Trapped Between a Scream and a Hug

Motherhood Now

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Thu, 11 Apr 2019 21:10:00 +0000

I haven't written a post in years. I mean, sure, I started a new blog, sure, but not for the same reasons that I started this one. The reasons that I started this one can be satisfied with Instagram or Twitter. But I realized recently that when I stopped blogging, I did myself a serious disservice. This blog served as a collection of essays on my life as a mother of four little kids. Until I started trying to earn a little money. At this point, monetary hopes and dreams are out the window. What I would like to get back to, however, are essays about my life as a mother.

This time it's different. I don't have four little kids. I have six kids ranging from teenager to preschooler. I have one kid driving and still have two kids at home with me all day. It's a strange limbo to be in. I have built in babysitters, but those babysitters have lives. They want to hang out with their friends, be involved at clubs at school and basically do whatever they want. My preschoolers are spoiled rotten. They have been babied from the get go and I spend more time than I would like to admit doing damage control. I'm not entirely sure that I have ruined them completely.

Not only is this middle place strange, it's lonely. I have friends who have teenagers, but they don't have kids home during the day so they work or spend all day volunteering at school. I have friends who have preschoolers, but no one goes to actual school yet, so their days are full of library story times, naps and play dates. There really isn't anyone in my life that understands what it is like to be here. The strange combination of busy-ness and learning to read. Visits to the DMV and kindergarten orientation.

I don't have a profound observation to offer here. Just that this place is a new place, and I'm not entirely sure if I like it. I can see the end of the tunnel. Two more years and every kid will be in school all day. (But only for one year. Then the oldest goes to college. Yes. I will have a kindergartner and a senior at the same time.) But that tunnel isn't really a relief, it's kind of scary. I'm not sure that I want to spend all day volunteering at the school, and other than working a register at a fabric store, what kind of job can I hope to get? I suppose that I can always go back to school. But I graduated with a degree 15 years ago. I just never did anything with it.

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I don't love change. It isn't easy for me. So the fact that motherhood changes regularly stretches and pulls me in ways I never thought possible. It's hard. It's lovely. It's fun. It's terrifying. It's exhausting. It's nonstop. I signed up for the ride without really knowing what I was getting myself into. But, I suppose, all mothers do.

I Don't Do St. Patricks Day

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Mon, 13 Mar 2017 09:30:00 +0000

Confession: I don't do St. Patrick's Day.

My mom did it. Every. Single. Year.

We woke up to a treasure hunt with clues left on shamrocks all throughout the house, which led to a chocolate pot of chocolate coins. I have no idea where my mother found a chocolate pot, but there it was, every year.

I console myself with the thought that my mother only had two kids, whereas I have six, but then I remember that she also worked full time and that makes me feel like a failure.

I did dye the milk green one year. That was a standby growing up. The leprechaun would dye the milk green while leaving the shamrocks. Well, I dyed the milk green and then left to run errands. My ever conscientious seven year old daughter thought that there was something seriously wrong with it and dumped it right down the drain before I got home. Served that leprechaun right for not leaving clues.

Here's the thing, though. I probably could pull off a leprechaun treasure hunt. And two thirds of my children are still young enough to appreciate it. I just really don't want to. I have so much on my to do list already that adding that one unnecessary thing just weighs me down. More than it should. And I can't really figure out why.

Maybe it's because I had four kids in five years, and when I was really right in the thick of it, trying to put together a leprechaun hunt really would have killed me. Maybe it's because I'm worried that my oldest two will feel like they missed out on something because I never did it when they were kids. Maybe it's just straight up laziness. Maybe it's just one more thing to do and it will not determine the life or death of my children. Or, maybe I'm just not as good of a mother as my own was.

Whatever the reason, my mom guilt makes me feel it every. single. year. And every single year, I ignore it, make green smoothies and green scrambled eggs, make sure everyone is at the very least wearing green so they don't get pinched at school and call it good. And, who knows, maybe that's enough after all.

Where do you get your ideas?

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Wed, 01 Mar 2017 10:30:00 +0000

I have gotten a lot of questions since my first novel, Dear Jane, was released. One of the most common had been "Where do you get your ideas?"
And the answer: Honestly? Everywhere.

I actually can't remember exactly what sparked Dear Jane. I do remember vividly, however, that I knew the title before I knew anything else. I knew I wanted to tell the story of a Sister missionary who receives a Dear Jane letter. From there, the story just slowly unfolded.

Ever since I was a kid, I can remember rewriting my life. Usually in that space between waking and sleeping. I go over interactions that I had that day and rewrite them using words that I wish I had said or wondering what would have happened if they had said something differently. That kind of daydreaming has led to many a story. I take what might have been and twist it and turn it until an entirely new reality is formed. Characters are born, conflicts are magnified and it blossoms into an entire novel.

Alternately, I pay attention to the world around me. I don't like to use the word eavesdropping, but if you're having a conversation next to me, I'm not going to cover my ears and hum. Once again, my talent for creating a world around a conversation comes in handy and I take odds and ends of the overheard conversation and weave it into something new. I've heard other authors say, Don't tell me anything you don't want to end up in a book, and that is entirely true. It likely won't be your life story, but it just might be a silly detail that I thought was particularly memorable or an unusual phrase that rings true. There are a few family members who heard echoes of themselves in the pages of Dear Jane.

