Mommy Snark

The Rules of Inheritance - A Book Review

2012-02-23T14:09:00.000-05:00

*This is a paid review for the Blogher Book Club, but the opinions expressed are completely my own.

There isn't really a road map for how we experience grief. We all come from different backgrounds, have different views and perspectives, different value systems, sets of beliefs. How could there be just one prescribed way a person might expect to deal with tragedy?

In her memoir, The Rules of Inheritance, Claire Bidwell Smith explores the journey that she went through in dealing with and finally accepting the loss of both of her parents to cancer when she was just 18, and then 25 years old.

This wasn't an easy book to read. Smith's writing is raw and compelling - her story agonizingly painful. And yet, I'm glad she had the courage to tell it. Though she does not hesitate to fully immerse her words in the struggles and pain that she dealt with for years, glimpses of hope, even joy filter through when you realize that Smith is now writing from the other side of her grief - as someone that has moved past anger and resentment to acceptance and peace.

This is not a "how-to" book. It's a memoir - a very personal, very real account of one individual's struggle with grief. But as the author notes in her concluding chapter, "Just saying the words "it's okay to feel sad" can elicit an enormous release of emotions from a grieving person, and with that release comes a touch of peace."

And that is what this book is really about - a statement that indeed, it is okay to feel sad, a willingness to accept the grief for what it is, and know that it is possible to move past it - even if it takes a decade of struggling to do so.

What you ought to know before reading this book:

- There is language that may, if you are sensitive to such things, assault your sensibilities. It is very authentic, and I feel a true reflection of the place the author found herself emotionally. But it's there, nonetheless, and is frequent enough there may be some that choose not to read because of it.

- There is alcohol, and there is sex. Nothing graphic, and nothing gratuitous, but a real and raw part of the narrative just the same.

- There is no mention of faith or religion, which, in a book that deals so heavily with death, may leave you feeling a bit hollow. For me, my faith is such an intricate part of who and what I am. It was hard to truly relate to a perspective that is void of those elements.

If you'd like to learn more about The Rules of Inheritance, click on the links below to join the BlogHer Book Discussion.

Blogher Book Club - The Rules of Inheritance

A (Really Long) Snapshot

2012-02-20T19:30:00.001-05:00

Life is busy, isn't it? Some days I feel as if I have loads to say and not a moment to say it, and others I feel as if I stare at a blank screen and simply think, "Well there ought to be something worth writing about..." Either way, the thing I love most about this blog is the opportunity it creates for me to read back and remember where we were a few years ago. And so, more for my benefit than anything else, a snapshot of life, as it is in January, 2012. (Pictures scattered through the post, so at least scroll through if you don't feel like reading a novel. Because this post? It sort of is one.)

So, here's the thing about this picture...

I felt pretty silly standing in my friend's

kitchen, posing with what feels like an

enormous belly. 32 weeks pregnant, one

doesn't necessarily feel like smiling for a

camera. But...it's amazing what a woman's body

can do. I wanted to capture that. And since my

friend Destinee is such an incredible photographer,

she managed, if even for just one afternoon, to

make me feel beautiful. I'd say every pregnant

woman deserves that. Funny though... Lucy just

came up to me, and said, "Mommy, you don't

really look like that." "Like what?!" I asked

defensively, as I readjusted my yoga pants and

straightened my frizzy ponytail. Heh.

Barring any unforeseen circumstances, 7 weeks from tomorrow, I'll deliver my sixth baby. My pregnancy has been normal, and much like the others. I'm growing more uncomfortable by the day, but feel blessed to be complication free. I'm willing to endure a few more weeks of wretched heartburn and cracking ribs if it means a baby at the end of it. We're still working on the logistics of where a sixth baby is going to sleep... he'll room in with Josh and I for as long as we can manage it, and then? We've already got three boys in one bedroom and two girls in the other. We've plans to finish out the basement and move the two oldest boys down there, but don't know exactly when the plan will actually become reality. But then, I'm not sure it actually matters. I have no idea how a baby will actually sleep with the noise and chaos of five other children surrounding him in the first place.

I'm still writing. I just turned over 90 pages of novel #2 to my sister and dear friend. The good news is they both like the story, said it has merit and would be well worth the effort to finish. It still needs work though. I haven't quite connected with my characters as well as I'd like and think I'm rushing their story a bit. My plan now is to back track, flesh out the story line and get to know my characters even more so that telling the rest of their story will be easier. The truth is, when you're deeply involved in the writing of a novel, you tend to think about your characters all the time. You dream conversations, you hear their voices in your head, you wonder how they would handle different circumstances, even if those circumstances don't have anything to do with your plot line. Your characters become your friends. I'm not there yet with this book. Growing an actual physical person, in real life, rather than just making them up in my head, is zapping a lot of my mental energy, I guess. I'm pressing forward though, and feel good about where I'm headed. My goal is to have something else to my publisher before book #1 hits the shelves.

To date, this is my favorite picture of my husband...

(another one of Destinee's) It makes me feel all gooey inside

and so excited to see him loving on another newborn in

the not so distant future.

Josh is working hard to support us all, something I am grateful for on a daily basis. I realize it's a tremendous blessing to have the opportunity to stay home with my kids. I hope he knows how much I value how hard he works. I can tell when he's had a hard day because he comes home and his ears are red. I assume it's his blood pressure from a high stress day, which just makes me even more grateful that he's able to hang up his work brain and dive into an often chaotic couple of hours with the kids before bedtime. He's planning for another triathlon this summer and has started training again. I'm jealous. A little. A couple of weeks after baby, we'll celebrate our 12th anniversary. I entertained us a great deal the other night by reading out loud some of my journal entries from our first year or two of marriage. Heh. We've come a long way in 12 years. I do not discount the sentiments expressed. They were real and sincere at the time. But on the other side of a decade, it's nice to look back and see how much we've learned and grown together. I hope it's an even richer experience to look back ten years from now.

The kids? Jordan is nearly 11, and thoroughly enjoying the fifth grade. This year, he is part of a pilot program at his school that selected 25 students and grouped them together for a classroom environment centered around project based, independent learning. He's definitely thriving and loves his teachers and classmates.

He and Sam are both playing community league basketball this season, which has Josh and I scratching our heads and wondering if community sports are actually worth the effort. Nearly five nights a week we are getting one or both boys to practices or games. The season is intense, but gratefully, it's not quite two months long and we're nearly to the end of it. Honestly though, I'm not sure we'll do it again. I could go into how I feel about America's fascination with organized sports for young children, but I'll save it for another post. For now, suffice it to say I'm not so sure playing basketball in the driveway with Dad isn't an acceptable alternative. Let's discuss this another time, shall we? I'd love to know your thoughts.

Sam... ha. What can I say about Sam? He's the most entertaining 8 year old I've ever met. He is witty and smart and so fun to be around. The kid never meets a stranger, and has been known to entertain basketball players on the opposing team with his stories... as they're running down the court. His mind is a constant flurry of activity - questions escaping his mouth quicker than you can find an answer for them. He is a constant delight - a never ending source of entertainment.

And then there is Lucy - daughter of my heart. I don't know where I'd be without her. Lucy is a workhorse. When she puts her mind to something, there is no way she won't accomplish it. She is spunky and tough, with enough confidence to join in on a basketball game in the driveway with her older brother and two of his middle school aged friends. Ivy looks to Lucy as a second Mom and Lucy eats it up. She happily volunteers, for a mere 50 cents an evening, to get Ivy and Henry ready for bed, bath time, pajamas, teeth brushed, she does it all. She is a born nurturer, and has a way of making the little ones feel comfortable and safe.

Lucy and Sam have been in the same school class this year for the first time. In a rare moment when Sam and I were riding in the car together, just the two of us, I asked him if he got to choose, if he would like to be in the same class with Lucy next year, or if he would enjoy it more if they were separated.

He immediately replied, "Definitely together."

I was surprised by his quick response. When I asked him why, he said, "I just like knowing that there is someone around that understand me, that knows how I think. It just feels better having her around."

Indeed. She has that affect on everyone.

Out for dinner for Sam and Lucy's eighth birthday. That's whipped cream all over their face... part of the special birthday treatment at the twins' favorite restaurant.

This boy? He knows how to do Sundays... though I'm pretty

sure we started the day with his shirt tucked in. Maybe we

made it through the first meeting before it was loose?

Probably not.

Henry? (I know! I have a lot of kids! I promise. Update almost done.)

Henry will be five a few weeks after baby is born. He is just as charming as ever, an easy going kid, with the sweetest nature. He makes my heart melt every time I look in his big brown eyes. He is the best Super Mario Galaxy player in our house, loves to play with his friends, and could survive on Nutella alone. If it didn't cost seven dollars a jar. He's starting school this fall, and more than all the others, I worry about how he'll handle it. He's always been a Momma's boy - and deals with a little bit of anxiety when it comes to new situations that don't readily involve me. He'll be okay though. He's a smart kid, already reading and will adapt well to the structure and routine of school. Or so I tell myself whenever I start to worry a little too much.

