comehometoroost

Family Dynamics

2012-01-27T10:06:00.000-08:00

I worried about a future where a five year gap left this girl with just me and Newel long after all the others had flown the coop. Somebody's got to be the baby and the baby usually does get left behind. Sometimes that's preferable. Sometimes it's not.

I figured we had few other choices than to just try and make sure we were the three musketeers so that high school years wouldn't be quietly endured with the old folks.

I have friends who have tail-enders. I have friends .. and parents ... who have been tail-enders. Their experiences seem to have worked out for them. I still couldn't help but worry about our family dynamics. How hard would it be to go from constant attention in a hubbub herd to cold turkey only-child-ness as the nest gradually emptied five years before Eliza would do the same? I see my children confide in one another. Each has a go-to person to tell secrets, share experiences or tattletale on when Mom really needs to be in the know.

I just couldn't tell the future and I knew not that the future would hold yet another baby. Another friend to join the tail-end group, kind of puts my mind at ease.

On the flip side ... none of my children can remember their time alone with me. All with the exception of Grant, were shoved out by a new baby on the way. That does make me a little sad though it can't be helped. I remember each fondly along with our honeymoon period. Grant's was longer than any other and he does remember a time when it was just me, him and cuddly afternoon naps. I'm a little sorry they all can't remember though I wouldn't do anything differently.

So, with excitement mounting for early July and this girl finally going from saying, "No baby" to "My baby", I can't help but hope that in her future's fond recollections, she will hold a distant memory that one day, long ago ... there were just the two of us.

It sure is an honor

2012-01-25T14:06:00.000-08:00

The greatest reward had to be how pleased Annie was of herself for having accomplished the honor roll. Our grading system really begins to make more traditional sense in middle school and she had a huge adjustment first semester from charter school to public district. So to her ... this was huge and worthy of grand celebration.

So, we hauled our otherwise lazy bones out of bed this morning at 5:30 a.m to get bigger kids where they needed to be and then whooped it up for a rare breakfast at McDonald's.

Until the start of the school award ceremony held during first period.

That face said it all.

We even found her middle school companion/errant brother taking a very slow saunter to the water fountain and bathroom in the hall. We convinced him to join us for the celebration .... with a little persuasive promise of the lemonade and cookie reception to follow ... and it never hurts to skip first period, I think ... especially when your mother just caught you already trying to do so.

But we lost him to a bleacher full of girls on gym entry. I couldn't even fit them all into the camera frame. I'm going to have to lock him up. In addition to our own bunch, however, they were a great cheering section for Annie.

It's always fun to get a sneak peek into the school world of teenage kids.

Especially when this boy has no qualms about heading back up the stairs to the classrooms, hanging over the balcony and shouting down to the commons below, "Bye Mom, Love you!" before high five-ing buddies and supposedly heading back to class.

Way to go Annie! Proud of that girl and just as honored to be her mom.

Bedside manner

2012-01-23T14:04:00.000-08:00

I don't ever remember my mother taking a sick day. If she did, I just can't recall it.

If she had ... and I'd stood by watching her lay around eating fantastic food brought by all of her lovely friends whilst nodding approval at my dad tackling mountains of dirty toddler diapers, I might have felt an upset in the balance of reality possibly leading to a tear in the fabric of the time/space continuum (too much BBC Dr. Who this weekend, sorry) ....

And I might have had to devise a plan to get her back on her feet.

First, I'd make sure her friends brought great magazines she never gets to read along with that food. She'd have plenty of time to scour them until she absolutely hates the walls of her own home and is itching to paint, reupholster, frame, sew .... everything.

Then, I'd make sure her Ipad was close at hand so she could cruise websites she's never had two cents worth of interest in until her disinterest turns to reluctant boredom addiction and she's seen everything on there twice AND is ready to craft or cook herself into a full blown insane frenzy.

For sure, I'd spend the day taking a tooth from not-so-loose to bloody horror with updates every two minutes despite her queasy pleas to stop because ... after all, it's not every day you get a captive audience.

Next, I'd most certainly make her watch every single lovin' episode of PBS Curious George on Netflix until she's ready to scream at that man with the yellow hat, "Why ... oh WHY do you keep leaving a monkey with a three year old mentality alone and then wondering how he gets into so much trouble???"

And if none of that would work, I'd just suit up, haul her purse off the counter, surf for her keys and head for the door announcing that I would "drive da jeep to get da kids".

That, my friends, would most certainly put her back on her stilts after four days. Just bettin' it would.

Day off

2012-01-20T20:19:00.000-08:00

The troops have been holding down the fort and we're home and healing nicely.

Thank you all for your kindest thoughts.

I'm certain the doctors got a kick out of my reference under anesthesia to "surgery" as a mother's day off.

At least their distant foggy laughter told me so.

Real ... a baby update

2012-01-18T10:47:00.000-08:00

Five babies were relatively easy. I really didn't think much of it. But after my fifth, I got a not so great report card at an annual exam resulting in a phone call using the words irregular, cells and cancer. There was a surgery and then another before I got a clean bill of health.

I hadn't expected that we might be finished growing our family until two consecutive miscarriages scared me into the realization that I was so much more lucky than I'd ever imagined to have the five I had. Regardless of my will, and love for all things baby, I might just be looking at game over.

As I've mentioned before, Eliza — my six baby — was a surprise. I'd moved to the country. I'd changed doctors due to the distance and I'd already begun to hang up my "I Heart Babies" t-shirt. It wasn't easy. I couldn't let myself get excited. I don't think anyone who's had a miscarriage and finds themselves pregnant again can help but sit on pins and needles waiting for the tell-tale signs that this too, will be a failure.

But she wasn't. Born early enough for a NICU stay, she was otherwise perfect in every way and we celebrated the chance to get to do this one more time.

And then I felt content to call it good and put myself through a two and a half year baby-love rehab program. Perhaps I could survive this world without the wonders a little one brings to a family and simply drink this last lovely child in. I'd at least try my best.

So this most recent discovery ... that's the real surprise. A seventh? It's like crack to an addict, I tell ya.

I've still not been able to help myself, though. I've held the excitement at bay. I've been that girl standing with positive pregnancy test in hand, seeing my future with tiny fingers and toes only to find myself on a hospital curb stunned by familiar pain minus the joyful new baby car seat buckling rituals. How can seven times possibly turn out great? Aren't the odds stacked against us? It sounds really pessimistic, but I've been in self preservation mode these last few weeks simply because being blindsided is really no fun.

I visited my doctor. She gave me a "congratulations". I gave her a "we'll see". And then she proceeded to discuss risks. Risk this and risk that, but no real information because she'd really not been my physician through and through. Just the one birth.

I left feeling uneasy.

And woke up in the night with a clear, "Go back to the city to see your old doctor." To hammer it home, Newel woke up simultaneously at my fidgeting and said, "I think you'll feel better if you go see your old doctor for more information."

We did just that and it was like going home. We walked out thoroughly informed, clear headed and moving forward. We learned that the surgery he'd performed in the past limited a baby's ability to stay put, hence Eliza's early arrival. He'd done the work and he knew the extent of what we were looking at. A second baby to follow would have even more difficulty but a simple sewing up surgery would tighten the seat belt. Most assuredly a 25 to 28 week delivery without it, but we were in the right place now. I found myself a little frightened by the "what ifs" of not having listened to those midnight promptings.

And so ... tomorrow being the moment of truth, I lay awake much of last night reviewing the risks of undergoing surgery while pregnant, rethinking the farm-out of kids, making lists for preparedness while I'm down, thinking on blood tests and ultrasounds showing that all is well despite my fears, mentally realizing that regardless of my arms length efforts, this has now all become very real.

There is actually going to be a baby to add to our family. The kids excitement at the prospect is really going to be validated. I'm really going to have to slow my otherwise active lifestyle. I'm really going to have to plan a far different summer. We're really going to have to reshuffle rooms for an addition one way or another. We really aren't going to fit into our car any more.

And we're really going to get to do this one more time ... again.

I had a moment

2012-01-12T11:49:00.000-08:00

When I was pregnant with one of the other kids ... back before I could afford anything maternal to wear, I resorted to donning Newel's shirts. Later, every time I'd see one of those shirts with their pattern and color, I'd feel a slight wave of nausea. Had to totally clean out his closet.

It's the same with certain restaurants or foods. Doritos. I can only stand to look at those things if I'm using them as the single one thing that's going to help me survive from point A to point B.

Funny that.

My mom says it was the same for her. She cut out three little girl's dresses and then pregnancy nausea stopped her cold. For years after that, when she'd pull out those dresses to finish them, she'd feel a little sick.

I don't want my computer and blogging to hold the same connotation so I've avoided sitting down. Still life is swirling, whirling around me and at fourteen weeks, I'm hoping the bend in the corner is just up ahead. I'm starting to wonder if I may never feel good again.

Anyway.

Over Christmas break, I had a moment. One of those not so proud motherhood moments. My poor kids had no idea why I felt so ill all the time and on top of it, I was pretty much filled up with eyeball rolling over requests for help in dish doing and general maintenance.