If you're thinking about writing, wondering where you can find your ideas, don't look to far. I imagine that you've been telling stories your entire life, whether to yourself as you fall asleep at night, or to the entertainment of your family at reunions, it doesn't matter. Figure out where your stories live and write them down. You're the only one who can.

Eight years ago today. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Thu, 27 Oct 2016 09:30:00 +0000

I had pretty much given up on ever giving birth. I was convinced that I would be pregnant for the rest of my entire life. After a weekend of last minute Halloween activities and prep and lots of false labor, I was in despair. And as a last ditch effort to induce labor, (I had tried everything else. No. Really.) I decided to clean my house. My entire house. And, while I was at it, I might as well make a nice dinner. And so I did. From top to bottom, I cleaned everything. I did dozens of loads of laundry, washed every dish, swept every floor and picked up every toy. I made chicken, funeral potatoes, rolls, salad. It was a nice dinner. And just as I was putting the chicken into the oven, it hit. The first contraction.

I straightened up and looked at the clock. 4:00. I wasn't about to call the midwife. I had been having random contractions for weeks. And so I headed upstairs to switch the laundry. And sure enough, another one hit. So, I called my husband. Then I called the midwife. Then I called my mom. John arrived home a remarkable 10 minutes later. Before my mom did, to take over the parenting duties. The hypnobirthing training had kicked in and I wanted to make John start doing the breathing, because he was stressing me out more than the contractions were. They were about four minutes apart by this time. And 5:00 in the evening. And yes, that meant rush hour. By the time we arrived at the hospital, 30 minutes later, the contractions were 2 minutes apart. I couldn't walk into the hospital. John deposited me in a wheelchair in front of check in while he parked the car. Thirty minutes and a decent amount of screaming later, I was holding a perfect little baby boy with dark hair.
*************************************

Five years ago that little boy woke up, determined that today was NOT his birthday and that he was still 2. Until he saw the presents. And for the remainder of the day he proudly held up 3 and a half fingers and proclaimed, "I'm fwee."

Oh, good heaven. My baby is fwee.

*************************************

Song of Summer's End

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Mon, 29 Aug 2016 09:30:00 +0000

My daughter goes to first grade tomorrow. And it feels like I am saying goodbye to her. I have spent every day with her for the past 6 years. Every day for at least 21 hours. I got to be there for it all. The first smile. Laugh. Word. Tooth. Joke. Time out. Tantrum. The good and the bad. I have been there. And now I have to give that up. The first spelling test. I won't be there. The first lunch in the lunch room. I won't be there. She will learn so much without me.

And more than just spelling and math. How to make friends and keep them. How to decide to be a bigger person and not make fun of less socially adapt kids. How to deal with disappointment all by herself. I won't be there for those moments. I will only get the leftovers. The few hours between school and bed. Those precious hours that homework has to be done, dinner has to be made. Chores have to be done, baths have to be taken. Those precious hours are not enough for me to soak in the goodness of my girl and to keep her close to me like I want to. And so I have to say good bye until next summer until she will spend every glorious hour with me again.

Maybe I'm selfish. Maybe I'm a bad mom for not wanting to let her go. But she is my baby and I don't want to give her up. Not yet.

*Originally published 2009

Stream of Consciousness

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Sun, 28 Aug 2016 14:23:00 +0000

What am I going to make for dinner?
Pasta. No. We had pasta last night. I wonder how much is left downstairs. I bet I need to restock.

No-you cannot have a snack. I am just about to make dinner. Okay. One tomato. But that's it. No, wait let me wash it first.

Okay. Is there any chicken left in the freezer? What can I make with canned chicken. Nothing that John likes. Life would be so much easier if he wasn't so picky. It's like 100 degrees. We can't have soup.

Shut the door!

Stupid flies. I swear they wait for the door to open. Did we really use that many dishes today? Maybe I should wash them before I make dinner. Dishwasher is still full. But if I ask the girls to come clear it right now, they will be in the way.

We have lots of beans. I should make something with beans. Beans and rice. John will have to deal. I wonder if I can find a new recipe online. Ehh. I'll just make something up. Should I make cornbread?

Eric, do you stink? You do, don't you. Go get me a diaper. No kicking! You don't kick mommy!

Now the living room stinks. Two cans of beans. A can of tomato sauce. Is that it? Hmm. Maybe I should have made cornbread. I could make biscuits. No. The food processor is in the sink. Not washing that right now. Oh, well. I wonder if there is a way to make better rice.

I should put some brown sugar in there. I wonder if the cajun seasoning will clash with the barbeque sauce. What is in cajun seasoning anyway?

Shut the fridge please. No. You don't need any cheese right now. Shut the fridge.

We are having beans and rice. You like it.

Put it down! No! Put it down.

Everyone out of the kitchen! Out! Now! I will call you when it is time to eat!

