The Week the Heat Hit.

It's hot, which means my children don't really want to be outside. And it's been busy which means I am doubly irritable from the heat and expectations.

It's Friday and I feel a little guilty about being snappy at my children.



My garden has exploded. Good for the flowers. Bad for trying to eat all of my lettuce and greens, do you like salad? Please come get some.



On Tuesday we went to the Joseph Smith memorial building to have dinner for my mother's 60th birthday. Of course I love my family and enjoy the laughter and easiness of it all.



What I don't like are seated photos which make me look like a chunk. You cannot tell me otherwise. My sister Sarah is having her baby as I write this. Yay.



My husband and his sunglasses.



Wednesday we had our annual "Lehi" dinner with our friends the Smiths and the Hills. I don't know why it is only annual, the Hills pretty much live in our back yard and the Smiths live just across the highway.



Thursday night I met up with a few companions and sisters from my mission.



It's interesting after all these years the evolution of my memory and what others remember. As we laughed and compared stories, I realized I really only remember the good of a mission. It is golden and polished in my mind's eye and for this I am grateful. We seemed to remember all of the things we (ourselves) did wrong, but for some reason we have forgiven and forgotten most other wrongs.



Of all the choices and stories I have made thus far, the mission I served is the dearest and greatest. My marriage and children are still being written day by day. But my mission was finite and encapsulated in a tidy piece that inhabits my heart, and is mine forever to be grateful for. And oh boy, am I grateful for it.

I am also grateful for salad. Do you want some? Swiss card?

Self-Improvement

You know those pictures of pantries that have beautiful glass containers lined perfectly on the shelves and everything seems to be color coordinated and they are almost too pretty to hide behind a door? Do those people have children? Or pets?





Well my pantry doesn't look like those pantries.

Norah needs to earn money for Activity Days camp and I need to deep clean my "zones". Today's zone was the kitchen, so Norah and I cleaned the pantry.

I usually know it's time to clean and organize the pantry when dog food sticks to the bottom of my feet as I am leaving the untidy food closet. The reason that dog food is usually carpeting my pantry floor is because the cat sneaks into the pantry and rips a hole in the bottom of the bag and soon dog food is dispersed to all four corners. I know you think perhaps there is a solution to the dog food and cat problem, but the cat is helpful in a few ways if not at keeping a clean pantry. And the dog, well, the vet told me that I could extend her life by 3-4 years by brushing her teeth so I sure as heck won't be brushing her teeth.

Anyway, I ordered some large buckets to keep the dog food and cat food out of paws way. I also am waiting on a few of those pretty french hermetic terrines to make me feel a little bit better about how I store my lentils, couscous, vital wheat, and flax seed. But this was the best I could do:



That little door is for gnomes.



And to the father of my children: Thank you for loving them as much as I do and teaching them the fun stuff.

Don't talk to me about Rosemary's pacifier. I pick my battles. That's not one. Did I mention that she screams when she comes near a toilet?



And to my own father: Thank you for the big eyes (I think they are my best feature) and an idyllic childhood. Go Michigan!

On Paradox...

A few weeks ago, I was complaining to my husband that I didn't feel that the culture I lived in allowed for much honesty when it came to being a mother and raising children. In fact, I think I said something about wishing we could just be more honest about what goes on behind closed doors, or even what happens in public for that matter.

I think it is common in an LDS culture to believe that if things are difficult, or if you aren't happy all of the time, you must be doing something wrong. And I know that there are moms who are "having the most fun they have ever had" and I know that there are seasons, but I also know that there are women who suffer behind those doors because they feel a tremendous burden raising their children. I happen to be one, but I don't know that it is behind any door.

I am grateful, in fact I feel very lucky in life, but happiness? It is very fleeting, my days are extremely stressful, and it's no exaggeration to say I often feel as if I've made the wrong career choice. So when I read this article, and then read many blog responses to it, including that Satan must be behind the article, it causes me to wonder about "happiness" and what it really means.

Back to my culture or perhaps better described as my community: not long after my complaining, we had a tragedy in my neighborhood, in fact the last year has been a tough one for the women of my ward. In response to this tragedy, we had a special Relief Society meeting about trials and hardships and I felt an outpouring of the Lord's love.