I'd just wrapped a gift for a certain child in our family and exiting my bedroom to place it under the tree, I was hit hard in the nose by dirty diaper smell. Coincidentally, the same child whose gift I held in hand appeared and I randomly asked her to grab me a diaper so I could change the offender.

"I'm so tired of having to do everything for you!" rolled out so much quicker then I'm sure she intended. Before I could stop myself, I silently and calmly (that's the part that does make me proud of me) opened the front door and frisbee-d her present across the snow covered driveway before taking myself back to my room.

It's really hard for sick pregnant mom and nice mom to coexist in the same space, I'm discovering.

Still, that's no excuse and of course, my conscience quickly took over and I retrieved the gift, rewrapped, apologized and thanked her for all of her help in our family and she then apologized too, feeling the sting of my silent message.

And then I slunk around feeling like I'd really lost my absolute last chance for 2011's mother of the year award.

I even lamented my fall from grace on the phone to my mother. "I don't ever remember you flipping out." I said and to that she laughed heartily and exclaimed, "It worked!!"

What did? I inquired.

She remembered being my age and talking this same way with a more experienced friend who assured her that children would remember nothing but the best of times, the smiles and hugs and here I was confirming that very truth.

And then the best ever gift from me to me arrived via the postal service.

How quickly we gathered around to flip page after page of all the year's fun memories! Wasn't that a good day, we said time and time again.

I realized that for every one "fly off the handle" moment, there were so many great ones. And, I guess I write this is not because I want to remember my personal nastiness. More importantly, maybe one day I'll have a daughter call me only remembering our great stuff in the midst of her own unpleasant angst and I don't want to forget to tell her, "It worked!!!"

And I want to be able to assure her that in her own book of life, those not so pretty moments sit in the shadow of 365 beautifully filled pages each year.

Happy New Years

2012-01-03T20:34:00.000-08:00

It's going to be a hum dinger of a one for us and there's lots to say on that account but not today. I'm horking down a bag of pretzels just so's I can document our holiday wrap up before my blood sugar plummets leaving my lifeless carcass laying over by the heater vent begging for warmth and cursing that same said bag of pretzels.

In the meantime, thank you all for the well wishes and kind thoughts expressed! We're surprised, nervous and excited all at the same time.

I was so looking forward to the winter break with no schedules or "have to's". And then it went a lot like this:

Child: Mom, will you get us some egg nog at the grocery store next time you go?

Mom: Sweetheart, you may never say egg nog ever again.

Child: Can we have some of those cookies the neighbor brought?

Mom: No, I ate them all and now, you may never say cookies ever again.

Husband: Did you add so-and-so to the Christmas card mailing list?

Mom: I did, and you may never say Christmas cards ever again.

Every moment of life tainted by nausea and enhanced by a deep chest cough.

And so, today's first day back to school was beginning to be highly anticipated as my life ... house and all, look like an earthquake happened and I really need the peace that order brings to my nauseated existence.

Then one child had a panic attack ... and I mean seriously a panic attack ... getting out of the car at the elementary school curb this morning. It hurt my heart so badly to realize that even though my brain is topsy turvy right now, the only place that one child wants to be is at home where the fun is ongoing. On the surface, some days, it just looks crazy to me.

But, they don't see the laundry piles, the dishes undone, the legos I keep stepping on, the couch pillows I pick up a million times a day or the mother who is green around the gills.

They just see home.

So, here's the winter break vacation highlights and our own New Years rockin' Eve. When I look at it this way, I feel the same. Like there's no place I'd rather be. Even though I secretly know that the mom taking these pictures, was thinking in her mind every step of the way, "Just put one foot in front of the other and you'll live through this day."

Constant challenge to a race.

Lots of convincing that this could be fun.

Showing Newel our favorite zoo. He was just as hooked as we were.

Headbandz ... a game for future auditors.

And New Year's Eve, a dance party to remember.

Dear Cold and Flu season,

2011-12-30T16:18:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry I've been blaming you for what has felt like the longest illness of my life.

My most sincerest apologies,

It comes and goes so quickly

2011-12-29T18:35:00.000-08:00

And I'm left marveling at the hoopla that builds up to such a small span of time. There really is a whole lotta "extra" surrounding the true meaning of Christmas, isn't there?

We're no different.

But, just as hunger is the best seasoning to food, so is anticipation to Christmas morning and I'm pretty sure we couldn't go wrong no matter how hard we tried.

What I found this year, however, was that the most precious gifts to a mom come in the form of that which can't be bought. The fun, the excitement, the faces, and the sheer joy of being together.

But gift giving is nice, too.

I asked for one gift. To be early enough to church to sit on a soft bench and listen to the Christmas program with nothing but pleasantness all around and not one cross word uttered. It was a Christmas miracle. Stockings early and then an eager hop-to to get ready and out the door. Everyone agreed that they loved getting dressed and on our way to soak in the true spirit of Christmas. In the end, it made coming home to brunch and opening presents more relaxed and enjoyable. I wish we could do this every year as it was the best gift ever.

On my way through the church doors, I greeted dear friends and parents of nine children grown and gone. I asked if she had family in town and she said they'd come for Thanksgiving so all was quiet at her house. For those brief hours, I sat with my children around me and forced time to stand still.

And just for a moment ... it did.

I asked Eliza to show me what Santa had left her. Perfect toe pose and such a girl. This year, her understanding clicked, but she still kept saying she didn't want "Ho, ho, ho to come because he's 'cary". Still, she's put a thousand miles on both the shoes and the doll stroller he brought her.

I love the anticipation surrounding the kids gifts to each other.

I know, I know ... he'll shoot his eye out ... but brothers were dying to do this together.

I love Christmas trickery. I swore I'd be the last parent on the earth to give a teen a cell phone.... until I couldn't find Celia anymore ... and calling her friends to find her was getting overwhelming ... and receiving texts from random friends to tell me where she was or was gonna be was getting weird ... and driving days are looming fast.

I have thought myself pretty darn smart thus far to have allowed her friend's mothers to pay for her cell phone plan :) But it was time.

Still ... it's all she's wanted and all she asked for and every time I countered with a, "Honey, it's not gonna happen. I don't want to see you disappointed on Christmas morning yet again, so what would you really like?"

And then I wrapped everything in cell phone sized boxes and put the phone in a giant box full of heavy magazines.

She eagerly opened every one of those little presents first .. a scarf, some gum, earphones. And I watched her try not to let her face fall with each.

By the end, we had to nudge her toward the big box and just KNOWING it wasn't what she hoped it could possibly be, she put on her bravest smile and opened her last gift.

It was priceless.

And now, I'm funny and smart.

And here's what the rest of our day looked like. Talking to grandparents. Back in our pj's. Eliza into new one's she'll never remove ... ever. Celia texting the entire high school to tell them of her new phone. Games and reading and playing and eating and a little target shooting from the front porch, of which I have no pics.

And no, ... Janie does not wear glasses. Santa just brings her a fake, glassless pair every year and we have to endure her wearing them every day until they break. I guess one year he just knew how badly she wanted glasses and brought her pseudo ones. Somehow their private little tradition stuck.

And we've been in a Christmas coma ever since. Haven't you?

And to all a good night

2011-12-24T10:17:00.000-08:00

Blogging? .... it's kind of fallen to the wayside these last couple of weeks.

Wheezing, coughing, sniffles, and my personal favorite ... the gift of a sinus infection all mine to enjoy with a little nausea thrown in on top. I've heard of, read of, know of so many folks trying to enjoy the season around family illness fun. It certainly prioritizes you really fast.

The Christmas buckets sat in the hall for a week before I put what I deemed unnecessary, back down in the basement. I bought teacher gifts rather than made them **gasp**, how the mighty have fallen. I cut back ... way back ... shopped online when I could, pushed the rest off until last minute.

Which, by the way, is the way to go when you have teenagers who run out with friends and buy for themselves what you just bought for them and then your stuck with the returns ... just sayin'.

But ... if I could pick a Christmas theme to wrap up all my inadequacies in, it would be one line from an old favorite:

"It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags."
— The Grinch, by Dr. Seuss

Either way, Christmas will come. No, our family isn't going without this year. But, cutting back the fluff has kept us a little more grounded and a lot more stress free ... sickish, but stress free.

I'm grateful for simplicity. Some of the simplest memories have been the best this year.

I'm grateful for Christmas on a Sunday. I love that. The focus tomorrow morning really will be more on getting ready, out the door and on time to church then what is or is not done and under the tree. The excitement will still be there, I'm certain, but I love that the real meaning will be front and foremost in our day.

And this season, I've been more than a little grateful for those who have hosted parties, gathered friends, and invited our family in our well-est moments, to share in the Christmas spirit of just being together and having a good time.

Where I was lacking, you made all the difference.

Here are a few of our funnest memories:

School Christmas concert. Usually I dread these as one more thing to do at Christmas, but I was at the height of needing to let my children sit and be entertained by someone other than me. It was a perfect remedy.