Sigh. I should really fold the laundry. I'll have to do that tonight. Onions! I forgot. Garlic too. Okay. Rice is done. Beans are done.

Guys. Come set the table. No, just set the table. If you can't sing and set at the same time, then don't sing. What did I just say?

Sigh.

*originally posted 2011

Loving

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Fri, 26 Aug 2016 09:00:00 +0000

This week I had one of those days. I didn't feel all that great and my motivation was nada. So when my baby fell asleep on me--which doesn't happen often I didn't try and set him down so I could go get some work done. I sat on the couch and let him sleep on me for 2 hours.

This is a rare occasion for me. This baby does not sleep for two hours of the day EVER. And it usually takes lots and lots of work for me to get him to sleep while I'm holding him. Strange, I know, but that is who he is.

While he was asleep I watched his face. He is so beautiful. They are all beautiful when they are sleeping. The term angel here is cliche but appropriate. As I was gazing at his face I got a glimpse of what he might look light as a little boy, as a teenager, as an adult. And he will always be beautiful. But the thought of him growing up breaks my heart a little. And thrills me at the same time.

Motherhood is so full of moments like that. They can be hard to find in all of the screaming and running and dancing and singing. The quiet moments when you catch your child making a face and you know that they will have that same face as they grow. And you hope, desperately, that the person accompanying that face will live a good and happy and worthwhile life. And that your influence in their life will be for good.

And so I held my baby, sitting on the couch for two hours doing nothing but willing my baby to grow up healthy and happy. And loving him like I know he won't let me love him once he learns how to walk. Once he learns how to run. Once he learns how to drive. Hoping that loving him like that now will seep into him and nourish him for the rest of his life.

Why Harry Potter is So Amazing

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Thu, 25 Aug 2016 12:00:00 +0000

I recently discovered a new podcast. Harry Potter and the Sacred Text. And it's just bringing up my intense love of Harry Potter. Generally, I try to keep my crazy under wraps, but I just can't anymore.

I love Harry Potter. For the following reasons:
1. Have you ever noticed anything about the names in Harry Potter? JK Rowling didn't just make up funny words to name her characters. Here's a few examples:

Sirius Black: Sirius is the Dog Star
Minerva: The Roman goddess of wisdom
Dumbledore: Old English for Bumblebee
Remus Lupin: Remus was a son of Mars, left to die along the banks of the Tiber, but saved and nursed back to health by a she-wolf. Lupus is the Latin word for Wolf.
Voldemort: Comes from a French phrase that can be interpreted as "one who flees from death."

Right? Right?

Why yes. I am a super nerd.

2. The themes are amazing. Tolerance. Love conquering death. The power of friendship. Faith in a greater purpose. Everything you want to teach your kids in seven volumes.

3. The writing. THE WRITING. My favorite line? "Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality." Mundane finality. After everything, after all he has done and all he has put the world through, he is just a human being like the rest of them and he has died like the rest of them. You see now why I keep my crazy to myself?

4. The characters. How do you read these books and not love them all? I cry for Harry, laugh with(at) Ron, and just want to give Neville a hug. And the twins. And Hagrid!

I think that's enough for one day. Please let me know if you are a Harry Potter crazy person too. We can chat!!

Church with Littles

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Mon, 01 Aug 2016 14:56:00 +0000

Church is no longer a calm and peaceful experience. Would you like to know why?

1. I have six children.

2. Two of those children are 1 and 2.

3. Church starts at 1:00

Did you know that a family of 8 takes up pretty much an entire row? We do. Which means that if we don't get to church early enough to be able to snag an entire row, we are stuck in the very back on the folding chairs. And no one, not a single one of us, likes to sit in the hard chairs. Just kidding. The babies like to sit on the hard chairs. Do you want to know why? Because when you bang the hard chairs with your match box car, your colored pencil or your sippy cup, it makes a loud, echoing sound throughout the gym. And that is super awesome.

Because we moved at the end of last year, we landed ourselves in a two year stretch of 1:00 church. Can I explain to you why 1:00 is so awful? It has very little to do with the four older children. They are totally fine with it. They, however, are entirely capable of dressing themselves, feeding themselves and dealing with their own bodily functions. The two people who live in my house and are not capable of any of those things make 1:00 church a nightmare. The biggest problem is that it is smack in the middle of nap time. It doesn't just overlap a little. It's straight up nap time. And those two littles NEED their naps. I am firmly convinced that if church were at 9:00 I would occasionally get to sit through an entire sacrament meeting. As it stands, I haven't been able to stay in the chapel for a full hour stretch since about April of 2015.

Don't get me wrong, I adore my babies. I don't want them to grow up. I want them to stay little for as long as possible. At home.

Try Everything

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Thu, 28 Jul 2016 12:30:00 +0000

My older boys, Eric and Seth, feel like they should just know how to do something. There should be no practicing involved, they should be perfect on the first try. Which is why it took so long for either of them to learn how to ride a bike without training wheels, why neither one of them can tie their shoes, and why Eric still insists that he doesn't know how to read. (He does. I promise.)

So, while sitting in a dark movie theater watching Zootopia, this song punched me in the gut and I knew that it needed to be our family's new anthem.