I realize she looks a little subdued here, while my

description of her is all sunshine and smiles... but it's

too pretty of a picture not to share. Of course...

another one by Destinee.

Ivy is the funniest, most entertaining baby I've ever met. She is talking like crazy, loves to eat oranges, and lives for the moment her father walks in the door everyday. She looks ups, greats him with a "Hi, Daddy!" that sounds like it ought to be coming from a kid much older than one who is not quite 2 years old. She loves the dog, though is quick to express outrage when he tries to lick her hands while she's eating. She is fiercely independent, wanting to do everything her own way and requires a kiss from every single member of our family, even the dog, before she goes to bed at night. When I change her diaper, and in a sing-song southern voice say, "Shoo-eey!" She responds with a just as southern "Weee - shoo!" And then I die a little from the cuteness.

The dog? He's my boyfriend. I let him sleep on my bed during the day. He guards the kids and eats the crumbs on the floor and generally brings joy and happiness to my life.

And that's where we're at, yo. I kinda feel like I just wrote you a really long Christmas letter. I love you extra if you made it all the way through.

Just for good measure, another picture only worth sharing because Sam's hair is totally awesome.

Mom - 100, Kids - ZERO

2012-01-19T14:30:00.001-05:00

Monday night, my kids were crowded together on the couch watching Phineas and Ferb on Netflix. I was in the kitchen getting dinner ready when I noticed the dishwasher was full and clean, and needed to be emptied. This is not my job. The kids unload the dishwasher. I don't really care which kid - usually they all work together, but sometimes they split their chores and two will do the dishwasher while the others will do something else. I don't much care about the how or who as long as they are all happy and the work is done.

So, wanting to get dishes out of the sink and off the counter to make my dinner prep easier, I called in to the kids and asked them to pause their show and come and unload the dishwasher. There are five of them (even Ivy helps) so we're talking a five minute break, IF they go slow. Not too much to ask, is it?

Apparently, it WAS too much to ask. My request was met with sarcasm and disdain as my sweet darling children reminded me that they'd already unloaded the dishwasher once earlier in the day. Did I really expect them to do it AGAIN?! Then, they turned back to their show and didn't move a muscle.

A little shocked, but mostly just annoyed, I didn't say another word. Ivy came to help me unload the dishwasher and we took care of it on our own.

Fifteen minutes later, the show was over and my kids crowded around the island in the kitchen and asked me what was for dinner. To their question, I smiled sweetly and replied,

"I'm sorry, I already fed you once today. Did you really expect me to feed you AGAIN?!"

And then I left the kitchen.

I wish I'd had a camera to capture the looks on their faces. They wanted to be mad, to scream and yell and wallow in the injustice of not being fed. But they knew they deserved it. They couldn't say a word.

I told the kids they were welcome to make themselves a sandwich and have a piece of fruit. Which they did.

I know I could have harped and urged and demanded they get up and unload the dishwasher when I asked. But what would that have taught them? That they only have to listen after Mom asks three times? I'm never one to turn down the opportunity for a good object lesson...

(cue evil, maniacal mother laughter here...)

Chocolate Chip Cookies that will CHANGE YOUR LIFE

2012-01-17T22:43:00.001-05:00

Know what I want you to do? I want you to forget everything you ever thought you knew about making chocolate chip cookies. Because oh my incredible bite of heaven, have I ever found the most fabulous recipe you will ever try, in your entire life. Please make these cookies. Make them today, right now.

Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies (or the ones that will change your life)

1 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
1 small package instant vanilla pudding mix
2 eggs
1 Tablespoon vanilla
2 1/4 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 cups semisweet chocolate chips
*Edited to add... I've made these cookies a few more times this week for various activities that required the bringing of sweets. Each time, I kept thinking that something was missing. And something was. They need salt. The last time I made them, I added 1/2 teaspoon, and it did wonderful things for the flavor of the cookie.

Preheat your oven for 350 degrees.

If you think about it, get out your butter and eggs an hour before you want to make cookies. If you can't wait that long, soften your butter, but don't let it melt. I soften mine by sticking it in the microwave, still wrapped in it's original paper for about 45 seconds at 30% power. Depending on your microwave, it might take a little longer, or a little less. Be cautious at first though, till you figure out what works for you. And please oh please, for all that is good and holy, use real butter for this recipe. Pretty please?

Beat your softened butter with your sugars until well mixed, then add your eggs (also better if room temperature, but don't stress if they aren't. Your cookies will still be good.) your vanilla (yes, an entire tablespoon, and again, if you can swing it, use real vanilla too) and your vanilla pudding mix. Just pour the powder straight into your dough and blend it in. Don't make the pudding. Don't add extra moisture. Just trust this step. Powder pudding mix into the bowl. Then mix. In return, your cookie dough will love you forever and ever.

Add your baking soda to your flour, mixing it in, then add the dry ingredients slowly to your dough, mixing it all until it is too delicious for you to keep your hands away. Don't over mix though - just enough to blend it all together. (If you over beat your dough, it's quite possible your cookies might look like pancakes.) Fold in your chocolate chips, taste the batter, and then die a little. But wait! Don't eat too much, because seriously people, these cookies are so fabulous baked, you don't want to get so full you can't enjoy them.

Scoop your dough in heaping spoonfuls onto your cookie sheet. (Extra fabulous baking happens if you're using a Silpat. Silpats make good cookies. Silpats make people who don't think they can make good cookies, make good cookies. They are also incredible for making toffee. They will make your kitchen and your cookies happy. They cost 16.99 on Amazon. They don't sell them in Target or Walmart but probably sell them at any specialty kitchen store. But they'll be more expensive then they are on Amazon. Amen.)

Bake your cookies for 10 minutes at 350 degrees.

When they come out of the oven, be patient. Let them sit for a few minutes, looking delicious and wonderful, untouched. This is important. They need to sit and finish baking on the hot cookie sheet and get nice and set before you try to move them to a cooling rack. When you can lift the cookie off the pan by the corner, and it doesn't fall apart, then it's ready to move.

Transfer to a cooling rack, or just eat them. Right there, standing in your kitchen, with a glass of milk ready to go. Make sure you save a couple though. You'll wake up the morning after you make them thinking about them and will absolutely want one (or seven) for breakfast.

A few Reminders

2012-01-13T11:21:00.001-05:00

So, my readership hasn't made any incredible leaps and bounds in numbers as of late. But just the same, there might be a few of you that would benefit from a little reminder tour of the goings on of Mommy Snark. Don't worry. There aren't many.

Just got this post card in the mail yesterday from Chanduru, the sweet boy in India that I sponsor through an organization called Rising Star Outreach. On the back, in his own lovely handwriting, the cards says,

Dear Jenny,

I am 8 years old, in UKG.(kindergarten) I like to play with the cars. I like green color. I like Tamil class. I love you so much.

Chanduru

(So, I had to look up Tamil to know what it is that he enjoys so much. It's a language spoken in India. Probably should have known that.)

At any rate, I consider it such a privilege to be involved in this little boy's life. My dream is to go to India one day - to spend a few weeks volunteering with Rising Star. They do so much good and have helped so many individuals through the years. I hope Chanduru is still there when I get to go. Did you know that you can help with Chanduru too? Sponsoring your own child is $30 a month, but Rising Star was wonderful enough to set up a donation page for Mommy Snark readers where they can donate a $1 or $2 (or even $100 if you want to. Whatever you can do - they love it all the same) for Chanduru any time. To those of you who have donated, thank you, thank you. This is a real organization with a real purpose and an amazing mission. Donations are used for the children - not for administrative overhead, or big fancy houses for those in charge - just for the kids.The link to the Mommy Snark donation page can be found on the referenced page below, or on my sidebar. Look for the picture of Chanduru, and the Rising Star logo.

Mommy Snark and Rising Star Outreach

Rising star Outreach

What else? Just below the Rising Star logo in the sidebar, you'll see a little tab that says Check this Out... the companies listed there like to support Rising Star as well. Whenever you purchase from Chunky Bling, for example, a great website that sells fabulous watches and such, they donate a portion of your purchase amount directly to Chanduru. Pretty exciting, yes? So, do check them out.

Also, if you have a business you'd like to promote on Mommy Snark, do please let me know. I don't take payment for advertising, but I would love to have you support Rising Star. And I like singing the praises of people I like. I'm sure we could work something out.

And now just a few more...

Do you have a question for a Mormon? I don't have all the answers, but I've learned a little over the past 30 years. I'm always happy to share what I know. Click on the button below to ask your own question, or simply read the questions and answers already there.

Have you read the Joyful Mothering Series? Click on the button below to find a list of posts that speak specifically on finding joy in the everyday of mothering.

It's been a while since I've done a Serviceman Sunday post, but that doesn't mean the older ones aren't worth reviewing. Click on this button to learn what Serviceman Sunday is, and read about the featured families. And of course, if you know of a military family that deserves to be featured, click on the contact me button up above and let me know!

And finally... I occasionally facebook and twitter. If you'd like to find me on either site there are links in the sidebar to do so. Wait... I'm not actually finished.

My favorite posts are here.

My favorite cookie recipes are here.

My journey to publication (A Book! Coming out next year!) is here.