Newel spent a week working in the Netherlands. Following his trip, a package arrived from a sweet colleague friend, full of St. Nicholas celebration paraphernalia from that country. It was so entertaining to learn that children over in the Netherlands put their shoes out in the hopes of a gift from St. Nicholas who is decidedly NOT our version of Santa Claus, but rather the former Bishop of Turkey. BUT, if he and his followers, not elves but rather the Spanish Moores, determine that you've been naughty this year, they kick you in your sleep and throw you into a sack to be sold into slavery instead.

We determined that American children are weak.

Gingerbread house making and soup party at our dear friend's house. Could not have asked for a better way to celebrate great friendships.

First morning of winter break, celebrated by snowman pancakes.

A boy who found a simple recipe for pretzel making and thought they'd be just the thing to help us all feel better. They were, and Christmas miracle of miracles ... he cleaned the kitchen.

Siblings home to play fun invented games like, feeding lions treats (hershey kisses) in cages.

And not to be forgotten, a traditional Christmas slumber party under the tree.

Merry Christmas from our family to yours! May you enjoy the simplest things in your life as we celebrate the birth of Christ who came to take all our inadequacies and make us better than we are.

One small step for man

2011-12-12T12:23:00.000-08:00

You know how you'd like to sleep in on a Saturday but your brain is stuck on a self timer of school schedule?

Newel and I dutifully opened our eyes at 5:30 a.m and though I yearned to go back to sleep, he had the insight to yank kids from their beds and haul us all up the hill to watch a lunar eclipse.

And half an hour later, when their sleepy brains caught up with their bodies, we all agreed it was one of the coolest things we'd ever remember — even the teenagers.

We're easily entertained.

And though some of us may never have fully grasped the science behind a lunar eclipse, we did determine a few things.

1) The moon is not made of cheese.

2) The earth does in fact revolve around the sun.

3) The world is not flat.

4) And, We are on planet earth.

Thanks, Galileo, for not allowing me to sleep through moments I'd forever miss.

Staring down a smoking barrel called Christmas

2011-12-02T10:08:00.000-08:00

I've not been feeling 100% lately.

And not feeling well makes all the Christmas stuff piled out in the hall feel like a daunting task. The tree beggars started in and I gave the green light. Just do it, says I.

And I turned over the reigns and relinquishing the box of "proper" ornaments inherited from my mother-in-law at our first Christmas as a married couple, accompanied by the bin of what we'd call "other stuff".

And I sat in the chair with Bing Crosby singing in my ear whilst issuing gentle reminders to avoid "front loading" the tree.

There was so much fun to be had in the non-micromanagement of a sub par mom.

Later, in the silent darkness of quieted children tucked into bed, I stopped by the tree to unplug the lights and paused for a moment to admire the handiwork.

I noticed the proper ornaments all placed at the back to counterbalance the weighty spread of memories from the "other stuff" bin thickly covering the tree's front side display. Heavily laden by hand prints and school picture ornaments, baked dough and Scotch taped crafts, each one with a story and a "Remember when ...". The tree looked less than perfect and yet perfectly perfect all in one go.

And it hit me ... all that other stuff waiting ... in boxes to go up and on my to-do list to go down ... not one bit of it is as important as I seem to think it is. Apparently, what's most important is on the front of our tree. And this year, that's all right by me.

Let's go back to Thanksgiving

2011-11-30T09:07:00.000-08:00

I unplugged.

Really unplugged.

Gathered up, closed up shop, and headed an hour and a half up to Breckenridge, CO for five glorious, turkey filled days.

We lucked out getting a last minute deal on a house that sat with the ski lift right out the front door. Independent kids came and went all day while I threw food at them.

They were in heaven. I was in heaven. Eliza wasn't in heaven being left behind at first but was easily distracted with games, books, naps, movies and one on one hot tub-ing with mom.

And I had time.

Miles and miles of un-distracted time.

For board games and reading and leisure meals and togetherness.

Why does getting away from all the "stuff" that clutters life always open my eyes to the more important "stuff" right under my nose? I don't know. But it was the greatest way to celebrate gratitude.

And now that we're back .... there's a 5th grade wax museum and 2nd grade economics "store" to make for and a 6th grade musical/play with lines to learn and a Freshman dance class final to choreograph and a young women/young men's church talent show and a Relief Society dinner skit to perform in ... all this week.

And the Christmas boxes look like they threw up on top of the unpacked Thanksgiving vacation out in the living room and hall.

Certainly more "stuff" that I'm grateful that I get to do day in and day out.

But I can't help but feel it.

Let's go back, shall we?

Thanksgiving racketeering

2011-11-21T10:03:00.000-08:00

I don't like racketeering.

Elementary school Thanksgiving lunch feels like racketeering.

The trick is to find a reason to get the parents in the door and then hit them broadside financially. I understand. I just can't say as I love it.

I pay twice the price for the adult lunch as the kids and get the same exact meal ... size, nutritional value, appeal and all.

I'm assaulted by the brimming school lobby book fair boasting 75% mark up.

I'm affronted with cries for spirit wear purchases and long faces that we're not sporting more t-shirts with falcons on them.

And I'm a heel if I'm the only parent not participating because I'm not highly skilled in slamming down pressed "turkey" in 20 minutes.

The only genuine thing I can see through all the racket is the thrill that I'm there.

And so on the thankful side of the whole Thanksgiving lunch experience:

I can't help but feel gratitude at the delight of a baby sister getting to eat "wunch" at "kool".

Gratitude for kids who are excited at the simplest of things, like a mom coming just to see them.

Gratitude that I already made a donation.

Gratitude for teachers and education.

And gratitude that today, I left my wallet at home.

Party like it's 1998

2011-11-15T20:17:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel like Mom of the Year, cheer leading my kids into continually trying until they achieve something they really, REALLY want.

Then I realize that social services could just as easily show up and take them away.

Ever since Christian and I went here, he could talk of nothing other than taking the entire family for his birthday.

And I'm not really good with present stuff.

But fun togetherness experiences ... the stuff that life is made of?

Sign me up.

Climbing into our car to head for home, tired and muscle sore, Grant sighed in the darkness, "I want to close my eyes and remember today forever."

I think we all felt the same.

(Harry Potter ... here he comes!)

Christian's 13

2011-11-14T22:16:00.000-08:00

I keep this picture of Christian on top of a shelf where I pass by it multiple times a day. It's the only thing that keeps me from killing him sometimes.

He was born on a Friday the 13th. Newel was out of town and I waited with a best girlfriend at the hospital trying not to give birth until he could make it. All that red hair was a surprise. We took him home and he never, for one second, could stop moving. Never, ever, have I seen a more herky jerky newborn.

And he hasn't stopped since.

You'da thought those signs would have told me something.

I could strain my brain to write 13 things I love about Christian.

But ....

What I notice recently is that my heart does feel like bursting whenever he's around. Because, he is becoming.

Becoming adorable.

Becoming witty.

Becoming nice.

Becoming aware.

Becoming fun.

Becoming tall.

Becoming hard working.

Becoming responsible.

Becoming pleasant.

Becoming gentle.

Becoming reasonable.

Becoming closer.

Becoming a young man.

What more could a mother ask for?

Happy birthday, Christian. I couldn't be happier to have you come home to me each day.

Veteran's Day

2011-11-11T08:54:00.000-08:00

The group of small children sit spellbound around the table, completely engrossed in the adventure being laid before them by the man that is their father.

He spins a tale of a soldier, attempting to snatch snippets of sleep in a monsoonal rain as drenched rats gnaw holes at the sleeping bag's toe, desperate for refuge deep within it's warmth. The soldier kicks them away and shifts position, hoping the trenched moat surrounding the army issue tent, is deep enough to hold the night's down pour.

Later our hero is fleeing through the tropical underbrush, machete in hand as the zips of gun fire whiz past his head. He hears each shot clearly, tearing through leaves and splintering trunks of the trees in the unfamiliar terrain. As he leaps over vegetation fallen in decay, hacking at the jungle with his knife's sharp blade, he yells in desperation into the speaker of a hand held radio, "ALPHA, TANGO, CHARLIE!!"

... And the children sit in wide eyed silence ...

As the lone soldier's eyes desperately sweep the desolate interior of the ramshackle farmhouse, he looks pleadingly for anywhere to hide and await the rescue helicopters he's certain will come. His ears strain for the sounds of foreign voices beyond the meager walls, beating brush and overturning the farm's abandoned yard in search of their easy prey. He calculates the distanced in sound and it's equivalence to his inevitable capture. His only hope, a closet before him and the slightest glimmer of a hiding place.

Catlike, he moves and silently slips into the waiting closet darkness. He shifts to the small enclosure's darkest regions and flattens himself against the back wall, never daring the slightest breath. He braces his footing solidly on the ground, readying for the oncoming assault and in so doing, his left mud-splattered boot scrapes an object emitting a low metallic thud.