I messed up tonight, I lost another fight
I still mess up but I'll just start againI keep falling down, I keep on hitting the groundI always get up now to see what's next
I knew that this needed to be drilled into their little heads. And not just my boys, but my girls too. All of my children seem a little too prone to giving up. When things get hard, they don't want to work harder to make it happen.
'Til I reach the end and then I'll start again
No I won't leave, I wanna try everything
I wanna try even though I could fail
I know that listening to a song isn't going to create some magical reaction. I know that watching Zootopia isn't going to solve all of their problems. But maybe, just maybe, coupled with my encouragement, it will give them a little push in the right direction.
I'll keep on making those new mistakes
I'll keep on making them every day
Those new mistakes.

I won't give up, no I won't give in

Growing up is hard to do. . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Mon, 25 Jul 2016 09:30:00 +0000

I threw a birthday party for my daughter. She's pretty particular about things and she knows what she wants. She also gets her heart set on it.

That's the problem.

She has a friend, a cute girl, who tends to be less reliable than others. They haven't been able to get together all summer long, every time because this friend has cancelled at the very last minute. And I hate to see her face when she finds out. She tries to be strong, because she's too old to cry about silly things like friends not being able to come and play, but it's still painful.

When my kids were smaller, there were certain friends that you could almost count on to cancel. And when they're little, all communication goes through mom, so I learned really quickly it was better to make playdates a last minute surprise, than to build it up all day only to have someone break their little hearts. And I know that kids have to learn to deal with disappointment. I know this. And she is. But there are so many other disappointments that I can't control, that in this one thing, this one little thing, I can keep them safe.

But now I do not hold the power I once did. She makes her own plans, with her own friends. (With my approval, of course.) She has to figure out which friends she can count on to be there for her. And which friends will regularly let her down. I just wish she was still the cute little three year old, dancing her way through life without a care in the world. That's all.

Sunday Musings

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Tue, 12 Jul 2016 02:25:00 +0000

I'm sitting outside with a restless toddler who can't handle Sunday School. It's easier outside, rather than chasing him out of classrooms he shouldn't be in, and through conversations that I have to barge through. It's a beautiful day, a break in the sweltering temperatures of the last few weeks. It's quiet except for the wind blowing through a row of noisy trees that I don't know the name of. In a backyard somewhere nearby, someone just lit a charcoal grill. I know because it's the Sunday afternoon smell. It makes me hungry and sad at the same time. My dad used to grill dinner every single Sunday from May until September. And it's funny, because I don't really remember the food, I remember the smell. I remember the black on my hands when he would let me help pour the charcoal in. I remember shucking corn while the grill smoked, sitting on the back steps while he sat in his designated lawn chair and watched the birds while he waited for the coals to heat up. I remember him banging on the back door, his hands full. I remember his self deprecation as we ate, a trait that I picked up, critical of the way the meat was cooked and concerned that we weren't enjoying it.
A year after losing him, the smell sends almost a visceral reaction through me, making me both nostalgic and, simply put, devastated. I experience a moment like this almost daily, some little thing reminds me of him and it knocks the wind out of me for a moment. And I am grateful that most memories, while breaking my heart a little, almost make me smile. I am lucky to have such a dad. Something that I wish that I had realized just a little bit sooner.

Shelter From the Storm

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Mon, 04 Jul 2016 09:30:00 +0000

Ever since I was a little girl, I have always liked a good storm. My favorites are the storms that blow in unexpectedly, the dark clouds performing a hostile takeover of a brilliant summer day. Watching the rain as it hits the windows, blurring the view, safe and warm and comfortable from the other side of the glass, preferably on the couch wrapped in a quilt with a book in hand is one of my favorite things to do. I have a fond memory of doing that very thing several years ago. I was very pregnant at the time and curled up as tightly as I could be with a beach ball growing out of me, and my children danced happily around the living room, totally oblivious to the fact that there were many unhappy people on the other side of our walls, whose Labor day had just been ruined. I didn’t care. I was grateful for a break in the heat and a break in the bickering that was the usual morning fare. I’m probably the only one in my family with a clear memory of that morning, but I like to keep a corner of it in one hand like a blanket on the days that are deceptively bright and sunny outside, but dark and ominous within. Over time, I have collected memories like this one, sometimes moments sometimes hours, and pieced them together one by one in a patchwork quilt that I can pull out on the coldest days.

There are all kinds of memories in my quilt. The day that I convinced two little boys that they should go out and play in the rain. I thought all little kids want to go outside and play in the rain, but not Seth and Eric. Up until then, dark clouds meant thunder and thunder meant lightning. And lightning is terrifying and unknowable and reason to run screaming into the house.

I decided it was time to introduce them to the glories of a good rainstorm. They were hesitant at first, venturing out a few feet at a time and then running back under the porch. After a while, however, they were asking for their swimsuits, racing down the sidewalk and dancing across the driveway. It was a happy moment for this mama.