And now I'm done. For real.

Little Things that Make me Happy

2012-01-11T18:16:00.000-05:00

This afternoon, I was sitting in my car waiting for Henry to finish up in the bathroom so we could head out to pick kids up from school. The front door was still open, so my dog ran straight down the porch steps and jumped into the car, sitting down in between the captains chairs like there was nowhere else on earth that he belonged. He looked at me with this look on his face that just said, "What? You don't want me to come?" So of course, he came with us to make the rounds and retrieve the children from their respective schools. He's a good dog. Just the other day he jumped on the couch beside me, on a space that couldn't have been more than eighteen inches wide, draped one leg over my shoulder and the other across my pregnant belly. And again... the look. "What? This isn't comfortable for you?" Of course I'm comfortable! It's perfectly normal for fifty pound black labs to be lap dogs.

********

Want to know what I'm wearing on my feet? Big fuzzy boots. I got them for Christmas, and you know what? I love them. The exciting thing about the boots is that in order to wear them, I mean REALLY wear them, I had to buy some skinny jeans. I've shied away from the style in the past because, hello, my legs aren't exactly skinny, but these boots, people, they are so soft and wonderful and warm and I NEEDED to wear them. And so I am. And I am happy doing so. Chubby knees and all.

********

Can we talk about something important for a moment? I'm currently enrolled in a class on writing narrative biographies. It's been a great opportunity to do some extensive research about my own family. For one assignment, I recorded an oral interview with each of my parents, asking them questions about their childhood homes and the role that faith played in the way they were raised. Now, I'm pretty close to my parents. I thought I knew a great deal about their lives, but oh, what an incredible experience it was to hear them speak of their parents, and the experiences that contributed to the kind of people that they are today. I've also called and had several conversations with extended family members, with very specific questions about their families. Overwhelmingly so, I have realized that my family? These are my people. I've heard stories about my great grandmother, someone I never knew personally, that remind me so much of my grandfather, who I did know, and that explain a great deal of why my Mom is who and what she is. I've heard my father tell me stories that came from his father that so clearly indicate why my father grew up to be such an incredible man. Finding the common threads that weave our families together can be such a rewarding experience.

My Mom and Dad. Lovely, aren't they?

If you haven't lately, be sure to ask questions. Often, when my conversations would begin, the person I was interviewing would say, "Oh, I don't remember much" but then, the more we spoke, the more they were able to recall. And specific questions were able to prompt stories and experiences that might not have been recalled otherwise. So. Get out your cell phone (most are equipped with some sort of digital recorder), get out some paper for note taking and ASK questions to the people that matter. Find your people, then find out what makes them your people. Not just your relatives, but your people - the ones who are a part of who you are.You won't be sorry you did. I promise.

********
Want to know what I'm excited about? I'm 85 pages into my second novel and it's making me really happy. The story is taking shape in a way that has me itching to write every spare moment that I've got. I've been struggling to find my footing with this one. Pregnant brain, I think, but I've found my groove and now the words are coming. So, yay for that.

********

Okay, just one more. My baby? The baby that will only be my baby for three more months? She's finally figured out how to say the V in her own name. She has successfully graduated from "I-eeee" to "I-beee" to an officially correct "I-VEEEE!" It's the most adorable thing ever. She also says, "Oh, no, no, no, no, no" when you ask her to do something that she doesn't want to do.

"Ivy, are you ready to go to bed?"

"OH, no, no, no, no, no!!"

She's so flippin cute. She also has to kiss every single person in our family good night, every single time she goes to bed. If we forget and head upstairs without her kisses, she says, "I kiss eh-body!" And to think, some people might argue kids in big families get less love.

********

26 Weeks. Yes, Yes, I know I'm blurry.
But Lucy took the picture, with my cell
phone no less. I'm not so blurry you can't
see the belly though, no?

Okay, maybe just one more little one. My baby? The one still incubating? He gets hiccups all the time. It always makes me smile, as does the amount of time my children spend touching my tummy, begging baby Charlie to move. I hear the question at least ten times a day.

"Is Charlie kicking?"

And this little boy - he doesn't disappoint. He's a kicker, this one. A kicker that already responds to the sounds of his siblings voices. It makes my heart happy to see them excited about his approaching arrival. You know, we get a lot of complaining about shared bedrooms and crowded cars and busy schedules, but really, truly, I believe my children when they tell me they wouldn't trade it.

Because we're people, see? We're in it for each other, through thick and thin. And that pretty much rocks.

A Word for 2012? How about 2?

2012-01-05T06:00:00.000-05:00

I've read many lovely posts by people that are picking their word for the year 2012. I hadn't really thought about a word for me, aside from the obvious choice, BABY. But then, that's been my word in many of the past ten years so that one feels a little anticlimactic. Choosing another word was easy.

It's the word that's been on my mind the most lately, though perhaps not in the way you might think. Of course, my role as a mother of nearly six children requires a healthy dose of patience. But patience with my children isn't quite as challenging for me, as the daunting task of being patient with myself.

I admit it. I want it all. I want to have all the time in the world to mother my kids superbly, love my husband to the fullest degree, serve in my church, volunteer in my community, and still have time to write best selling novels, all while eating three square meals a day, bathing on a regular basis, and getting to sleep at a reasonable hour. But lets be real. With so many kids in the house, many days my list of accomplishments is nothing more than the regular list of hamster wheel chores that even when accomplished one day, will inevitably need to be accomplished all over again the next.

And so, I will my heart to be still - to stop and savor and cherish the moments of today, focusing on the good - the accomplishments that no matter how small, still have merit, and I remember that soon, there will be time for more. More writing. More giving. More intentional time, less hamster wheel time. This year, I will strive to be patient - to be realistic in what I expect of myself and remember the joy of this season of life.

And now, because one word is never enough when you love them quite as much as I do, my second word is INTENTIONAL. I speak from experience when I say that being patient with myself is less difficult when I spend my time wisely. It's hardly fair to be frustrated over not meeting my weekly writing goal if I've blown three hours playing Thread Words on my Kindle. My free time is oh, so very limited. I must make the most of it and be intentional with how I spend my time. It seems reasonable to assume that a more intentional use of my time will then make it easier for me to be patient, yes?

Have you shared your word for 2012? What is it? If you haven't come up with one, what's the first word that comes to mind? (It's perfectly reasonable for that word to be chocolate.)

You're a Mormon? And a Christian?

2012-01-03T17:48:00.001-05:00

Last week, Jordan fell outside a friend's house and punctured the back of his leg severely enough that we thought it best to head to the doctor's office for stitches, and a tetanus shot. He's fine now. He endured like the tough kid I know he is and, save six stitches to be removed next week, and a bandage just behind his knee, he's good as new.

Though my friend offered to keep the younger children while I took Jordan to the doctor, I opted to take them with me so they could get all get a flu shot. I'd already called the office. They could see us right away. Surely, a trip with all five wouldn't be that difficult.

And God bless the doctor's office who took my kids to their break room and pumped them full of vanilla sandwich cookies and Little Debbie cakes, it wasn't that difficult. We managed quite nicely until just before the doctor's PA finished up the stitches. By this time, treats were eaten and children were restless and my nerves were slowly beginning to unravel. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel though, so I was keeping it together. I didn't, however, have the wherewithal to come up with a reasonable answer when the PA innocently asked me if Christmas was just a "low key" time of year for us.

He knows my family well, and knows we are Mormon. While I know it wasn't formed to insult or offend, his question did demonstrate a lack of understanding about the Mormon faith. I'm not sure at what level his misunderstanding lies. There are faiths that believe in Jesus Christ and choose not to celebrate holidays in the traditional sense. He very well could have been making such an assumption about Mormons. But it's also possible, because it happens so frequently, that he would assume Mormons don't celebrate Christmas because many believe that Mormons aren't Christian. Except, I am a Mormon. And I believe in Jesus Christ.

With four children running circles around me, and the fifth needing a hand to squeeze as the last few stitches were put in place, I just didn't think to say more than, "No, we do celebrate Christmas. The big tree, nativity scenes, the whole nine yards." And even that came out halfheartedly. Looking back, I should of said more. I should have taken the opportunity to make sure that he understood that I am a witness of Jesus Christ - that I know Him and love Him and live for Him every single day. We celebrate Christmas to honor His birth - to remember the incredible gift that His life was, and to recognize how completely the world was changed when, in that humble stable, HE was born.

I admit, sometimes I grow weary of finding myself so frequently on the defensive. It often feels like those that choose to live without religion all together are met with less opposition than those who choose to live in a manner that isn't completely mainstream. I know, because they are growing up in an area very similar to where I did, that it's quite possible my children will be faced with countless experiences where their faith and beliefs are tried and tested. They will have friends that say hurtful things. They will be misunderstood. They will be antagonized far more than their friends who choose not to go to church at all. Hopefully, like I was, they will be stronger for it.