Time freezes. Could it be? He allows himself to slide to a crouch and in the darkness feels the boxy container. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the low lighting, he sees them. The tell tale numbers of measurement, .. 30, 40, 50, ... 120, 130, 140 ... nothing more or less than a true bathroom scale!

The guttural utterances of foreign soldiers resonates within the outer room now. But our hiding friendly breathes just a little slower at the dawning of salvation at his feet.

Chairs clatter, glass breaks and a scrape at the closet's door calls for quick decision. And in an adrenaline filled moment, amid shouts, a flood of light from the flung open passage, guns clicked to fire .... our hero, ... our soldier ...

Jumps on the newfound bathroom scale to get a weigh.

For a moment, there's confusion in the anxious children's eyes. And then laughter all around as the story's ending clarifies it's double meaning.

"Naw, Dad," insist cries all around, "Tell us what Vietnam was really like?!!"

But reflectively serious once again, he ushers them off to bed with a shake of his head and a tight hug filled with hidden meaning.

The children are all grown with children of their own now and no longer naive enough to believe in fairy tales. It's never been clear, the fact from the fiction, but there's clearly a chunk of life lived in a distant land. And there are silhouettes. Of two eighteen year old children married in the wake of a military draft. Of a hasty honeymooned departure. Of a new father's congratulations on a baby born half a world away. Of fears in the night and dreams recalling loved one's prayers. No glamour, no fantasy, just life's hard reality.

"Wow, Mom" says the next generation, "Grandaddy looks so young."

"He was, sweethearts. He was. Not much older than you. They were babies sent to do a man's work." and the children rush off to the yard to play. Their feet running fleetingly over the winter's frozen ground.

Ground that was bought.

Bought with a price.

By tales lacking storybook endings.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, to all who make us free.

Be your own

2011-11-10T14:46:00.000-08:00

Be who you are and say what you feel,
because those who mind don't matter
and those who matter don't mind.
~Dr. Seuss

She fits no mold and never will.

Janie's driven my teenage neighbor into crazed submission over horseback riding lessons. It's been hard to establish a routine there and so now she's driving me crazy to drive my neighbor's mom crazy to drive her daughter crazy for lessons each week.

But if that's what it takes ...

And that smile says she couldn't care less about driving people crazy.

She's been wearing these on her fingers since she acquired them at the dentist six months ago. Daily. Do you think they drive her school teacher crazy?

I know they drive her piano teacher/mother crazy.

Do you think that concerns her?

Not really.

She's her own gal.

Who we wouldn't trade ... except on rare occasions.

Small treasures

2011-11-08T06:56:00.000-08:00

When asked by my bigger kids, to drive them and their friends somewhere .... anywhere ... my heart jumps a little at the chance.

It's rare to be invited into their world.

And because I spend so much time and energy on the younger souls of my household, I do so treasure the opportunity to get a glimpse at the interactions and the friendships of my older children.

It tells me so much more about them.

Even when I merely sit silently in the driver's seat and observe through a rear view mirror.

Friday's trip, though a little more subdued than the usual jaunt to and from a dance or party, was telling just the same.

A rare glimpse of life's precious treasure.

Going senile ... I mean ... developing patience

2011-11-07T12:09:00.000-08:00

I'm a "Project Patience" work in progress. There really isn't a day that goes by that I don't react badly to something, even a small thing, catch myself, and think, "When am I going to master this one quality!!".

"Probably never," myself almost always answers back.

Talking to oneself is a sign of senility, I'm sure.

But when I take a step back and look at a bigger picture, something like this:

Would, once, have sent me over the edge.

And now I know it'll be over all too quickly and I run for the camera understanding a little girl's magnetism.

Who of us doesn't laugh at the thought of ourselves boiling those first dropped pacifiers. Panicking in the face of dirty floor crawling. Crazily scouring entire bathrooms when only tubs had been defecated.

Nowadays ... I just want to know how many suckers from the Halloween candy bucket it's going to take to adequately distract while I attempt to clean something ... anything.

More senility.

Or more patience.

Either way, I'll take it.

Fall break twice removed

2011-11-03T08:53:00.000-07:00

Before the memory of fall break laziness seems just a dream, here's to spending a week of simply enjoying the last bits of beautiful weather and being us.

And thanks for the pedicure kids. I know it takes a village.

Halloween 2011

2011-11-01T13:41:00.000-07:00

Matter of factly, overheard at the elementary school:

Mom: "You need to calm down now."

Child: "I just can't because I've been smiling all day!"

This was a transitional year. No requests. No desired creativity. Self reliance in costuming. Self sufficiency in trick or treating. Bittersweet like sour gummy worms.

This year:

A little girl who caught on fast and might make a career in candy stalking. A man who got into the spirit of things, chasing teenage youth through our woods with a chainsaw. Dressing up thematically to the irritation of some very independent lady friends :) A $1 toddler's Salvation Army kitty costume that a sewn one couldn't beat. Teenage independence. And finally getting to go to "kool" to watch parades and party some more.

A holiday full of firsts and definitely reasons to smile.

Halloween kids in the kitchen

2011-10-26T22:33:00.000-07:00

(My Meow and her Meow Cookies)

This is not the healthiest of food choice weeks, but it's one we wait all year for. Seriously.

A few years back, I got sideswiped by begging kids at the grocery store and caved, buying a couple of those little Pillsbury ... Bisquick ... Betty Crocker ... whatever, recipe booklets that sit at the check out.

We have used them to death. Seriously.

I wanted to give credit to them by putting a picture of their worn nature here, but Celia took them to high school to peruse with her friends over lunch yesterday, as they plan for a Halloween shin-dig they are throwing here on Friday night.

I stressed a little when I found out that one of her friends asked to take them home to earmark what they will make for their party.

I looked Celia in the eye and sternly emphasized that we need to get those back because they are our favorite cookbooks.

She laughed and I laughed and then I put on my straight face and said, "Seriously". Then she laughed with her friends and told them her mother had gone Halloween recipe crazed and needed them back, giving them her most serious face on my behalf.

Because, we are serious about dinner this time of year. The kids and I have fun and Newel is an accommodating dad because he doesn't get to eat eyeballs and fingers all that often, really.

Homemade Meatballs and Spaghetti

National Hebrew Giant's Fingers.
(In sliced and inverted pretzel buns)

Owl cookies made from Pillsbury pre-made pizza crust. Slice, unroll the tips, fit two together with pretzel gold fish for nose, sprinkle with cinnamon/sugar, bake and place kisses for eyes. (I feel I must explain because Newel sauntered into the kitchen

exclaiming "Oh, Snails!" and offended the cook).

Guacamole monster burgers ... 'nuff said.

Cemetery baked potato casserole.

Bake potatoes, slice a few length wise, cube the rest and fry for a minute in a pan with butter and season salt. Put in a casserole dish and top with favorite chopped baked potato toppings. We use onion, corn, bacon, tomato, cheese and bell pepper. Write on the "tomb stone" potatoes with a little sour cream/ketchup mix in a plastic sandwich bag with the corner snipped. Stick 'em in the ground and serve with sour cream.

And just because it's sort of food related and I have nowhere else to stick these ... we got this Yugoslavian Finger Squash in our farming vegetable co-op box last week. It looks like it'd be miserable to peel and cook but ... after great dinners of fingers and eyeballs, it makes for a darn good massage. Just sayin'.

Of missed wunkin carving

2011-10-25T18:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Newel,

We want you to know how much we appreciate you and all that you do. You work so hard for us and sometimes that work takes you away and makes you miss things that we know you love.

Last night around the table, Celia and Christian laughed all over again about their big kids date with us to the haunted house on Saturday night. How you ducked under each spot where you were certain some ghostly actor would reach out and grab you. How you pushed them out in front of you. How you ran for the exit once you heard the chainsaw and kept on running, leaping over the barricade in the parking lot, not stopping until you reached the car.

The little kids marveled that you still love to gather us to watch "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown." The big ones made the other's jealous that they got to stay up late and watch "The Creature From the Black Lagoon" with you.

I love that you are such a big kid inside and that you make such experiences fun for them.

I enjoyed hanging on the phone with you last night as the kids carved — as Eliza says, "Wunkins" -- for family home evening. I know it's one of your favorite activities and talking with you while working with them, was almost like doing it together.

And since you couldn't actually see the action, I photographed it for you so you could feel a part of us. I know that all of this magic happens because you are off working hard for our family. We are so grateful for that.

We love you and miss you. Without you, the fun just isn't the same.

All my love,

P.S All are volleying for one of us to declare a first place above the others. Beware ... it's a trap :)

Kids in the kitchen

2011-10-24T14:44:00.000-07:00

Grandma laughs, tongue in cheek, about the time that Christian stayed with them and came in the kitchen declaring, "Not a yucky dinner again!"

Getting kids to eat can be really tricky business when they are little. Not so much as they grow up ... at least for teenage boys. Then the question is how to keep them from eating you into a second mortgage.

When my oldest ones were little I tried to jazz things up a bit.

We had a Costco night and I put everything on their plate with a toothpick and had them eat with plastic sandwich baggies on their hands.