Or there was the time that Tayleigh convinced me that Labor day was more than just a day with no school. A few years ago, the girls were trying to figure out why they didn't have school on Labor Day. And when we told them it was a holiday they were even more confused. They didn't know what colors to wear (such girls), they didn't know what festivities we would be attending and they couldn't figure out why no one was going to work. We thought about being all educational and looking up the background of Labor day and having a little history lesson. Except, do you know the history of Labor Day? It is not a history lesson for a 5 and 6 year old. So, we summed it up with "It's a day that no one goes to school or work."

Well, my 5 year old Tayleigh, every resourceful, thought about this for a little while and approached me. "Mom, if no one has to work on Monday, does that mean that I don't have to clean my room?" My first inclination was to laugh. But then I thought about it.

"Nope. You don't have to clean your room."

Then I decided that she was really on to something.

So What did we do that day?

Finger paint

pushed the kids on the swings

have, not one, but 2 picnics in the living room

take the kids to Sonic

rent a movie

let them play with their friends all afternoon

What we did not do that day:

Anything remotely resembling work.

Or my 30th birthday. When John turned 30 he got a truck. It was kind of a spur of the moment decision, and I didn't love it. He talked about taking me on a cruise or getting me some huge gift for my 30th birthday, but when it came down to it, it didn't make any sense financially to pay for a cruise when what I really needed was a computer and all I really wanted was a party. So, I threw one. I decided months in advance that was what I wanted. I didn't make John throw it himself, because, let's face it, if you want something done right, you do it yourself. I tasked him with the clean up of the back yard in preparation for it and I went shopping. It was perfect. I scored a fire pit at a yard sale, marshmallow roasters and white lights on clearance, and lots and lots of candy from the bulk bins at WinCo. For one night my backyard was full of friends and family, kids of all ages, everyone that I love to spend my time with. And for the pièce de résistance, a makeshift photo booth, manned by my talented niece. It was such an amazing night.

I’ve needed my quilt quite a bit recently. My dad passed away a few months ago, not unexpectedly but much too suddenly. This has been the darkest storm yet to cross my path. I don’t know, but like to think that maybe William Cullen Bryant had just lost his father when he wrote:

Ah! well known woods, and mountains, and skies,

With the very clouds!—ye are lost to my eyes.

I seek ye vainly, and see in your place

The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,

A whirling ocean that fills the wall

Of the crystal heaven, and buries all.

And I, cut off from the world, remain

Alone with the terrible hurricane.

It was a hurricane. A tornado that swept me up and stripped my roots bare. I have had to hold on to my quilt for dear life, pulling it tightly around me, trying desperately to ignore the sting of pelting rain on my face, running my fingers over the stitching, comforted by the memory of a stormy day in South Dakota as my family drove from Mt. Rushmore to Wall Drug, an historic drugstore on the edge of the badlands, famous for their free ice water. About halfway there,

as if the hands

That held the dams had parted hold,

The waters wrecked the sky.

My dad gripped the steering wheel and turned the wipers up as high as they could go to no avail. My mom, however, was less concerned. She was enamored by the dozens of Wall Drug Billboards along the side of the highway, each one ending with the phrase “free ice water.” So enamored, in fact, she took it upon herself to read each and every single one of these billboards out loud. Mile after mile and billboard after billboard, “free ice water,” until my normally calm and patient father turned to her and announced: “I don’t know which is worse, you or the storm!” And my sister and I collapsed into giggles in the backseat. This memory, along with memories of a too long dirt road, planting flowers and tomatoes together, an apology after a burst temper, attending BYU basketball games, and a car stereo pounding classic rock so loudly that the car shook, kept me sane through the strongest of gusts. But not only was I able to hold on to memories, I created new ones that added strength. An unexpected sympathy card from a sweet ward member, a couple of pizzas in the fridge, a box of chocolates, the familiar faces of several wonderful women from the ward appearing in line at the viewing. My ward family was there for me, shielding me from some of the wind, keeping me from simply flying away.

Many of the memories in my quilt have not only kept me warm, but dictated how I would choose to raise my family. Dinner together every night. Family vacations together. Family prayers. Respect. A home full of good books. A commitment to education. A commitment to the gospel. Offering opportunities to learn and grow and opportunities to experience the consequences. Family Home Evening, no matter how short and insignificant, and we’ve had all kinds. Our favorite family night activity for years was a version of charades. We stuck pretty close to animals, with the boys pretending to be all things that growled and the girls everything else, until we branched out and Tayleigh stumped us all by being an Old China Man. And then my dad topped that one week by being a fly.

All these things, plus a constant, almost overwhelming concern for my children's welfare. I inherited that particularly fierce trait from my dad, best illustrated the night I was picked up by friends to go canoeing down the Jordan river. Dad wasn’t home when I left, but mom had given me permission to go with them, knowing full well the plan. She and I were both unaware that due to a particularly wet spring, the river was swollen and fast, but Dad knew and when he heard the plan, panicked. THis was before cell phones were ubiquitous, and so dad found my high school phone book and called the parents of everyone i was with, trying to find where on the river we were. No where, to be precise. Somewhere between the planning and execution stages, someone realized the river was a bad idea and we ended up at a pond instead. When I learned what my dad had done, I was humiliated--this was high school after all--but looking back, feeling the way I do now about my children, I realize I would have done the same thing.

