered in earth, burying my wishes, secrets and troubles among the dahlias and daisies.




Frankly, there is no place I would rather be. A perfect afternoon for me is Norah spinning dreamily in circles while I dig, prune, and drift among the rhythm of fat bumble bees,



spinning cosmos, and perfumed roses.




My breath and thoughts slow in the company of birds and bugs, and I find my beauty (all beauty),



instinctual and intended.



I am grateful for a small piece of earth to call my own,



and to do my best with.



So here is to my little garden in it's 11th hour of it's first fall.

On A Right of Passage

When your first child walks early it is clearly representative of the child's parents' intelligence, success, and outstanding athletic ability.



When your second child learns to walk, you say, "That's nice".



When your third child learns to walk, you mutter a "whatever".



And when your fourth child arrives, you whisper fervently in their ear, "please stay small, fit in my pocket and be my baby forever, don't grow-or walk--please, please, please!".



And when they disobey you, you cry and let them go on a cloudy October day.

We have good times too...

About a week ago the girls and I undertook the adventure of planting 200 bulbs, which means I still have 100 to plant, multiple random holes to fill and Norah and Lulu are barely speaking to each other.



Abram is always wearing this getup. He attracts a lot of attention in the grocery store with the bike helmet. I say it's protection in case he falls out of the cart.







While watching conference on Saturday, we made glitter pumpkins, and decorated for Halloween.













Rosemary is still perfect. I really mean it. I am so lucky to have such a sweet tempered, loving, and gentle baby.


















She just cuddles and coos and fills me with love and gratitude, and often that is just what I need to get through the day.