I bought plastic compartmental trays like a lunch room and that was fun for a while.

Growing our own vegetable garden was really exciting ... even in pots on the porch back in our apartment days.

Any trick that would work. In truth, I really didn't care if they ate or not. In our day — I say that like we're old fogies ... if you didn't eat, you just went hungry and that was that.

But, dinner avoidance produced hungry hypoglycemic kids, vomiting in the morning which really wasn't my thing.

And, tearful "You will sit here until you eat everything on your plate" just wasn't either.

Iphone pic ... Eliza trying to suck a dinner night out through a chopstick straw.

But getting kids involved, has turned the tables (I love a well placed pun).

When each child took turns with responsibility for producing a healthy dinner they loved, it really hurt to hear the others say ... "Ew, yuck." Pointing out the effort made, and knowing your turn was coming and everyone might not like the end result, really produced a change.

And I think folks started to realize how a mom feels when she's worked to present a meal to the accolades of "Gross!". And they certainly learned to appreciate the hard work involved.

Friday night pizzas and Annie's home economics skills put to work. She's an expert at chips and salsa.

And these kids sure love a turn in the kitchen.

Who are you wearing?

2011-10-19T11:48:00.000-07:00

I've been frustrated lately with how shabby my teens have been dressing. I admit, I'm not a good back to school clothing shopper. New clothing isn't really a necessity until the weather turns in October, anyway.

Then I stepped into the middle and high school ... and every child looks like they crawled out from under a rock.

So, I caved and took my teens shopping for a nice thing or two.

I walked into a store of their choosing at the outlet malls ... and everything on the rack looked like it had been run over by a truck ... more than once.

Now, I'm no fashionista. We only got new shoes and blue jeans when we desperately needed them growing up. Once in a while a box would come in the mail full of hand-me-downs from a cousin and we'd rip that sucker apart like hungry animals baring our teeth in challenge to any who might think of laying claim to what was now rightfully possessed.

But ...

Today's teen fashion seems to have a Salvation Army style to it.

And I said as much.

And I left the store.

And I drove on over to the Salvation Army with really irritated teens.

And then, my "hand-me-down" ways kicked into high gear.

And though my teens looked at me in disgust ... because lets face it ... we'd rather wear a $40.00 shirt that looks like it got run over by truck than one that actually DID ...

I had the greatest time ever.

I found this sweater for $2.00 ... and after feeling incredibly stupid taking pictures of my self ...

I decided to hang them instead so you could see this perfect condition angora cardigan sweater for $3.00

These super soft pants I adore and seem never before worn for $5.00.

This cute blouse for $3.00.

And this one for $2.00

And vintage jacket I fell in love with for $10.00. It takes a seamstress to know that it is quality made and who wouldn't adore that real leather binding? It's fitted perfectly and I'm pairing it with a brown skirt and boots this fall.

Annie was playing with the camera and happened to snag me wearing these. Anne Taylor shirt $1.50 and wide leg white pants for $2.00.

And the coup de grace. This Calvin Klein dress with the tags still on in exactly my size which I bought for $7.00. It was as though it was sitting there just waiting for me. Not really being a sleeveless gal myself, I was excited to find a short cardigan on the clearance rack at Target for a few bucks that paired up beautifully.

And so ... though my kids looked at me like they should hug me with rubber gloves and raincoat on ... and who are they to talk anyway with their fashionably ripped up jeans?? I felt like I'd had a winner of a day and for only $35.

I guess you can take the girl out of the hand-me-downs but you can never really take the hand-me-downs out of the girl.

Master Bedroom Makeover

2011-10-18T10:23:00.000-07:00

I have been up to something ... besides napping and reading and wearing snowman pj's.

And ...I don't like these guys anymore:

They make me want to change everything about my home. Every. Single. Season.

And I love every issue. And I hate changing what I just did. And so I love to hate them.

** sigh**

And then I redo. But this time, for the last time! Until that next catalog comes, anyway.

I started with good intentions of warming up this high vaulted space.

The "peanut butter chocolate" combo — as Christian called it — only succeeded in making the room more cavelike. Like a cave, you'd want to hide in to eat peanut butter and chocolate, so no one could see you.

Treed in as our house is, it was turning out to be too dark of a look.

So, recently I started over ... darn that Pottery Barn.

New coat of bright white, some pillows from Target. New duvet, curtains, and couch from our just opened Ikea ( **love**), and a rearrangement of some previously owned accessories.

It's a whole new room.

A room I'd like to sit in all day and openly eat vanilla ice cream and read catalogs that I love to hate.

Randomness

2011-10-17T09:52:00.000-07:00

We are into fall break. I've never been so ready for a break. And yet, I cannot believe it's fall break already.

We were just doing this:

And this:

And because I'm wanting to hang out with my kids in my pj's all day today while it rains and rains and they make a haunted house in the basement with the smells of banana bread swirling ... I'm just sticking a bunch of randomly recent memories right here.

Like a girl's overnighter with my besties:

And the discovery of the germmobile I've tried to keep secret as long as possible:

And the constant defilement of my inspirational chalkboard, thank you Newel:

And babies watching babies:

See? Totally random. And now I'm off to wash a random collection of dishes.

Backing up just a bit

2011-10-14T12:19:00.000-07:00

One early morning a few weeks ago, I put Annie on a bus headed to an outdoor education outing for three whole days and nights up in the mountains.

I felt a little sick in my stomach because she really did look like a baby boarding that bus.

And these things have the potential to turn out so many different ways.

She's got such great friends ... (who Eliza gets confused, see why?)

And though she was not placed in a group with anyone she knew, she made friends with a new group of girls and expanded her horizons.

They were all braiding each other's hair by the time they returned.

No mean girls.

No badness.

Nothing but good memories

And she came back looking much more like a middle school sixth grader to me.

Really, really over??

2011-10-13T20:41:00.000-07:00

Yep.

I guess the first one of these makes it so.

And ends our obsession with fall harvest's good humor. We may not be great gardeners, but at least there's fun in trying.

This phase I'm in

2011-10-12T16:13:00.000-07:00

My productivity feels low.

And I feel kind of stuck in a mess of sorts.

Mornings come early. Routines roll to get everyone out the door. And then this girl demands constant attention. Don't get on the phone. Don't dare touch the computer. Just hold and read or cuddle with a movie or play "Dr. Who" with the toy medical kit (long story). Baking usually involves a mess or two extra to clean up. Cleaning involves too much help with gross toilet brushes.

Turn your back for an instant and something will be cut with scissors materialized out of nowhere. Something will be stapled. Shampoos will be dumped. Markers will be found. Lipsticks crushed. Toothpaste eaten.

A reprieve would be nap time ... but ... since we moved to our "new bed" a nap requires a mom ... and more books ... and more cozy cuddling.

And warm beds make me fade really quickly.

A quick nap might be good but I just can't seem to make it quick. I literally lose my eyeballs under the bed and wake up hours later searching for them so I can scramble to put life together before kids walk through the door.

And the day is done.

And then I realize how quickly she'll no longer wrap into a hand towel. And I clean out some drawers and can't bare to throw out old favorites, so I leave them sitting in a pile on my bedroom floor as a reminder.

The unproductive guilt is easily kept at bay as I know, down deep, this won't come again. But, this week, I taught seminary and I walked away in love. Every inch of me was drawn into the world of the youth and the reality of my season couldn't have been clearer. This girl would not let me study, or think, or read.

And for the first time ever, I was ready to move on. It hurts to even think it, but there it was. For the longest time, I've been mourning the passing of the inevitable. And though I'll always adore everything baby, I think I'm finally ready to see what comes next.

The house that built a family

2011-10-06T20:58:00.000-07:00

No trip home would be complete without a stop at the old homestead. Prior to our move to the area, we'd rented and this place provided an opportunity to purchase a piece of land and build a house that we would call ours. At the time, we were a small family of seven under thirteen but would soon grow to the nine of today.

As children, we walked the untouched property imagining the future and visited with bated breath at each step of construction.

The house exterior has changed just a little. The yard my father tenderly cared for is far over grown, but the trees that stand guard remember a time when the laughter of nine children rang through these woods.

The owners are travelers, a neighbor tells me, so I silently walk all around. Do they know, I can't help but wonder, that these trees served as bases for games played in the cool of firefly filled evenings? Of children gathered on a driveway's end awaiting the lighting of carefully carved Jack o' lanterns? Of snowball fights and sled hills made? Of lawnmowers run and wildflower wreathes? If they stood quietly, I think they would see a father with tearful children gathered to bury a young kitten's body. If they stood quietly, I think they would hear the laughter of crawdad catching and play down near the stream.

Would these new owners be able to see two little boys slip down the front hill bearing fishing gear in an early morning mist? Would they see a mother stand over the cleaning of a fish no bigger than a six year old fist to the delight of boyish pride? Would they see buckets of freshly picked blackberries lined up amid girls, purple from fingers to mouth? Could they tell that this driveway had been Picasso's canvas with it's dozens of sidewalk chalk drawings? That this deck had been the Globe theatre for the reciting of world class plays?