Eden goes to her first day of 7th grade tomorrow. They tell you that kindergarten is hard, but that is nothing compared to Jr. high. As much as I would like to, as hard as I wish I could, I can’t take her out of the world, but I can give her shelter from the storms that are sure to rage around her. I can give her a quilt of her own to hold on to when the world is full of darkness and the road is full of mud. Even more impervious than memories, I can give her truth. The truth that she has a family who loves her. That she has parents who would do just about anything for her. And most importantly the truth that she has a savior who loves and knows her. That he can heal her broken heart and bind up her wounds. That he is her rock, her fortress, her deliverer. That he is her salvation, her defense, her refuge and her strength. With him and through him all things are possible. He is her foundation, that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon her, it shall have no power over her to drag her down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which she, and I and you are built, which is a sure foundation, whereon if she builds, she cannot fall.

So, tomorrow when Eden walks into her new and unfamiliar school and I hold tightly to my quilt, gripping the memories of her asking if grasshoppers speak spanish, bringing all her stuffed animal friends to her brand new baby sister and explaining to me that a scarf will help her keep her balance, I just have to hope and pray that I’ve helped her piece together a strong enough quilt, warm with memories of family dinners, family vacations and family prayers. I can’t keep her from the world. The world needs her beautiful light. Its a dark and stormy day out there.

Summer Bucket List: Tracy Aviary

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Tue, 28 Jun 2016 02:50:00 +0000

Ready or not, it's summer. Your kids are home, all day long. We're about a month in-- are you out of stuff to do yet? If your in the Salt Lake County area, I've got the solution to your problem: Tracy Aviary. The babies and I got a chance to check it out recently, and we had a blast.

One of the things that I love about Tracy Aviary, is that all of my children love it. This was the first time for my littles, but I have taken my older children several times and everyone always has a blast. There is a sand pit and water tables to keep the little ones entertained, by my older kids love going even though they've outgrown those particular features. They love to see the birds and learn their names and where they're from.

While there, we were able to visit the new exhibit, Treasures of the Rainforest, which I had never seen. It was beautiful. I wish that we had been able to spend a little extra time there, but we were given the opportunity to release Ladybugs, which I absolutely loved, as pictured above, the two year old did not.

The biggest highlight of the day was the Amazon Adventure. We were each given a cup of food for the birds and they would fly down and land on the cups. The babies thought that this was the coolest thing to ever happen to them.

So, the next time that the kids announce for the millionth time that they are bored, consider Tracy Aviary as a potential cure.

GIVEAWAY: Tracy Aviary has generously given me 4 free tickets to give away to one of my readers. Leave a comment below to be entered.

Summer Reading List: First Grade

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Mon, 11 May 2015 11:00:00 +0000

For my six year old, I've tried to put together a list of books that appeal to him, both to read and to have read to him. I've tried to make a good mix of things that he will like to read on his level and things that he will sit still and listen to.

Go, Dog, Go

Interrupting Chicken

There are No Cats in This Book

There are no cats in this book

There are Cats in This Book

The Cat in the Hat

Green Eggs and Ham

How to Drive Your Sister Crazy

I Love My New Toy (and really all Elephant and Piggie books)

Scaredy Squirrel

Chrysanthemum

What if You Had Animal Teeth

Mike Mulligan and More

I am an Artist

Do you have any favorite First Grade Readers that I've missed? I would love more suggestions!

Happy Reading!

*all images via Amazon

Just a Small Town Girl

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Sat, 28 Jun 2014 05:17:00 +0000

I moved to Rexburg Idaho when I was 18 and small town life caught me off guard. It sank into my bones until I didn't want anything else. I spend my daydreams on land and skies and stars, rows of fruit trees and my children running barefoot through the garden. However, I'm married to a man whose chosen career path and aversion to commute keeps us tethered to cities. We currently sit firmly in suburbia, with neighbors closing in on all sides and a backyard the size of a postage stamp.

And I find myself with a new affection for my grandpa. He wanted, all his life, to leave the the cities, the suburbs, and move out to a small town away from everything else. My Grandma, however, wouldn't have it. They lived their whole lives only a few miles from where they grew up, with homes and churches and shopping centers popping up all around them.

I think, though, it must have been more than just a dream. It must have been in his blood, this need for open spaces. His son, my uncle, moved his family to a tiny town in Southern Utah and relished every minute of it spending his days exploring the nearby mountains and caves and his nights camping under the stars.

I like to think that someday I'll get my wish. I'll find a way to move away from it all, somewhere I can fall asleep to the sound of the wind in the trees and not the sirens. Somewhere that the air smells like sage and pine and soil, instead of exhaust. Some where I can sit outside and see the horizon, and not just the houses surrounding me on all sides. But until then, I'll just be here, longing for clear night skies and complete quiet.

The First Stone

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Thu, 26 Jun 2014 02:23:00 +0000

I found this comment by Jodie on the Mercy River blog, and it sums up my thoughts of the past few days better than I can articulate.