The Lord has never promised that the things he asks us to do will bring us immediate happiness. And happiness isn't the same thing as joy. I believe in joy, I believe that if I do the best I can and keep picking myself up, I will have joy in the work I do. Maybe not right now. It is a mountain, there is joy in the journey but there is also sadness, and exasperation, and exhaustion. And that is OK. It is all a part of the plan. I am grateful that the Lord has given me a woman to visit teach who struggles with a difficult child. She struggles daily, but she is faithful. She teaches me to have more faith in the Lord's plan.

I often think of the mission I served as a microcosm of life, really all that was left after those 18 months are the relationships. And they bring me joy. I feel so much overwhelming joy when I think of the beautiful experience that was my mission. I learned so much and evolved into a mature woman, I learned to love and trust Jesus Christ. I laughed and did have fun. But when I look at journals and am reminded by fleeting memories, I remember it was hard, so hard, painfully hard. I don't know that I would go back to those same situations. That difficulty and those hardships and pain is a great part of the joy.

So if you ever feel forlorn, think of me, sitting on my front porch at 7 pm with my head in my hands. And know that I pick pieces of happiness where I can find them.



They usually aren't found in the car. Too many tantrums.

But something simple like Rosemary's treasure lunch box that she carries everywhere will make me smile.





Or the fact that sometimes, they are actually friends.

More than happiness, I think I need to have faith. And I do know that faith brings joy. And joy isn't fleeting, it lasts forever.

Recently...

Norah had her last day of school. I warned her that I hated the last day of school, I don't like endings and saying goodbye to friends and teachers was always tough. I don't think she took my experience very seriously.



She was upset that I attempted to take a photo of her crying. You will appreciate this one day Norah.



A week later Lulu had her last day. I brought her potted flowers to give her teachers on the last day. As I watched Lulu give one of her teachers the flowers I saw her whisper to Lulu: I love you. I cried and cried. I'm not entirely sure why. It is difficult for me to have time move on and to be unable to return to relationships or moments. Things come to an end and that is it, there is no returning.







Rosemary has been something else, don't let this cute face fool you. You never know what you will get with her. She is the little girl who had a little curl.



Much of my time is spent dealing with Abram. Abram is smart but that wrinkle between my brows is going to need some botox soon.





I usually make very few desserts but the girls and I have to make use of all the strawberries we seem to have so we've been making tarts.



My garden is in bloom! These are its first offerings.

There is a fair amount of work involved in the spring, but I really enjoy it and it's so exciting to wake up in the early morning and join the birds and see what has sprung overnight-better than Christmas morning.







This is my favorite spot, it smells so good and is usually covered with big,fat, furry bumble bees.



I planted quite a bit of greens and lettuces this year and it has been delicious.

We have been reading truck-loads of books.





I've made many quilts. Someday I will post them all.



I've made quite a few curtains as well. While purchasing the linen for these curtains from IKEA, Rosemary knocked over an enormous display and for about 2 seconds I thought my baby was dead. Rosemary doesn't get to go to IKEA with me anymore.



I've been trying to come up with good ways of displaying the children's artwork. I have 3 boxes to go through now that school is out. Any good ideas?

Baptism

Late 1980, wearing a significantly see-through white dress, I was baptized in a wooden make-shift font which simultaneously housed floating daddy-long-leg spiders. The font was located in the basement of a rented building in which my small lds branch met. I don't remember much besides the embarrassment felt from the wet see-through dress and that my world didn't suddenly shift into spiritual stardom. I find that I am still galaxies away from attaining such a status. But there have been quiet, sometimes earth-shaking moments-mostly unexpected, when there was a shift, and I would never be the same.





In early April, Norah was baptized. In the month preceding her baptism, we did our best to prepare her, going over and over the interview questions and helping her understand the basics of a testimony. That morning we went to the stake center which was busy with activity as 17 wards prepared for their youth baptisms. We chose a jumper from about 50 jumpers neatly pressed and hung for all the 8 year-olds. We shuffled into a small room to hold the service which was tender and sweet. I met Norah on the other side of the font standing in a pool of water which held the drippings of perhaps 20 girls that morning. As I helped her dress, her young voice came from behind a stall door: Mom, I don't feel different. I smiled to myself as I reassured her that that was exactly how I felt after my baptism. It's not usually fireworks or lightening bolts. It is gradual, it is work, and it is mostly still. But it is the greatest love you will ever feel and it is real.

I love you Norah.