I'd bet in the onset of twilight, the shadow of a family building traditions can be seen. Over there around a bonfire, and there working together to build winter's supply of wood. Across the way, pulling weeds from a garden, and there raking leaves or planting spring's flowers.

There's a shadow of a girl in this place and I can feel her close to me. She's buried a box of treasure under that oak. She's creating a game in the woods. She's carrying a picnic trailing little ones behind. She's creeping out in the dark to star gaze with an older brother. She stands barefoot in the snow embarrassed to have her school vice principal turned nighttime firefighter assisting in the extinguish of a chimney fire. She perches on the deck rail breathing in the air as her father loads her belongings into a college bound car. She sits on these steps eating pork rinds and boiled peanuts with grandparents only minutes into her newly married life. She rocks her first new baby to sleep under the eaves of this porch on a visit in the pouring of a torrential rain. And then she fades away from here.

I walk on the deck and peer in vacant windows. So much has changed inside but the bones remain the same. Looking up to the second level windows, I wonder if the echoes of girls laughter in a shared bedroom can be heard as conversations lead to the avoidance of sleep. Can they hear the inkling of tape recorded primary songs or scripture stories hushing the exuberance to sleep? Do these people love the patterns each season's moonlight leave on the floor? Do they throw open the windows to sleepily drift away on the wings of insect night music?

Their personal belongings must lay in closets that once were haunted houses, grocery stores and fortune teller's dens. As they walk down their stairs and hall, are they even aware of the coats of paint covering signature graffiti of little boys learning to spell? Can they hear the voices in the master bedroom's night darkness as teenagers quietly unload the workings of their day at the foot of their parent's bed? Do they wonder how many little ones can fit into that bathroom tub? Can they feel the reverent pause of children unsuspectingly encountering parents knelt in prayer?

I stand at the kitchen door. It has been opened millions of times, I'd bet. Reflected in the glass of it's door, I can almost see a wife and mother watching a husband leave down the dirt road for work. She watches children leave and waits for them to come home, teens to return from dates, new drivers to back out of the driveway, the UPS man to bring her a package. No matter that in the small corner room to her left, rests piles of laundry to be dealt with and mountains of shoes for endless dirty feet.

Can the present owners of the house feel the love of that mother deep in conversation with children in that kitchen? Do they feel the urge to hold hands while blessing each meal around the table in that breakfast nook? Do they feel extra hands working as an invisible family pulls together to clean the remnants of each meal? They are certain not to know of the picnic table once at the kitchen's center. The hours of homework done there, the lessons in canning, the crafting, the cakes made, the missionaries fed, the haircuts given, the board games played.

I can almost hear piano music drifting from the living room beyond as imaginary children race through and a sewing machine hums in the corner. Now, the room seems sterile. How can these people help but sit in this room and feel the walls radiate with the power of a family. Circled in prayer, morning and night. Reading the scriptures and discussions together. Lessons being taught as young testimonies grow. Of sick children, concerned children, and father's blessings given. I know as I stand looking through these glass double doors, I can feel it. It's still there though so much time has passed.

I've taken my pictures and turn now to leave and a voice behind me says, "Honey, this moment will never be the same."

You're right, Dad, my heart answers as I walk up the drive to join hands with the man waiting there. I feel the wind of two little boys blow past me on bikes and turn to catch sight of a curly haired girl smiling in tap shoes atop the well's flat concrete box. She bends down to pick up a cat at her feet and waves his paw in my general direction.

And I climb in my car and turn toward my home, to my house that is building my family.

Buildings of faith

2011-10-05T22:37:00.000-07:00

The South is full of religiously based communities. For all those who work with children and youth to develop faith, regardless of denomination ... you make a difference.

There's a picture, somewhere, of a handful of primary children crammed on those concrete steps with the iron railing. Most of them are personal siblings. They say this was a step above the court house basement in the days before my family arrived. No matter. The words are the same, the songs are the same, the feelings felt within are familiar and comforting.

If the main meeting dragged in our childlike minds, we'd amuse ourselves watching lizards crawl across the inside of the fluorescent fixtures. Primary classes were combined to save space and separated off to corners or out of doors in good weather. The basement held a nursery where my mother stands firm that a scurrying fur ball from the corner of her eye, resulted in a nearly three year old with his arm, shoulder deep up a pipe eagerly engaged in retrieving a new pet.

The announcement of a new building was exciting and we gathered to clear land, haul rocks, remove debris and aid, wherever possible, in the general construction. I can't help but remember that new paint smell.

Walking back into this world of the past is a little like re-adjusting eyes to bright light. As I opened the doors, I found myself forcing my vision to focus. My heart melted with identification of each face changed a little by time. The smiles were the same, the embraces unchanged, like reuniting with family distanced long ago.

Holding hands through the meeting's entirety with my mother's dearest friend, Sue McCall, I look at that piano on the stand and recall vividly the uneasiness of a fourteen year old's duty to play for the congregation to sing. Following the meeting, I walked around the building seeing in my mind, visions of yesterday. Parties held in the gym. Spook alleys in classrooms. Potluck dinners with women washing dishes in the kitchen and men clearing tables and chairs. Talent shows, road shows, scouts playing ball. The tiny library is still the hub of conversation. There are fewer chairs in primary. Suddenly, I'm a pre-teen giggling in the back row of one room. A youth putting on makeup in the bathroom to the irritation of a Branch President/Seminary Teacher/Father as he awaits the start of his class. A young woman sitting by her mother in Relief Society for the first time.

Jim Burch hugs me large and says, "Do you remember me?'

How could I forget? How could I forget any of them?

There are those who are now missing, passed on from this life.

Francis Collins, who gathered young girls together before the wide spread of Activity Days. To learn to cook, to crochet, to dance. She held in her possession a photo album of each newspaper clipping and accomplishment of every branch man, woman, and child.

Brother and Sister Moe. Their Patriarchal knowledge and care of youth in fireside discussion.

Fred Strong, with his handlebar mustache and infectious laughter. A man larger than life, with his contagious humor and love of all things scouting.

I looked around at those who remain. This building had become a second home to all of us as most residences weren't especially close. Some had served second and third, maybe even fourth, terms in leadership callings. For years, they'd been giving their time and sharing their talents. They'd left their families to care for youth on weeknights. They'd driven to camps. They'd planned faith promoting activities. They'd carted teens the 2 1/2 hour drive to stake youth activities and patiently made the same return journey.

I think of my parents, doing all they knew to do in our own home to teach correct principles. I'm a mother myself, doing the same, and thanking heaven constantly for leaders whose examples strengthen my own youth. When I watch one excitedly sharing details of a day that I could hardly pry out, I'm forever grateful for those who spiritually fill in the gaps.

I'd bet there were times when these people wondered what it was all for and in the end, would it be worth it. Did they have moments of exhaustion? Did they want to say no? Did they feel overwhelmed? And how could I not stand there, overwhelmed with love for each. They magnified callings and lay a foundation. They carried a youth until she could carry herself.

Before I could leave, I hugged each one close. Remembering them as they are. Trying to express my inadequate gratitude for the strength of the buildings and builders of my life. For the construction of the testimony of youth.

On the Southern battle front

2011-10-04T13:52:00.000-07:00

I'd just finished a retelling of the time I got my car locked in the recreation park. It was 2 a.m. and I was left with no choice other than to climb the fence and hike to the local Waffle House to beg our police chief and primary key holder, to let my car out. No added punishment needed as I suppose, he figured my momma would skin my alive at that time of night.

The good natured laughter around the table, is at my expense.

"How many police officers are in town?" comes a question from the only non-native coincidentally married to me.

"You want to know how many officers? ... I'll tell you how many... " comes the reply. It's followed by a tale to really knock one over. Of cheaters and anger and personal justice. Of ball bats and police intervention and mysterious disappearance.

Concluding, "And that's how many officers there are in this here town."

I wish I could bottle up her gumption and sell it to women everywhere. That's priceless stuff, a southern woman's determination to never take life's kicks laying down.

We're staying at a local Bed and Breakfast. The spooky kind only seen in movies. It's quietly settled into the hill and our wild imaginations envision creaky floor board haunts. We're easily entertained and self spooking is high on the list of amusements.

Morning brings the traditional breakfast held around a common dining room table. There, we meet a father/daughter pair from the thick of Louisiana. His tales of a lifetime barge running up and down the Mississippi are compelling and he's experiencing his first vacation in 70 years. They're hard working folks. The kind who've worked with their hands all their lives.

Again, I'm impressed by the sheer will of the people to survive, never giving in without a fight. Working to pay for a life that they own. It's a stark contrast to so many working to pay for a life that they don't.

This place tucked neatly into a corner of the Blue Ridge can really change a person, build a character, add a perspective, or strengthen a resolve.

Yes ... for a brief moment, we consider if two shady characters toting opaque garbage bags on an empty mountain road, are in fact ... up to no good.

Yes ... we follow signs to a "free museum" resulting in a broken shack and our dampened desire to observe whatever might be shown.