But that doesn't mean I'm not often left shaking my head. With so much goodness and truth and light and love, with so much happiness abounding within the Mormon faith, why must the misunderstandings and ill conceived notions persist? People won't remember that Mormons provide millions upon millions of dollars of humanitarian aid all over the world every single year, that they teach wholeheartedly the message of Jesus Christ, that they focus on the importance of family, the sanctity of marriage... but I'll be hang dogged if anyone will ever forget that once, they heard that Mormons wear funny underwear.

I fear I'm coming across a bit cynical, and I don't intend to. Generally speaking, I truly love and appreciate any opportunity to discuss my faith, even if it means answering questions about my underwear. You can only beat wrong information if you're willing to replace it with what's right, so whatever your question, I'll answer, with a willing heart and voice. You'll only have to tolerate a little bit of my venting in the process.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-21T10:26:00.000-05:00

I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas with many reminders of the true meaning of this season. Love to you all.

Loving my Big Family

2011-12-13T09:48:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I took my kids to Walmart to pick up a few things. It was after school, late in the afternoon, everyone was a little keyed up, and really, I probably shouldn't have risked it. But we were there and we needed milk, and well, sometimes we have to do hard things. Shopping with children isn't easy. Shopping with five children along is a little like parental suicide. I felt it keenly after I lost one of the five, then had him returned to me by a friend who happened to find him at the jewelry counter and was nice enough to stay with him until they'd tracked me down. And of course, it didn't make it any easier when, while speaking to the friend who'd just saved my 8 year old from a sure to happen Walmart abduction, my children attacked a wrapping paper display, chose their weapons, and started sword fighting.

Yesterday afternoon, I jumped between Jordan who needed help with his Social Studies homework and Lucy who wanted a piano lesson, to the computer where I was trying to fix Jordan's flash drive so he wouldn't lose an entire semester's worth of work, to the kitchen where dinner was cooking, to Henry who needed help with his game, to Sam who couldn't find his missing worksheet, all with Ivy on my hip...

I don't have a problem admitting it. Big families are hard. My laundry is never finished. My floors are in constant need of cleaning. The house is always noisy, bustling, busy. My grocery bill is ridiculous. Back to school shopping can break the bank. My patience is constantly tried, tested, pushed to the limit. Many days, I fall into bed and wonder if it's worth it. Many days, I feel like there simply isn't enough - enough time, enough money, enough energy, enough of me to go around. Many days, it's hard to walk through the store with five kids, pregnant with another and constantly field the looks and stares and exclamations, while trying to keep the sword fighting to a minimum and the bickering at bay. Many days, it's just hard.

But.

Every day, even the hard days, it is always worth it. Worth it because my children are incredible, wonderful little people that love each other and love me. Yes, they bicker. Yes, they whine and complain and act ridiculous in the isles of Walmart. But they also teach me patience. They teach me love and compassion and generosity and they teach me to recognize God's goodness in every single aspect of my life. They are pure and good and oh, so much fun. And you know what else? I think they teach each other love and patience and compassion. They teach each other to be generous and kind and thoughtful. If anything is certain, you can't grow up in a family of six children and think you're the center of the universe.

Makes my mother heart happy, this one...

I know that in many ways, this life Josh and I have chosen will be more difficult because we've chosen to have six kids. But I'm certain, it will be more of the good too - more full, more rich, more entertaining.

Walking downtown, enjoying Christmas lights and 'open late' shopping... I have no idea what Henry is doing... and yes, Jordan does look a little angry. I don't have a reason for that either.

Notice the baby bump... determined to not let this pregnancy pass undocumented like all the others... even though I look like a goof and have soup in my mouth and Sam is... um, being Sam.

*********
How do you feel about big families? Comments have been oh, so very meager lately. So, let's discuss. I draw the line at six - for my health, both mental and physical. What about you? And also, I've linked this post with Chatting at the Sky's Tuesdays Unwrapped, because sometimes I have to unwrap the chaos of my life to find the joy always hidden on the inside.

Joyful Mothering Series: Sanctifying Service

2011-12-08T21:37:00.001-05:00

Today was a hard day. It wasn't hard for any particular reason, just hard because I was tired and Ivy was cranky and Henry's thumb was sore and Sam was upset about his early bedtime even though his bedtime was only early because of his own behavior the night before and Lucy was upset because Sam got seconds at dinner and there wasn't enough for her to have seconds even though she didn't even finish her first helping and...

I could go on. Just one of those days - the kind of day when you quite literally consider putting in a set of ear plugs so you can't hear the incessant calling from one child or another... mom. Mom. MOM!!!

Sigh.

All is quiet now. Children are sleeping, rooms are straightened up, dog is sleeping at my feet. I feel at peace, and yet my mind still goes back to the previous hours, wishing I'd handled myself with a little more grace, a little less frustration.

I get frustrated when I forget that my mothering isn't a chore, a task in the middle of my to do list. I get frustrated when I forget that this mothering that I do is the most sanctified, glorious service that I can provide.

I often pray to be an instrument in God's hands. I pray that he will lead me to those that are in need, that I will be prompted to call a friend, make a meal, or even just smile at a stranger that might need a bit of kindness. I pray and I look and I hope God knows I'm here, if he needs me. I wonder how often I've looked clean over the heads of my children as I head out into the world to be God's servant. Do I fail to see their needs?

I believe, if I had a conversation with God on this very subject, he would remind me that while meals and smiles and phone calls are a nice, even important part of doing God's work, I must not fail to see that in this season of my life, kissing sore thumbs, solving silly disputes and hugging cranky babies is vital. And though it is often thankless, exhausting, and oh, so very hard, it too is God's work.

Doing service for others feels good. It feels good to be helpful, to reach out and support those that are in need. We cannot sell ourselves short as mothers. Because at the end of the day, even if we've done nothing but read stories and kiss thumbs and snuggle children; even if we've done it all from our living room while wearing our pajamas, we have still done much good. If we have loved, and lifted and taught, if we have fed or clothed or cared, if we have mothered, we have served God. And that is something to feel good about.

Sunday Thoughts and Gender, Revealed!

2011-12-04T15:13:00.001-05:00

It's a quietly wonderful Sunday afternoon. My family is crowded into my living room, sitting around the Christmas tree and a roaring fire in the fireplace, drinking apple cider. It seems rather ideal, as long as you don't pay attention to the bickering about who can and can't help Lucy finish decorating her jewelry box, and who's feet are taking up the most room on the couch. All in all, still a peaceful scene, if not a bit chaotic to those unseasoned by housefuls of children.

I'm thinking about the baby boy that will join our family in April. (YES. A boy!) I admit, it would have been more convenient to have a girl. I've already given my baby boy clothes away and there is a spot in the girl's bedroom where another girl would have naturally fit. And yet, this still feels right. I love my boys. This last baby will successfully sandwich my girls in between brothers on both sides - brothers I hope they will be close to. His name is Charlie Andrew... due on April 15th. (Ivy's birthday) He's got a turned up nose like Sam and Ivy. He's kicking me all the time and will be born with pigtails if heartburn truly is an indication of a full head of hair.

I've just found this recipe for homemade monkey bread and I think I'm going to make it this afternoon. Looks delicious, doesn't it? I'll let you know how it turns out. I like monkey bread, but feel compelled to take the biscuit dough version to a different level. Mostly, I'm just determined to make a dough better than what comes out of a can. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the convenience of biscuits out of a can, but really, that simply can't be as good as it gets.

Want to know what was fabulous about decorating our Christmas tree this year? Our kids are mostly old enough that they can follow general instructions about decorating, thus eliminating the need for me to re-decorate after they all go to bed. They avoided the lowest branches, they placed ornaments evenly spaced. And with so many helping, we were done in ten minutes. (Just with the ornaments. Getting our lights untangled was a little bit more of a Clark Griswald moment. HOLY COW did I want to throw something heavy at that mess of lights.)

Today, I've decided that the my favorite story from the New Testament is that of the woman with the issue of blood who touched the hem of the Savior's clothes in order to be healed. I am touched by the humility of this woman, who surely felt unworthy to speak to Jesus, to warrant a moment of his time. But her faith was such that she knew if she only could touch his clothing, she would be healed. And so she was, and what a miraculous moment it must have been when Jesus turned and found her, assuring her that her faith had made her whole. I hope I can teach my children not to limit the role of Jesus Christ in their lives.

This afternoon after lunch, after hearing Josh and I discussing the money we are saving for the baby's birth this spring, Sam brought me his piggy bank. "Mom," he said, "he'll be my little brother too, and every little bit helps." Never before has $2.85 every made me want to cry. Love that boy and his good, sweet heart. It was a tender mercy this afternoon, to have a moment of such love with Sam. Because at church today? I wanted to sell him to the circus.

Oh, the ebbs and flows of life's emotions...

A 5 year old watching Breaking Dawn?

2011-11-20T21:38:00.001-05:00

My husband and I went to see Breaking Dawn, the most recent installment in the Twilight saga on Saturday evening. It wasn't planned. We had dinner, then decided we'd like to see a movie. It was Breaking Dawn, or Happy Feet 2. So the vampires beat out the penguins and we squeezed ourselves into an overcrowded theater full of teenagers and grown women wearing werewolf t-shirts.