"This morning I woke to see the post about Kate Kelly being excommunicated passed around and liked over 3400 times (and still counting). I started to think about how many times I click “Like” on a post and why I do it, and the meaning behind it. And I thought to myself do I have those reasons to click “Like” on this post?

I have followed this case with an open heart and open mind. And even though I have my own beliefs in how this should be conducted, I do however have a strong issue with what we are all doing now. To “Like” something (specifically in the FB context) is to agree with a portion of the comments or the article, or even photos posted. Why would we “Like” any of this, especially those of us who call ourselves LDS?
We have a lady who, regardless of rhyme or reason, has been excommunicated. And I can not help but be brought to the scriptures and think about John 8:7 where it states “He who is without sin, cast the first stone." Are we saying we are each without sin? Isn’t clicking “Like” right now kinda like throwing a stone?
Are we saying that we “Like” that she has been excommunicated because that’s what she had coming to her? Or that we “Like” the councils decision in this specific instance, or that we “Like” that a stand has been taken? Either way what is there to actually “Like” right now?
I have been raised in this gospel for most of my life, and one of the teachings I have learned is that the Atonement and Love of Christ applies to everyone. I do not for a minute believe that those bishops, councilmen and even our Prophet and and the members of his quorums are sitting there today thinking to themselves that they “Like” this situation, or “Like” that this daughter of God has been excommunicated.
So as someone who is raising children and who proudly teaches on a sunday will stand up today in front of many who will read and say. I do NOT “Like” any of this situation, especially its outcome. And I do not feel that we are being any better people by “Like”ing it."

Thank you, Jodie. Whoever you are.

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Wed, 25 Jun 2014 04:47:00 +0000

I've had a lot swirling around in my head in the last days, weeks, maybe even months. Things that don't quite make sense until I say them out loud or write them down. And I was missing having this as a place to write things down. Well, let me try that again.

I was missing this as a place to have a conversation.

I have a small life. I feel like I've said this before. Meaningful, but small. And really, if I'm completely honest, I'm okay with that. But being a part of the blogging community, interacting with women from all over the country and even the world made me feel a little bit bigger. We shared so much, as mothers and women, that suddenly, my life didn't seem quite so small and the trivial that wasn't so trivial to me was validated. And I miss that.

Anyway. This is just to say.

To each her own

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Wed, 07 May 2014 19:38:00 +0000

I've decided that I'm weird. No, really. Well, my tastes are anyway.

Raise your hand if you haven't heard of a dirty diet coke.

*crickets*

Now raise your hand if you've ever met anyone that didn't LOVE dirty diet coke (or dr. pepper, whatever your poison)

*crickets*

Put your hands up, ladies and gentlemen, because you have now. I hate coconut. I hate shredded coconut. I hate coconut syrup. I hate pina coladas. And I hate dirty diet cokes.

Now, raise your hand if you get excited about all the pumpkin flavored stuff that starts appearing in September and sticks around through Christmas?

Yeah, I hate that too. Pumpkin is gross.

See? But what I really want to know is this: is there anyone else out there like me? Anyone? Or am I all alone in my coconut, pumpkin hating world?

Shove a Stick Up It

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Mon, 28 Apr 2014 15:00:00 +0000

So, you know in decor, there was the whole "stick a bird on it" trend? Well, apparently the food bloggers wanted to get in on that and just left the bird out of it. They stuck to the stick. You know what I'm talking about. Shove a stick in any kind of dessert, or honestly, food, call it a pop and watch your hits skyrocket. And really, I mean anything. And to tell you the truth, I don't get it. I honestly don't get it. Does it taste better with a stick in it? Uh, no. Does it take longer to make? So much. There's the argument that kids love it. And you know what, maybe some do. But to tell you the truth, my kids prefer the mini, stickless corn dogs (really the only thing that should have a stick in it) to the larger, skewered version. I think were getting out of hand with this people. No, seriously. Just scroll down for proof. (and all I had to do was search 'pop' on Pinterest.)

Chocolate Covered Strawberries

And the thing is, it's not just limited to dessert.

Pop Tarts

Pancakes

Okay, this is the one that I really don't get. By the time you get all of those sticks up in there, all of the pancakes are cold. And really, who wants to eat a cold pancake?

Waffles

Muffins

Even Pizza.

Nothing is sacred. And you know what I say? Stop the madness.

If you're reading. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Thu, 24 Apr 2014 04:43:00 +0000

I don't know if anyone reads this little old blog anymore, but if you are, I'd like to ask your advice.

I wrote a story. I wouldn't call it a book, it's not quite long enough. A novella, maybe.

I'm seriously considering self publishing this through Amazon. I would really like to in fact.

And my question is this: does anyone out there have any experience with this? Any do's and don't's you would like to share with the class?

Also, I wouldn't mind a few beta readers. I'm sure it could use a little polishing, so if you're willing leave a comment or shoot me an email.

And if I do eventually go through with it, I'll let you know.

Things I never thought I would say about a Stinky Diaper:

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Wed, 16 Apr 2014 04:52:00 +0000

Good job, buddy!
That's a lot! I'm so glad.
Finally!
Guess what? Sam pooped today!