Yes ... we U-turn in the yard of a headstone carver whose shed brimming with wares screams, "Your lucky to be alive".

And ... we wrapped it up neatly with a little possum/raccoon rental car roadkill of our own.

But when it's all said and done ... there's fire and fight alive and well in the South. There's still a battle waiting to be won if only in the day to day throes of living. And come hell or high water ... they'll fight it and win.

Tiny towns and tales to tell

2011-09-29T20:43:00.000-07:00

Getting off the plane and mapping the trail to my hometown in the mountains, my California husband remarked, "Your parents parked you all in the absolute middle of nowhere, didn't he? ... I mean look at that map ... few people know such places exist!!"

It's true.

One of his favorite stories to tell is of his first visit to my home not long before we were married. He'd met some family, but not the whole shabang in one sitting. The four lane freeway of Atlanta was do-able. Not a far cry from CA. It turned to two lane highway for a spell. Then came single lane road, hours later entering and exiting my quiet town. Twisty curves out the other side, narrowed to more treacherous drops and soon paved road changed to dirt.

At this point he tells listeners, "From Atlanta to town, I was thinking, 'What if her family doesn't like me?' ... Hours later as dirt roads closed in by dense trees, a guy couldn't help but wonder, 'What if her family doesn't like me AND they decided to kill me and bury me deep in the back woods?!"

I'll be the first to say ... that's always a risk.

That's his story of our beginnings but my own came rich with southern color. I was a teen itching to leave and let life begin. Little did I know that sleepy though this town may seem, there's a whole lotta living done right here and a tale to tell around every curve and densely treed dirt road. This place holds some of the best of times, the likes rarely seen since and I catch myself hoping that my own children can live a life so fully enriched.

I think every father taught his daughter to drive a stick shift on town hill.

Religion is an integral part of small southern towns. Billboard reminders on one end.

And Jesus on the other ... just in case you forgot.

Big hills of kudzu and bigger trucks.

Home.

4 Years

2011-09-28T13:47:00.000-07:00

My goodness. It's such a small amount of time in the lifetime of things. At least that's what I keep telling my middle and high school age children.

And yet ... it is so influential in the development of who we are and will become. I listen to them talk and I find myself wishing their experiences could mirror mine. There's so much gunk out there nowadays ... worries and problems and trash to fret about, leaving me quite certain that I grew up living in a bubble.

I wasn't, as my kids call it, "a popular", by any stretch of the imagination but something about a tight-knit town and it's small educational groupings had a way of blurring the lines between possible faction separations. Yes, there were friendships fashioned since elementary years, but all were friendly across the board and I, in the end, found myself associated with nearly everyone.

It didn't start out that way. Moving into such a community in the beginnings of the fifth grade left me to stick out more than my once timid personality would have liked, necessitating good friends whose wing I would huddled beneath for comfort.

But, years later with miles more experience, I think as adults, we all realize that not one of us was without our own, personal insecurities. Life has a way of knocking off so many of the rough edges, leveling the playing field, causing each and every one to look up with a common sense of understanding for getting through life's trials. We've lost children, and spouses, and jobs. We've gained promotions, given birth, and fulfilled dreams. Our insecurities were and are the same and any possible dividing lines have long since been erased.

4 years, a long time. 20 years ... a longer time ... but friendship still remains. Forged in the necessary refining fire of high school's influential insecurity. And so it feels that gathering if even for a moment, is like coming home to family. A family of shared experience.

Those not pictured, I'm sorry. I so enjoyed visiting with you rather than documenting you. Fun to see you all!

Reunite

2011-09-27T12:08:00.000-07:00

Packing six kids and one for a scout camp out.
Notes to bus drivers.
Rare but precious lunch money stowed.
A primary talk written.
House straightened.
A birthday gift purchased and wrapped for a party.
Plans for animal chores made.
A dress sewn and hemming completed.
Homework done in advance of Monday.
A project ready and a test studied for.
A meal made to ease the burden of dumping six more on a friend's already loaded schedule.
Church assignments completed and some left to delegation.
Personal packing and a lot of loose ends left behind.

All wrapped up neatly with a traditional dose of running for an airplane.

I've lived a lifetime since Friday morning. Or relived one rather.

When my parents made the decision to leave my small home town in the heart of Appalachia NC, I felt robbed. Who will hold down the home front? What will bring me back? A child's mind sees a nesting place of hugely monumental importance. A parent sees a resting spot that served it's purpose in the growing of a family.

And parents move on with their lives once the nest empties, sometimes.

And life's next great adventure carries them elsewhere.

And as a parent myself, I guess I can see that now.

So, though high school reunions seem silly at times because one's past is over and done with and looking back can seem so trivial ... I'm a nostalgic soul and not one to overlook an opportunity to return to my roots. Though home again and my to-do list has begun all over in the cluttered front hall wake of a mother's return, my heart and head are filled with the memories of a place loved like no other.

A place, a time, and the people influential in the building of a girl.

To be a kid again

2011-09-20T12:55:00.000-07:00

I can count on one thumb how many times I visited an amusement park as a kid.

But, I'm a sucker for a good deal and this bargain has become a family tradition since Christian started reading chapter books .. and no, that wasn't just last year. Our local public libraries offer free tickets to Six Flags for their summer reading program reward.

I guess they don't bank on families as big as ours.

Boy, did those tickets burn a hole in our pockets.

Most years, we chomp at the bit to cash those in before school starts. This year we bided our time and waited for the weather to cool and lines to lessen as fewer folks go after school gets in.

Only it must have been a common notion as it was still crowded with the mass sea of humanity.

But ...

It was a perfectly beautiful Saturday.

Nothing makes a tradition run smoother than a consistantly dependable plan. All agreed, the pirate ship is our traditional opening ride. If it were up to me, I'd just ride it the entire time.

But then ... ya gotta get wet because it will take you the entire rest of the day to dry.

And, rule breaking is a must ... like keeping your hands outside of the vehicle at all times when you are surrounded by signs that say the contrary.

This year we brought a family friend to help keeps us entertained.

Grant crossed that, "You Must be THIS Tall to Ride" line and the buzz of excitement was palpable.

And we parked our dad in the shade at the kiddie area to avoid heat rage, line rage, crowd rage. He was so good to to let me run off with big kids and roller coaster ride myself nearly to death.

I had a good laugh at a sign in the kiddie area saying, "Know Your Limits". I love the roller coasters and so don't know my limits ... but my limits skidded to a crashing halt after three too many of those spinny rides with Eliza. My heart screams yes louder than the old aged vertigo scrambled side of my brain can say no.

See, doesn't he look patient and happy?? Absolutely NOTHING to do with the BYU football game pumping through the earphone in his other ear.

I don't know why but my favorite time of the day is when the sun sets and those crazy park lights come on. I just love it. It makes me feel tingly and excited.

Or maybe it's the youthful adventure, the drop of my stomach on so many rides, or the sheer joy of running amuck with my children. No matter, tingly excitement sums it up for all of us.

Thanks for the free ride, public library!

Ending in the black

2011-09-15T22:12:00.000-07:00

That's a term I picked up from my accounting counterpart.

Today went a little like this:

Trip to Costco to get supplies for a barbecue lunch I'm holding in my yard on Saturday for our church. I carefully gathered what I went for and stood in a long line, ready to pay cash since my debit card was stolen last week. After a long wait resulting in a strung out two year old, the cashier rung me up and tacked on a renewal fee for which I didn't have cash in hand to pay for.

They wouldn't defer the fee.

I walked away from the full cart carrying a screaming child.

Who screamed the entire half hour drive home.

Total wash of a morning.

She was so wrapped up, she didn't want to settle for a much needed nap so I lay down with her for just a minute ....

Or so I thought until I opened my eyes as kids came in through the door from school.

Total wash of an afternoon.

Christian had an activity scheduled with the boys from church to go to a Jumping-amusement-play place-thingy for big kids. He had to work with his tutor first and I gave him strict instructions to be home by 5:30.

I yanked him from her house at 6. He'd misunderstood and thought I'd said 6:30. We missed the rendezvous point with the other boys, so I had to take him myself. It was miles away. There went my plans to drop him and revisit Costco with funds for a renewal and my groceries.

I drove my aluminum falcon at warp speed to Jumpstreet — a facility full of bowling lane sized trampolines.

Only problem, I'd left my phone at home and didn't know quite where I was going. We made our way but waited a long time for no one from the group to show up.

I borrowed the front desk phone and called home. The group was at another Jumpstreet on the other side of town.

Total wash of an evening.

And then I looked at Christian.

I could tell that all the ice cream in the world on the way home, wouldn't make up for his disappointment.

"Wanna jump with just me ??" I asked and his face actually lit up. "Can we?" he said.

So we bought the two hour wristbands, instructed the dad and kids at home not to wait up, and jump we did.

Even learned how to back flip.

Well, he did.

I tried and train wrecked and he called me awesome and didn't appear a stitch embarrassed that his mother would give it a whirl. Or half a whirl as it turned out, hence the face plant ... twice.