I'll state for the record that I read the Twilight books. I read them, and enjoyed them. I've since seen each of the movies, and while moments of overly dramatic teen angst left me a little nauseous at times, in general, I enjoyed them as well. I'm not a crazy fan. I don't have a Team Edward shirt. I didn't go to a midnight showing and I probably won't ever read the books or see the movies for a second time.

But this post isn't really about Twilight. Why even mention it? Because I'd like to talk about parenting.

I thought a lot about parenting on Saturday night when, while waiting for the movie to start, I saw parent after parent filing into the movie theater holding hands with their children. Not teenagers. Not even preteens. 8 years old. 10 years old. Children that couldn't have been much older than 5, maybe 6. Having read the book, I grew more and more uncomfortable with the idea of these children being exposed to what was surely going to be graphically inappropriate. Of course, my mind went first to the sexual relationship that exists between the two main characters of the film. But what of the violence? The death and the anger and the aggression that in every possible way is too much for the eyes and the heart and the mind of a child?

I realize every parent has the right to make a choice about what age their children can watch certain movies. At age 10, our oldest son has watched a handful of carefully screened and considered PG-13 movies that other parents might not be comfortable with. They were decisions we made based on what we know of Jordan. We watched them together, and discussed them together. I wouldn't like to feel judged by others if they didn't necessarily agree with our choice.

But I'm pretty certain there isn't any way possible to justify a 5 year old watching a movie, that I'll be perfectly honest, had ME feeling uncomfortable at times. I left the theater shaking my head, wondering how desensitized those five year old girls will be by the time they are teenagers. It hardly seems ridiculous to imagine 12 year olds having sex if they are watching sex at age 5. It isn't difficult to understand teen violence if you know that children are watching violence when there minds are so very young, so completely impressionable.

Parents, we need to wake up. We cannot stand idly by, justifying, excusing, pretending that it doesn't really matter and then look back and wonder what ever happened to our kids. Media of today, whether it be music or movies or television can and will ruin our children. It will teach sex. It will teach violence. It will teach self righteous disrespect. And it will happen so fast, parents will be left wondering what ever hit them.

I'm not saying our kids should only ever watch singing dinosaurs and dancing butterflies. While some movies are all together trash no matter the viewing age, there are others that are rich and wonderful and worthy of viewing, when kids are old enough and mature enough to handle them. All I'm saying is we have to be discerning. We have to think and research and ponder things out before we make decisions about what we feed our children's minds and hearts. Because it matters. So very much, it matters.

And good grief, if you want to go see Breaking Dawn, get a flippin' babysitter.

*********
Josh and I love to use Common Sense Media and Kids in Mind to screen movies, both for our kids, and our own viewing as well. Common Sense Media gives general age suggestions, with a rough outline of what content you need to be aware of, while Kids in Mind does a play by play breakdown of every word/scene/topic of discussion that could potentially be offensive. Ratings aren't always reliable. Using these websites, we've watched rated R movies that we've loved, avoided PG-13 movies that are full of trash, and found PG movies that we are comfortable with for the entire family, 4 year olds included.

Rising Star Outreach Update

2011-11-16T23:56:00.001-05:00

Last week I received an email from Rising Star Outreach letting me know that Karl M., the little boy I was sponsoring is no longer a student at their school, but is attending a local school in his village. While I'm a little sad, because OH, how Karl's little face made my heart melt, I was happy to shift my sponsoring efforts to another child in need. His name is Chanduru. It took me about fourteen seconds to decide that he makes my heart melt too.

I'm told that Chanduru is quick to smile and is kind to everyone. While he is happy playing on his own, he is also happy to include others in whatever he happens to be doing. Sounds a lot like my little Henry.

Here's the thing about Rising Star. When Becky Douglas, the organization's founder visited North Carolina to speak to a group of women about her efforts, she was offered as a token of gratitude, a beautiful vase... that she wouldn't accept. She wasn't in this for her, she said. It was all for the children, for the people of India that need help. I know that when I sponsor little Chanduru, he is the one that benefits. My money isn't used to mail out solicitations asking for more money from other people. My money doesn't pay for administrative costs. My money goes directly to India - to Chanduru.

Rising Star Outreach has a three fold mission. They work to educate the children of the leprosy affected in India, those that until Rising Star's inception, were denied the opportunity to receive a quality education because of the stigma associated with leprosy. In addition to educating and helping the children, Rising Star also facilitates lending to establish microbusinesses so that those who are leprosy affected have the means to provide for their families without having to beg. And it's working. Finally, Rising Star works to provide medical care to the leprosy affected through traveling medical clinics that work to improve the health and overall quality of life for entire families.

I realize there are needs all over the world, even within our own country and that we all must choose wisely where we can give, and where we cannot. But this? This is a good cause. I like to involve my children. I read them the updates that come from Rising Star every month and show them the pictures of the children. I hope, in some small way, it will remind them to be grateful for all that they have. Truly, those that have the very least in this country, have far more than so many in other countries around the world.

Rising Star doesn't ever ask me to say any of this to any of you. It's simply something I care about a great deal, something I choose to support, and so, I tell you so. If you'd like to sponsor your own child, it's $30 a month to do so. But guess what? If you can't swing 30 bucks, you are more than welcome to help sponsor Chanduru. How is that, you might ask?

Well, technically speaking, Mommy Snark, not me, is Chanduru's sponsor. While I am the voice of Mommy Snark, so many of you are a part of it too. One person giving thirty dollars is just the same as thirty people giving one dollar... except if thirty people give, then thirty people get to feel awesome.

If you feel inclined to give, there is a link in my sidebar that will take you directly to Mommy Snark's personal donation page. Simply click on "Add to cart" and then specify how many $1 donations you'd like to make. It's perfectly safe and secure. I use it every single month and can assure you... it's easy as all get out. You can also click on this link, right here:

Rising Star Outreach Donation Page for Mommy Snark

If you'd like to read up about Rising Star Outreach, please visit their site. It's wonderful, and so very inspiring.

And also, if you are interested in partnering with Mommy Snark for a giveaway to benefit Rising Star Outreach, I'd love to hear from you.I was happy to see Rising Star receive $75 extra dollars one month via "extra entry" donations for a dress giveaway here on the blog. Every dollar counts, yes?

Pumpkin Oatmeal Cookies

2011-11-14T22:17:00.001-05:00

If you're not sure you want to make Pumpkin Oatmeal Cookies, will you trust me if I say that I'm sure you want to make these cookies? Really. You do. It's the perfect time of year for pumpkin and oh, how wonderful these are. Want to know the best thing about them? They aren't overly sweet and have a cakey, crumbly texture which in many ways make them feel a little less like a cookie and a little more like a muffin.

And you know what that means.

It means it is absolutely, perfectly okay to eat these cookies for breakfast.

Here's the recipe.

Pumpkin Oatmeal Cookies

2 cups all purpose flour
2 1/3 cups old fashioned oats
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
1 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons honey
1 heaping cup pumpkin puree
1 large egg
1 1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Cream butter, honey and sugars in a large mixing bowl until light and fluffy. Add pumpkin, egg and vanilla, mixing well after each addition.

Mix dry ingredients, including oatmeal and add to creamed mixture, mixing until just combined. Chill dough for 30 minutes.

Scoop dough onto cookie sheets and flatten slightly. Sprinkle tops with cinnamon and sugar.

Bake for 12 to 14 minutes in a 350 degree oven. Cool on a wire rack, then enjoy! (Even for breakfast.)

Priorities

2011-11-08T00:35:00.001-05:00

When I was in high school, I remember feeling sad that I wasn't elected to the homecoming court. As if the disappointment wasn't bad enough, what followed was a swift personal berating that I had even let myself care about something as frivolous as the homecoming court in the first place. It happened over and over again. A boy wouldn't like me and I would feel sad. And then, I would feel angry that I felt sad, angry that I even wasted a moment's emotion on something that in the eternal scope of things, I knew didn't matter. I guess, in many ways, it was a good way to grow up. I probably saved my parents many a lecture. I was much too busy lecturing myself.

I'm there again. Feeling distraught and a little grumpy and knowing I need to give myself a lecture. And so I shall. Care to join me?

I don't doubt my priorities are where they ought to be. Playing games on Saturday afternoon is important. Assisting in wooden battleship assembly, listening to Henry read Hop on Pop for the fifty seventh time, teaching Lucy how to braid, then letting her practice on my hair over and over again; these moments are real and good and necessary. I know this. I know this in the very deepest part of my mothering heart.

And yet, as I lay in my darkened bedroom tonight, at an hour far earlier than normal so my body could work a little on building a person, I longed for a little more time to write. There are so many things that I want to say - so many stories I want to tell.

I learned a few weeks ago that a handful of my essays were accepted for publication in a forthcoming book discussing the power of motherhood. The book is a project of the website, Power of Moms, a fantastic place full of uplifting and inspiring material. I am honored to be included among their book's contributing authors.

After recently completing a class on writing Creative Nonfiction, my professor provided some encouraging and positive feedback on my final portfolio, that, when combined with my Power of Moms acceptance, had me seriously considering a book project of the nonfiction variety. So I pitched an idea to my editor. Know what she said? (In a friendly, supportive, I'm not making any promises but I think it might could work sort of way?) She said, "Write it."

