A little bit of backlog

I've taken photos, when it occurs to me. I've mind blogged here and there-scraping it all for a library book or a shortbread cookie recipe.



I keep thinking I'll just post little bits of our days so that there is something to look back on, but than I think about the meat of our lives. Should I share? Is it an open door for those who feel the need to condescend? I, for one, have found support in the words of those who have similar paths.



Don't get me wrong, I'm content and enjoying my life, but there are things...




Do I write about Norah and her struggles?



Do I write about Lulu and her afternoon "school" at Autism Journeys?



Do I write about how there a few fleeting moments in the day when I want to cuddle Abram close and smother him with love but mostly I want to leave him screaming and yelling in the grocery store/library/Thanksgiving Point garden/park, and pretend I don't know him or his sorry mother?




Do I write about how being the YW president is often rewarding, always busy, and sometimes incredibly difficult? Do I write about how there are times it makes me feel lonely, alone, and sad? I know, "all these things shall give me experience, and shall be for my good". But there are days.




I'm content to let the world pass us by-to make a peach this or a peach that.



Finding the balance between simplicity/establishing a house of the Lord and charity/knowledge is a serious and ever evolving endeavor.



I'll continue to think about it while making another tart.





And while my baby smears her face with sugar.

The End of Innocence

The 2008-2009 school year was a difficult year. You know the drill, I was called as YW president, I had my 4th baby in 5 years and then Norah and Lulu started school.



Despite Lulu's recent diagnosis, she actually thrived in a structured and busy routine. Norah, not so much. There were calls from teachers, parent conferences, and a tutor was hired. Norah and I spent many of our days frustrated, overwhelmed, and tearful. Her struggle just about sent me over the edge. Too many nights I barely slept worrying about my job as a mother.

The souls of a mother and a young child are so intertwined that it is difficult to access a portion without considering the whole.

There is a certain loneliness in being a mom.Often we share our triumphs and defeats in knowing nods and embraces, but there are unique burdens carried alone in order to escape the generalizations, judgments, and condescension. Over the course of the school year I learned who could be trusted with the raw, and who really couldn't. I am so grateful for friends who listen and love. I hope to be more like you.



Then the summer came and we were able to escape to leisurely expectations. You would find us under the tutelage of the library, the praying mantis, "hoppers", flowers, and clear, cold, great lake waters. But now our school of make-believe has come to a close and I feel a little apprehensive.





Sunday we had a special family dinner with grilled salmon, sweet corn relish, and grilled asparagus. Lulu had an apple. Lulu is under the impression that Salmon ranks among the undesirable food.



For desert we had a strawberry tart which Rosemary thoroughly enjoyed. We had a family council, set goals, received father's blessings, and resolved to use the potty (mostly Abram's goal, but still a good goal for everyone).



I woke up early yesterday morning, did my best June Cleaver, cleaned, cooked, smiled, took Abram and Rosemary to a quiet and destitute Thanksgiving Point garden while Lulu attended her afternoon program.









And so we will see. I certainly am depending on and need more than my capabilities in order to have a successful school year.

Who knew school became more difficult when vicarious?

So I cut my hair...

Essentially, I've had the same hair since 10th grade; long layers, frizzy, occasionally styled, always safe and slightly boring.

Maybe the Young Women are rubbing off on me, they easily mix it up. Blond, pink, skunk,somehow they seem to pull it off. I am far too old for blond, pink, or skunk, but I can do bangs. Maybe?








Abort the bangs and stick to plan A?

Or super-foxy-can't-believe-you-are-a-mom-of-4 hairstyle?

*photos taken by Norah the amazing armature photographer

The Rose Party

Menu:

English Fish & Chips

Corn

Homemade Lemonade

Pavlova

Luck of the Thirteenth

It's been an overwhelming year. I've found it difficult to reconcile the number of people who are expected of me. Struggling (mostly alone, because who can be trusted with the truth besides the Savior?), I've found the saving grace of a perfect baby.



Moments of her fist year play and pause like pages and songs. Silent images softly gleam and ripple, etching themselves upon intangible photo albums of hope.



Her awkward grasp finding my finger. Her searching mouth loud and large. Those soft sweet lips sucking and then turning themselves into a toothless, engaging grin.



Strawberry hair, light, faint and fuzzy atop a fair head. Deep gray eyes, loving and gentle, always optimistic. A childhood dream fulfilled-my cabbage patch had strawberry hair and gray eyes.



Nestled in my arms, patient and still, always soft.



The gentle babble of mamama. Kiss after kiss, she's seen me through.



Oh she is sweet.



I love you Rosemary.












Happy Birthday.