Ah, the joys of motherhood.

Today

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Sat, 12 Apr 2014 04:23:00 +0000

I feel like I don't want to, just yet, let this little blog die. I also feel like oh, so very much has happened in the past year. If you follow me on instagram (@rachelsueward) you know the big stuff.
I had a baby. Pretty much the cutest little boy ever. And I can say that because I'm his mama. Yes, your baby's cute too, but please. Don't try to tell me that you don't also secretly think that your baby is cuter than everyone else's. Because you know you do it too.

This baby is the sweetest, mildest baby. The easiest baby. He is mellow. He is calm. I LOVE it. My kids LOVE it. My husband LOVES it. Well, except for the part that the baby has started to realize that I'm the mommy and when I leave the room he screams because he loves me, but really, who can fault him for that?
Also, I have an 11 year old. Who babysat someone else's kids for the first time tonight. Yeah, I'm serious. She's 11. I've tried to tell her to knock it off but she keeps getting taller and it's driving me crazy. There is a very distinct possibility that she will pass me up in another year or two. There is also a distinct possibility that she will get as tall as I am exactly and then stop. It just depends on whose genes she has more of.

I have an onery first grader and a really bored preschooler. Who just *might* get into all day kindergarten next year and then we will all breathe a sigh of relief. Because seriously, HE IS SO BORED. People laugh. But it's not funny. SO BORED, I can't even tell you.

We fixed the hole in our basement. There is now a hole in our bank account. We are not moving. (Again.) We got bunnies. One of them isn't going to make it. We planted a garden. Not sure that's going to make it either. None of this is new. Or very exciting. But I posted on the blog. So that absolutely counts for something. And hopefully, I'll do it again before next year.

Why you should avoid Seven Peaks like the Plague

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 18:41:00 +0000

I bought the pass of all passes from Seven Peaks in April. When I didn't receive a receipt or confirmation number or anything, my rapid descent through hell (i.e. Seven Peaks Customer Service) began.

In an email to them:

I purchased 6 Pass of All Passes a few weeks ago, but I never recieved a confirmation email, and therefore, an unable to redeem my passes. I checked my bank statment, and the payment went through, so that was not the problem. If you could resend that email, I would really appreciate it.

Thank you.

Response:

Dear Seven Peaks Customer,

Thank you for emailing Seven Peaks Fulfillment with your question. I am currently auditing this email box. The answers to some of the most common questions that we see here on the Seven Peaks Fulfillment team are attached to this email. If they still do not answer your question, or if you feel after reading them that your case requires special treatment, please respond to this email with a one to two sentence summary of your issue in the body of the email. Also, choose the keyword below that best corresponds with the nature of your issue and make sure you include it exactly as written below in the subject line of your email. This will help us to meet whatever issues you are experiencing with greater speed and accuracy.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Josh

Priority Fulfillment Team

Seven Peaks

Me to Them:

I purchased 6 passes four weeks ago. I received no confirmation email and therefore heave no redemption code and no way to even begin the process of receiving my passes. It has been a week since my first email addressing this issue.

Thank you for your quick response.

Response:

Rachel,

The redemption codes will be on your account where you purchased your passes such as City Deals or Groupon. Make sure you go to www.sevenpeaks.com/redemption to enter your information so we can have it in our system. Please let us know if you have any more questions.

Thanks,

Tracy

Me to them:

I didn't purchase my passes through a 3rd party. I purchased them directly from the Seven Peaks website. I received no receipt email or confirmation whatsoever, but my bank account was charged the amount so I know that the transaction went through.

Response:

Dear Seven Peaks Customers
I just want to confirm that you've bought your Pass from City Deals, please reply as soon as possible so that i may be able to walk you through the steps of recovering your redemption code.
Thank You
Mackenley

Me to Them:

I bought my pass directly off of the Seven Peaks website. I did not use Ciy Deals, Groupon, Living Social or any other third part y website. My money went directly to you. I did not receive an email, a receipt, a voucher or any kind of redemption number. I have been waiting over six weeks now to try and get even that, and I have been horribly disappointed with the quality of your customer service. I would appreciate a prompt response resolving my issue.

Thank you.

Response:

Rachel
Thank You for contacting Seven Peaks, the main reason why i ask where you purchase your pass because that helps me know what the next step should be to activate your passes. So thank you for clarifying that you've purchase your passes through my company website. witch mean you can take your printed receipt to any of our water park or fun center and they will print you a new pass. We appreciate your patient.
Thank you
Mackenley

Me to Them:

I don't have a receipt. Of any kind. Whatsoever.

Still don't have a receipt, let alone the actual passes. If you haven't done it already, DON'T DO IT!

Adjusting

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Sue) — Tue, 12 Feb 2013 03:53:00 +0000

My kids are old.

No one in my house wears diapers. No one uses a sippy cup. No one sits in a highchair or a booster at the table. (The car is another story.) No one needs me to dress them or feed them.

It's weird. I almost don't know what to do with myself. Almost.

Because now I get to do things like homework, reading, PTA, soccer practice, activity days. Still busy, just different. And I honestly couldn't tell you which phase that I like better.