I've just signed and returned my contract for my first novel, and I'm working on the writing of novel #2. My brain is full of ideas for a third, fourth, even fifth novel that come to me at random times throughout the day - in the car, in the shower, in the middle of Lucy's basketball practice. I feel as if I am on the brink - poised and ready to make a career of all these words...

And yet...

And yet.

Often, days, even weeks go buy without a single word written. Days that are full of not just the routine maintenance and care of a home and family, but with homework helping and piano teaching and baby building and book reading and game playing and story listening and many other rich and rewarding things that I'm simply not willing to give up. I won't give them up because I want to be present in my children's lives, because I know that in the eternal scope of things, my children, not the number of books I've published, will be my greatest prize.

This raising of a family is God's work. I know this. I feel it in my heart, in my bones, even in the very words that I write. I do not think it coincidental that those moments that have brought me closest to God are moments I've experienced as a mother. Writing is rewarding in it's own right, but mothering? Mothering is sanctifying.

And so I mother first. I mother first and write when I can and know that eventually a season will come when there will be more time - a season when the morning sickness and the diapers and the shepherding of toddlers are in the past. While I fully expect to enjoy those future days, I will not wish away today. Because here and now is where my children need me.

Present. Aware. Battleships built and hair braided.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-10-26T16:20:00.000-04:00

I've never actually done a wordless Wednesday. Because me? Not frequently wordless. But this picture? It really doesn't need words. Hilarious, no? (Except, see? Still not wordless, was I?)

A Publishing Contract and Writing Goals

2011-10-24T11:42:00.000-04:00

And this is where I ask you to indulge me for two minutes.

Want to know what came in the mail last Friday?

My publishing contract.

Can we talk about how fun it is to look through something that talks about royalties and asks for your author signature?

Somehow seeing it all in print, knowing this is oh, so very real adds another level of HOLY FLIPPIN COW to the entire experience. I've known the contract was coming since March, and was told that it might take a while to arrive. But some days, I would still forget. I would forget that this big, exciting thing was happening somewhere off in the future and only remember things like doctor's appointments and basketball practices and heart worm medicine for the dog. Which is why when the contract came on Friday, it was sort of like getting accepted all over again. It was a reminder that this is real. I am a writer - an author of a book that people are going to read. People that aren't family members or friends, that will actually pay money to buy words that I wrote. (I hope. Will you buy one? Please say you'll buy one.)

It makes me happy. Happy and excited and still very much overwhelmed. And a little frightened too. See, I'm terrified of being a one hit wonder. Pregnancy makes writing hard. And newborns make writing even harder. And then there's the fact that there are five other children in my house. And a husband that I really love to spend time with. And then there's also the fact that I am still, STILL trying to finish my degree from BYU. I have five classes left, which is hardly a big deal, but it sort of IS a big deal because I have to finish by April of 2013 before I am officially kicked out of my program because really, 8 years is plenty of time to finish and what have you been up to anyway for the past 7 years, except having lots and lots of children which is important, more important even, and yet, I know I must still finish my degree. Even though all my classes are writing classes and I'm taking them so I can call myself a writer which is silly really, because doesn't a publishing contract make me one already? But I will finish because I always knew I would and I refuse to give up. And really, taking five more classes that have to be done before the baby I'm currently pregnant with turns 1 will be simple. You know, while also raising five other children and having something that might sort of resemble a life, while also trying to write another novel.

And now you know why I'm afraid I will be a one hit wonder. Because finding time to write? It's hard. I'm not giving up on that either though. I've got 52 pages of my next book written. It's a wonderful story that I love, with characters that I love, that are waiting so patiently for me to finish their story. In my head, it's written. I'm dreaming conversations, hearing dialog as I drive down the road... it's time to write. But it's also time for school work and time for mothering and time for so many important and wonderful things. It's all about balance, I guess.

I have no reason to complain. These are wonderful, incredible things that are filling my life. And it is getting easier because miracle of miracles, I don't really feel sick anymore. I still throw up once every morning, but then I feel fabulous for the rest of the day, instead of feeling sick ALL day like I did two weeks ago. So. I hope to be writing more. Write more, barf less. An admirable goal, yes?

Joyful Mothering Series: Guest Post #2

2011-10-20T08:39:00.001-04:00

I'm so happy to introduce to you our next guest poster in the Joyful Mothering Series, my lovely friend Tricia. I've known Tricia long enough to love and admire her family and know that when it comes to mothering joyfully, she is an excellent resource and a powerful example. Thanks for contributing Tricia! You can read Tricia's personal blog here: Our Home Made Happy

I feel so honored that Jenny has invited me to visit you here today and write about Joyful Mothering. I hope that something I say today will help you in your quest for joy as a mother!

It has been many years since I learned that the joyful part of mothering doesn’t always knock at my door and anxiously invite itself in. This profound realization may have come when the first bout of morning sickness hit. Or when my baby caught his first cold, along with a nasty, cry-all-night earache. Or perhaps when my busy, independent 2 year old learned the power of the word “no.”

My idealistic notions of motherhood seemed to fade into oblivion, as I tried to embrace the life full of tasks and duties that seemed so oppressive and never-ending. Wrangling four kids under the age of five in the grocery check-out line, I was frequently offered that cliche piece of advice by older, calmer women, “Honey, enjoy them while they’re young…they grow up too fast, and then they’re gone.” I’d smile, and reply to myself silently (most of the time) that I had no time to think about them growing up and leaving, I was too busy trying to survive another day, and make it to bedtime!

I have learned a few things sincethose busy days of grocery-store-with-toddler-torture. I have learned how to make motherhood joyfulfor me. Moms often ask me, "how doyou have time to sew and knit and read and do projects with six kids? Ican hardly keep up on the laundry and dishes!" I tell you that it isthrough making time to do things that I love and to work on things that make me better, that I findenergy to do more of the work in my home. I don't always keep up withlaundry and dishes, or follow through with disciplining a child as I should...butI do better at mothering and homemaking, and find more joy in doing so, as Iregularly fill myself with inspiration and energy by making time tonurture and build myself. Put simply, I make a better home for my family when I ama better person.

I don’t buy into the philosophythat mothers should better themselves at the risk of neglecting theirchildren. On the contrary, I believethat mothers should work on their hobbies and talents with their children,improving themselves, and bringing their children along in the journey.

In those early days of mothering, Ibegan searching for things that would give me energy and excitement. I was determined to squeeze these things intomy already full life, so that I could feel joy. And be a better person. Because Iknew that the better I was, the better my children would be. Here are four things I did to bring joy to mymothering:

1) I began to read. There is so much wisdomto be gobbled up by exposure to great books! I delved into classic literature. I felt inspired by the stories and great characters I discovered. I found a passion for history. And couldn’t wait for a few minutes,scattered as they may have been, to open a book again and feel inspired. I continued to read my central classic, thebooks of sacred scripture that I had loved since my childhood. These books of literature opened up my mindand soul to new ideas and a breadth and depth of thought I had neverexperienced. I even enrolled in an onlinepolitical economy class, and pushed myself to study and write papers about someof the most important documents in history. As I read, the kids followed. They learned to love reading too. And we began reading classics together. Since that time, my love for reading great books has been a regular partof my days, and has inspired me in so many facets of my motherhood.

2) I acquired hobbies. I learned to sew. And to knit. And to paint walls and refinish furniture, in order to make my home lookand feel beautiful to me. I researchedreal foods and learned to bake and cook healthy, delicious meals for my family. These hobbies began to give me great joy andpleasure. They are the arts ofhomemaking. And I found ways to learnand love them, and incorporate them into my days. I had to work hard to make time for these newcreative outlets, but it was so worth the rush of excitement they gave me.

While I changed diapers or cleanedup messes around the house, my mind spun in circles with ideas about what tocreate next. I imagined all sorts ofresults…a new style of dress to sew for my girls; or a newly arranged corner ofmy home, organized to perfection; or a beautifully set dinner table withglowing candles and freshly baked bread. These creative thoughts made the work speed by, and even on the full days(or weeks) when I didn’t get to attempt any of those ideas, my busy heartthrilled at the thought of getting to try them soon.

3) I got organized. This one did notcome naturally to me. And it stilldoesn’t. I have to work really hard atit. But as I learned to organize mylife, I felt more freedom and joy.

I organized my home. I simplified andde-cluttered. I gave away the toys thatwere so often strewn wall-to-wall over the floors, and kept a few good, classictoys, such as wooden blocks, Legos, dolls, and a play kitchen set. Less stuff to manage meant more time to spendgrowing and learning together as a family. Instead of playing with toys all day, my kids learned to love beingoutdoors. And to make their own toys andgames out of craft supplies, household items, or rocks and sticks. I gave each room of the house a specificpurpose, and each item in the house a specific place.

I organized my schedule. I used a calendarand wrote everything down. I plannedahead. I knew what to expect from eachday, and had a list of things to accomplish. I tried to prioritize, putting “first things first.” I established personal and familyroutines. This helped us all to feel acomforting rhythm and flow in our home. And on the days when the to-do lists flew out the window, we still had asense of direction and fulfillment because of our family routine.

4) I learned to rely on God for his divinehelp. This one is key. Nothing else I have learned matters withoutit. I know that these children in myhome are God’s children too. And that hetrusts me to aid them in their journey through mortality. He loves them too much to leave me alone intheir nurturing and teaching. As I relyon him, he will make me into the mother my children need me to be. And joy will come as I become who he wants meto be.

When I really listen for hisguidance, I hear something like this resonate in my soul:

“You can’t possibly do this alone,but you do have help. The Master of Heaven and Earth is there to bless you—Hewho resolutely goes after the lost sheep, sweeps thoroughly to find the lostcoin, waits everlastingly for the return of the prodigal son. Yours is the workof salvation, and therefore you will be magnified, compensated, made more thanyou are and better than you have ever been as you try to make honest effort,however feeble you may sometimes feel that to be.” ((Jeffrey R. Holland, Because She IsA Mother)

Today, with six children, theeldest of whom is handsomely freckled, taller than I, and fourteen years old, Itell you that I truly feel joy in my mothering. The feelings of contentment and fulfillment ebb and flow, along with awide array of other emotions. But I canhonestly say that the underlying joy is a constant. And I know where to look when I want to findit and bring it to the forefront. It isnot always easy. In fact, it is a continualchallenge to balance the disappointment and despair with faith and courage. But I find it an interesting and excitingchallenge.

Photo Credit: Images by Jami

Motherhood may not be the rosy pathI had imagined when I embarked on this journey, complete with ever-clean littlefeet tiptoeing about, scurrying to obey my every word. But it is more to me. It is no pre-determined picture ofperfection, but an organic path that makes me stronger as I trod its hills andvalleys. Its rigour requires sacrificesthat refine my soul and transform me. Itsinclines are hard to traverse. Itsdescents can be disheartening. But as Ireach each new peak, I look around me and see that I have ascended higher than atthe last. I see myself becoming a betterperson and a better influence on those I mother. And in becoming better, I feel real joy.

Kid Speak

2011-10-18T01:08:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Henry was standing in the middle of the living room holding onto his little boy parts like he was worried they were about to fall off.

"Henry?" I asked. "Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

"Nope," he responded.

"Then why are you holding onto your parts?"

"Just for fun," he replied.

Okay then. Just for fun.

********

My sister-in-law Melanie was explaining to her 4 year old son, Eli, that I was pregnant and would soon be having another baby.

His reply?

"Well, whose baby is it?!"

I swear there is actually no justifiable reason to doubt the paternity of this baby. Promise.

********

I called a different nephew to wish him a happy birthday last week. He dutifully got on the phone and responded politely when I told him I loved him and that I hoped his birthday was a good one. After a slight, fraction of a second pause in our conversation, I heard him say, "Mommy, do I have to say anything else?"

********

Yesterday, Henry and I were discussing our plans for the following day. I told him that our friend, Joy, was going to come and stay with him for a few hours in the afternoon. Henry kept asking if I would tell Joy to bring doggy bag with her. I asked for clarification. Doggy bag?

"Doggy bag," Henry replied.

Then it dawned on me. Joy's husband, a fill in Grandpa for many kids at church once came with Joy and played with Henry. The kids all call him Poppy Doug.

"Henry," I said. "Do you want Poppy Doug to come with Joy?"

Henry's eyes lit up. "YES!" he exclaimed.

Poppy Doug. Doggy Bag.

It's an honest mistake.

Home Sweet Home

2011-10-12T11:38:00.000-04:00

I realize I'm biased. These mountains have been my home for as long as I've had a home. They are loved simply because they are what I have always known.

But this time of year, when the colors are at their brightest, when the sky seems the most blue and the oranges and reds on the trees literally take your breath away, I find myself frequently amazed that this is where I live. This beautiful, incredible amazing place that draws visitors and vacationers all year long is quite literally, my back yard.

In less than an hour's drive, I can be here:

Or here:

Photo credit Here

We could do this all day, really. There are countless beautiful places close by.

Even closer to home, as in, on the road that you drive to get to my house, you still get amazing views:

I get it. I get that I don't live in the only pretty place on earth. There are beautiful places everywhere. But here? This place speaks to my heart.

Joyful Mothering Series: Love Loans

2011-10-06T07:00:00.000-04:00

Early this morning, all I wanted to do was cry. Morning sickness was knocking me flat - I'd already thrown up twice, and it wasn't yet 9 AM. Henry and I had to be at preschool in an hour, Ivy was awake in her crib, calling over and over for me to get her up, and I hardly had the strength to pick myself up off the bathroom floor.

"Heaven help me," I said, in utter exasperation. And then, it occurred to me... heaven help me.

I pulled myself to my knees and said a quick prayer, pleading with the Lord to give me the strength that I lacked.

And He did.

Sometimes, I forget to ask. Because I am strong and I am capable and I can do things for myself, thank you very much. But mothering is so hard, and I get so tired and sometimes I simply don't have it in me to be what my children need...

We need not ever mother alone. When we are stressed, our nerves and patience wearing thin, God is there, ready and willing to fill in the gaps. He knows what our children need - what love and tenderness they deserve and he will help us when we feel we are falling short. He will loan us the love that is required. We need only ask.

Last year, my son Sam managed to collect a meager, but still cherished collection of Pokemon cards. Every day, he carried them around in his pants pocket, and every day I reminded him to take them out before he threw his pants into the laundry room to be washed. Most days, he remembered. But sometimes, he would forget and I would pull the cards out of his pocket before starting the washing machine, each time shaking my head. One of these days, I was going to miss them and his cards would be ruined. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and when it did, I was going to be ready with my "I told you so."

Sure enough, on a fateful Tuesday afternoon, I missed the cards and mistakenly sent them through the wash. By the time his jeans came out of the dryer, his stack of Pokemon cards was a wilted pile of frayed edges and blurred pictures. I sighed. It was another two hours before Sam would be home from school, but the lecture started building in my mind right there on the spot. I knew he would blame me - would be upset that I had ruined his cards. And buddy, let me tell you, I was going to share a piece of my mind when he started pointing fingers at me. Because the cards belonged to him and he forgot to get them out of his pocket and it is not my responsibility and on, and on it went.

After school, I pulled Sam aside and handed him his cards, explaining what had happened. His face instantly fell. With an innocence I didn't expect, he looked up at me, tears welling in his eyes and said, "Can you help me fix them?"

Heaven help me.

I swallowed my lecturing words and took Sam upstairs where we ironed and trimmed his cards, salvaging what we could. But it wasn't me. I was the lecture, the I told you so and you should have known better. But God knew that Sam's ruined cards were lesson enough and what he needed was an outpouring of love. And so He loaned me a little to get me through.

Mothering is hard, gritty, emotionally draining work. So much is expected of us and our reserves of energy and strength can be depleted so quickly. But heaven help us, we don't have to manage alone. The raising of children is a holy work - a divinely appointed responsibility that is well worth the attention of our Father in Heaven. Ask. Ask with an open heart and let Him loan you the love that you need.

Click here to read another story about Love Loans

Have you experienced a love loan in your life? I hope you'll share your thoughts and experiences in the comment section. All of you - whether you comment regularly or not. We all have something to contribute, so please do share.

When I'm 20, and all Growed Up

2011-10-04T22:07:00.002-04:00

Last Friday night while Josh watched the BYU football game with the older kids, I took Henry up to bed. As I tucked his blankets around his chin, he looked up and asked, "Mommy, will you lay down with me?"

I can't always say yes. When the baby is still awake, or other children need to be wrangled, I have to say no, promising instead to come and check on him in a few minutes. But that Friday night, with the other children blissfully occupied, and Ivy long asleep, I most happily agreed to snuggle up with Henry for a few blessed minutes of rest. I climbed over him onto his bottom bunk and wedged myself against the wall, propping my head on a Lightning McQueen pillow.

After a few minutes of listening to Henry's quiet breathing, I thought he must be sleeping. But then he turned, and said,

"Mommy, what happens when I'm 20 and all growed up and their isn't room for you in my bed?"

Oh, be still my mother heart.

"Henry," I responded. "When you're 20, you won't need me to lay down with you anymore. You'll be all grown up, on your mission or in college, and will be able to sleep on your own."

I could hear a slight tremor in his voice when he asked, "But what will I do?"

I reached over and stroked his back. "You'll say your prayers and climb into your bed, maybe stretch a little bit, and go to sleep."

"But Mommy," he said. "I like to sleep where my family is."

"Henry, I promise you won't have to sleep away from your family until you feel ready," I said.

"But what about college?!"

At this point, Henry was obviously starting to feel real distress. Trying to find some way to console him, I said, "Maybe you can go to college during the day, then still come home and sleep here at night."

"OH!" he said, finally relieved. "I will TOTALLY do that."

Heaven help the boy when he receives a mission call to Tonga.

*********

Henry has always been a tender, sweet, sweet boy. He has a sensitivity that is unique among his siblings - a genuine thoughtfulness and an unabashed willingness to love that is constantly touching my heart. He and I took a walk through the woods yesterday afternoon. He immediately took the lead, pointing out the thorns he thought I should avoid, and holding back branches that crossed our path so I could move by.

"I'll hold this for you, Mommy," he would say.

Then, just this morning, I asked him to change out of his shorts into blue jeans because it was chilly outside and we were getting ready to leave. He grumbled a little bit, then sat down on the couch. The last thing I heard him say before I went upstairs to get Ivy dressed is that he WANTED to wear his shorts. But sure enough, when I came back downstairs, he was wearing his blue jeans, just as I asked. "Henry!" I said, "You DID put your blue jeans on. Thank you for listening!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's because I love you," he said.

I've always said that Henry was my mercy baby. After handling the twins, I think God knew I needed something easy to ease me back into the world of babies. Oh, how Henry was a dream. A good sleeper, a good eater, an eternally pleasant baby. And he's still a dream. Of course, he has his moments. But they are well worth enduring for the joy he brings to our family.

What is so incredible about having a large family is that even when life is loud and hectic and chaotic beyond reason, I can still see the unique way that we all fit together. I have no doubt that we are a family by design - not just random souls chucked together for the living, but a family of Divine creation, meant to experience and progress and learn through life together.

And that makes me happy.

A Slice of Life

2011-09-27T00:23:00.000-04:00

Generally speaking, I blog at night. Which is why it's been so tough to blog lately. Because at night? I feel much like vomiting. Even when I'm not all that tired, I'm going to bed early because at least when I'm sleeping, I can't tell that I feel like barfing.

Tonight though, I'm feeling good. That's what a tall glass of chocolate milk, made with whole milk (I stole it from Ivy... don't tell her), and two Cinnamon Roll Toaster Strudels can do for a girl.

Ahem. Excuse me while I change positions. I think I actually felt my butt get a little bigger just then.

I don't know why this feels like such a wicked indulgence. Perhaps because it's 11:30 and I don't generally eat late at night, or after dinner much at all. This is justified though. Because milk is good for the baby, right? And if I feel like barfing, I can't blog.

And blogging is what makes the world go round.

Last night I watched the General Relief Society Broadcast. (The incredible, wonderful, women specific portion of my church's semi-annual General Conference where we hear amazing speakers and messages that make your heart happy and make you feel like being a better person and that reaffirm your faith and make you feel warm and gooey on the inside) I particularly enjoyed Deiter F. Uchtdorf's talk and his incredible message not to forget who we really are, and what we are really worth. I loved his line about Heavenly Father knowing that we aren't perfect, and also knowing that all those women that we think are perfect aren't actually perfect either.

And then I got to thinking about blogging. Sometimes, I worry that blogging might actually exacerbate this problem. See, it's really easy to make our online lives look sugar and spice and all things nice. I think sometimes this might be contrived. People only share the good stuff in an effort to make their lives seem perfect. But could it also be possible that some bloggers choose not to share some things because they'd simply prefer not to?

I like to say that my blog is all me, but it isn't ALL of me. I will not put anything on the blog that isn't real and true and a reflection of who I really am.

But also, I'm not going to tell you if I get in a big fight with my husband. I'm not going to tell you about a personal struggle I may be having with my fifth grader, or a trial I might be going through with a close friend. But that doesn't mean those things don't happen. It simply means that I have respect for the individuals in my life who would prefer not to have their stories shared online.

There is danger in assuming that all you see on a blog, or on the surface of someone's appearance is all there is behind the scenes too. Some things might be too personal, too private for general online consumption. And that's okay. To read someone's blog and think they've got the corner on mothering perfection, that they've got the best house, the best kids, the best life - it's not only ridiculous, it really isn't fair. Judgement hurts in all forms, whether you are judging someone for being too good, or not good enough. There is always more to the story. And unless you've lived it, breathed it, experienced it, you just can't really know.

This blogging that we do, it's just a slice of our lives, really. It is good and real and sweet, but simply put, it just isn't the whole pie.

Joyful Mothering Series: A Guest Post

2011-09-21T07:39:00.000-04:00

Shawni of 71Toes is a wife, mother of five, photographer, and blogger extraordinaire. She blogs about mothering in a way that inspires and uplifts and encourages - even during the hard moments. Shawni's kids are a few years older than mine so I frequently look to her for wisdom when it comes to charting the waters of parenting. She's just far enough ahead that I know she's probably had an experience similar to what I might be going through. And so, for those reasons, I was thrilled when she agreed to send over a post for the Joyful Mothering Series. I love her perspective and hope you will too!

I am all about soaking in moments.

They bring joy in the journey of motherhood.

But some days it seems the only moments are the crazy ones...not the ones that make time stand still and turn my heart to mush.

There was a day a couple months ago where I actually started writing down the "moments" as they rolled on right in front of me because my "moment" was realizing that wow, life is nuts.

Let's start by setting the stage:

There are five children home from school...all of them with at least one friend traipsing through the kitchen while I cook dinner for us and for a sick pregnant friend I offered to bring dinner to two nights ago but forgot.

The phone is ringing off the hook.

Even if I wanted to answer the phone, (which I don't), I would never be able to find the darn thing because our family has a knack for leaving those cordless things in the wackiest places (the freezer? the pantry? Yep, I've found it there...and the sad thing is that I'm just a guilty as the rest of them).

My mind is stressing about how in the world I am going to handle a new assignment they have just given me to help take care of the youth in our church congregation and also who I can cajole to teach my scouts class rotation for the hundreds of people who will be at Round Table tonight.

My first-grader is a broken record begging me to help her scrounge up some old fabric scraps so she can decorate a turkey drawing she's supposed to glam up for a school project.

I have located my cell phone when it alerted me to a text, followed by some sort of important phone call and as soon as I answer I have three children suction-cupped to my side thinking that NOW is the time to talk to me about their day.

My oldest daughter is getting ready for tennis and is needing something to eat before she goes but is teary-eyed because she's in so much pain from her new elastics the orthodontist stuck on today. I stop and pull out the blender frantically throwing together a smoothie before her carpool comes.

The volleyball carpool has just called saying they have pneumonia and can't drive tonight while I'm supposed to be at book club (and teaching at Round Table if I can't find a replacement).

My son is plunking hard on the piano because he's mad (again) that I won't let him quit piano lessons. And he can NOT seem to get that section of that darn song right. My heart sinks because I need to be in there helping him, but I need to be in here too or the sauce will burn, (and I need to be three other places too).

My first-grader and her friend (having given up on decorating the turkey) run in screaming from the trampoline because they have realized there is a dead bee of all things in my daughter’s hair.

All this is set to the music of my tantrum-expert four-year-old in one of her awful moods screaming for milk every time I turn around.

And just as the chaos reaches the peak of it's cacophony of noise my phone dings politely with a text from my husband reminding me I need to get to the voting booth to go vote...which closes in ten minutes.
______________________________________________________

Do you ever have a single moment that makes you stop and realize how silly it is to be frantically chasing your tail and not really accomplishing anything? For some reason on that day back in November that text in the middle of the swirl of activity was my "moment." It's what made me stop everything and smile to myself. I don't know why, but it made me stop and almost laugh at the prospect of loading up all the kids in the car and rushing over to vote, picturing the guy there closing up the booth saying, "Sorry ma'am, you just missed your chance."

For some reason it made me stop and soak in the fact that I was there. Right where I needed to be. Not really getting to everything I wanted to, but trying my very best and knowing that I was in the right place at the right time. And that the world would go on if I didn't get over to vote, and if I didn't make it to book club, and if other leaders would have to fill in for me at Round Table while I brought my boy to volleyball.

Yes, sometimes the moments that fill up a mother's day don't seem to be so sweet. But if we step back and not take it all quite so seriously we realize that life is good. So very good. And that brings the sweetness into the memories of the craziness.

I love this quote:

INTERRUPTIONS

"When you are exasperated by interruptions, try to remember that their very frequency may indicate the value of your life. Only people who are full of help and strength are burdened by other persons' needs. The interruptions which we chafe at are the credentials of our indispensability. The greatest condemnation that anybody could incur - and it is a danger to guard against - is to be so independent, so unhelpful, that nobody ever interrupts us, and we are left comfortably alone."

-Anonymous

from The Anglican Digest

So I guess those interruptions to what could otherwise be sweet moments can be our "moments" as well. And it all works together to make up the beautiful tapestry of motherhood we are weaving day-by-day, crazy minute by crazy minute.

In my mind there is nothing quite so good as to be a Mother (except for being a wife, but that's another post for another day). The one who is interrupted the most. And I must cherish those moments of interruptions while they last. Because before I know it these children will grow up and leave off to create their own stories, and I'll be left with just the memories of all those life-enriching interruptions echoing through my house.

********

Shawni, Thanks so much for your thoughts. Readers, I hope you'll click over and visit Shawni's blog. 71 Toes. Do you have a post on joyful mothering you'd like to share? Have you ever had an afternoon like the one Shawni described? If you'd like to share your thoughts, use the button above and link up your own joyful mothering post below.