We relived it excitedly all the way home and my day that felt so much like it had dipped into the red, had ended in the black after all.

Cloak of invisibility

2011-09-13T08:28:00.000-07:00

It's drizzling outside. I really want to bake something out of the garden zucchini on my counter and lay down to read books with my gal who is already headed for a nap here at nine in the morning.

But, I'm faced with this pile which has been growing.

These I'd love to frame and hang.

This which I started finishing even though Christian hasn't been a Cub Scout in nearly two years.

This for Celia who hasn't had a new church dress in like ... forever, she says.

These which need to be put away after last weeks bedroom repaint.

And the list on my hallway chalkboard that seems to be getting ever longer and never shorter.

"The Invisible Mother" flagged by one of my cousins, speaks so well to all that I've been feeling of late.

Labor of love

2011-09-12T07:34:00.000-07:00

Before I forget about Labor day ...

I didn't even make them labor ... much ... maybe I should have.

We hiked the canyon near our house,

The little kids appreciated our efforts at family togetherness.

The big kids wept and wailed and gnashed their teeth.

A day off and no friends??

How dare we.

Cheater cheater, donut eater

2011-09-08T21:06:00.000-07:00

There are just some things that take me back to childhood.

Today, I was a kid again, hauling a backpack down what felt like an endless dirt road lined with trees tingeing to yellow and red. The afternoon clinging to the last day's rays of warmth as the air threatened to give in to crisp.

Throwing open that screen door was like opening an anticipated present. Maybe the surprise would be an after school snack like these.

Easy and cheap, just make a hole in the center and fry up in a pot filled with 2 inches of oil. Cinnamon, sugar and inhale.

The beauty of fall?? ... Bathing suit season is over!

Fiscal Year

2011-09-07T11:18:00.000-07:00

September really feels like the beginning of my fiscal year. The kids have been back to school for a couple of weeks. We've struggled with backing off the summer unscheduled schedule and getting back to a routine schedule that has us scheduled and not over scheduled ... understand?

I do so love the start of school and it's not just because I live in perfect harmony with myself from 9 to 4 every day.

It's the newness. New pencils, new paper, new backpacks and a clean slate with newness written all over it.

And since I feel like a breath of fresh air, I've been slowly but surely introducing a routine that will help us run smoothly. I've felt the need for some goal making as well and no better place to put those than here.

Stuff I'd like to see happen around here:

Maintain organization.
Be on time ... lofty, I know.
Retain limits on activities that are not family centered.
Make family time more meaningful.

Stuff that's working:

I spent the first two weeks of school decluttering and putting the summer hodge podge back together again. I really do feel freedom from mind clutter. Now if we can just put things back where they go as time goes on. That's the trick.

On time ... so far so good..ish. I'm not a morning person. My kids know to talk minimally to me before 7. But, I think after two weeks I've got my body trained to wake up at 5:30 am ... ouch. It's really cramping my weekend sleep-a-little-bit-longer style. But ... it sure makes for a better morning if I'm on time and we just plow through the routine. Which is:

5:30 — Lunches made, real deal breakfast ... cereal is for Sunday church morning rush.
6:15 — Seminary girl out the door
6:30 — Middle schoolers to bus stop
7:00 — Elementary kids get ready
Grant homework
Give Janie piano lesson (play a song or two myself if I can, to sharpen long lost skills)
8:30 — Bus
8:45 — Settle Eliza and get myself ready for day. That's late but I hit the floor running and I've got no pride. I drive to the bus in my pj's cuz there's not much hot water left in the tank for a mom showering on the tail end.

Retaining limits on family activities is so hard but I got so spoiled last year and turned really selfish about my time and really loved every minute of it and got all entitled about having my kids home without late homework assignments and dinner every night and reasonable bed times. Whew!! I ain't about to give in this year.

And I've already been approached with long faces over school plays. I had a momentary stab to the chest and then season ski passes went on sale. It'll be okay. They'll see.

Making family time more meaningful. In my book quantity is not necessarily quality. When we just fly by the seat of our pants at night, there's tears, and grumpadumps and maybe some yelling in there too. Ya gotta go to bed.

Hence, here is our evening schedule which we are doing our darnedest to stick to. When it works, it works well. Last night, Newel was out on church visits and by golly, these kids reminded me of the routine every step of the way and it was the pleasantest of evenings.

3:30 — begin dinner prep
3:45 — Big kids off bus: Start homework so Mom can help unhindered
4:30 — Little kids off bus: Homework
6:00 — Dinner
6:30 — Dinner clean up and back to homework if need be.
7:00 — Younger kids ready for bed
7:30 — Family devotional — in an effort to make this more meaningful, we gather for scripture reading, an assigned spiritual thought by a child, and family prayer and we do this nightly
8:00 — Younger kids bed
8:30 — Mom and Dad retire — that means we close the bedroom door. In a perfect world, I'd like for big kids to be finished with projects requiring the computer, finishing up their stuff, music practicing etc, and heading to bed. Reality is, big kids will still work on all that until 9:00 while I piddle around prepping for the day ahead.

But trust me ... if we can't get the party to shut down ... Dad will remove his pants at 9 sending the masses scrambling cuz that's just what dads do at that time of night.

10:00 — Mom and Dad lights out.

And seminary comes early again tomorrow. And Wednesdays are a little bit off with our church activities.

I look back and have no idea where we used to fit extracurriculars. And T.V? Where do people have the time??

So far, it's golden.

Stuff I'd like to do to make things run even smoother:

Make a dinner schedule of all our favorite meals.
Go back to the days when I actually had a grocery shopping day rather than snagging the one or two things I need on the fly.
Squeeze in some exercise somewhere in the morning without waking up just in time to see myself go to bed.
Fit in a laundry rotation so these kids are not relying so much on my daily lackadaisical laundry skills.

If only I were that good.

While the rest of ya'll are still heat wavin'

2011-09-06T10:17:00.000-07:00

September first flipped a switch. Football weather, my boys called it. Others begged for the heat to be turned on in the early morning hours after a night of open windows ... Um, not yet, I say. Allergies abound and is it any wonder? Like it or not, my Janie is already sporting that brown puffy coat I think I just barely put away.

There was some kind of crazy war involving sharp stick hucking. Why do I hear my father's voice in my head, "This kind of laughter always leads to tears."

And ... I told them not to eat the acorns. They did it anyway brushing me off with, "Squirrels do it all the time." Until my scout remembered in afterthought, a leader's warnings that green acorns may be followed by stomach cramping, nausea and intense vomiting. Didn't stop my "squirrels". They lived to see another day though I secretly wished they'd been taught a lesson.

Fall is upon us and it's a short season here so we'd best enjoy for as long as we can.

Holes

2011-09-01T09:55:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I removed the chairs from around the kitchen table and Eliza and I played our favorite game called mop the kitchen floor. We unstuck some cheerios and absorbed spilled milk, unsuccessfully gave that four-year-old glitter glue shmear one more rub, cleaned the baseboards, wiped prints off walls.

I gently placed each seat at it's rightful place and paused with my hand on the one whose occupant vacated long ago.

Together we took a long, quiet walk to the empty darkness of the basement's furthest corner. I stood in the stillness and wiped a tear or two for no more chubby legs jutting from its' seat, no more saucy trays to clean, no more sit and stand battles.

And today, there's an empty hole in my heart where a high chair used to sit.

Photography "tricks"

2011-08-31T13:52:00.000-07:00

When I first started wanting my pictures to have that magical something, I read everything I could here. The more I read, the more I felt that photography is just a bunch of smoke and mirrors. Tricks. Are we really capturing memories as they happen or are they all orchestrated?

Blurred backgrounds, chosen locations, dressing brightly, looks in that direction, wait ... let me adjust and shoot it one more time...

The magic's gone.

And it felt like I needed a magician's touch just to juggle what was going on behind and in front of the camera at the same time.

I love portrait photography but I struggle with it being my style. I think it's important, though to find your style. I just find I prefer a more candid approach.

I have a wall of favorite pictures. My husband took them. They hang in my front hall and every day that I walk by each of them I can't help but think, "That was a good day!" I just love when a picture speaks a story to me. It's the story of my life with these kids. And that's what makes up my style, maybe it's a picture of one child in one moment we are having together, or just where we all were at some point in time. Either way, I want each picture to take me back there. Here are a few "tricks" I've learned to capture that kind of magic without disrupting the spell.

1) Any camera will take great pictures with good lighting. I stink at indoor photography. My house is dark. But even my camera phone will take great pictures with great natural lighting. That said, I do have a Canon RebelT2i camera which is the most affordable DSLR on the market. I have the lens it came with (18-55mm). It was a great jump start. I read the manual, played, read it again, played some more, and read it again. I carried that manual in my purse to read while waiting in the car outside of kids activities. Learn ISO, learn manual, learn white balance, learn focus points. For all you know, that darn camera might be able to make dinner, you just have to learn everything that it can do.

2) The lens my camera came with was a great "training wheel". Next, I bought the only affordable piece of equipment Canon makes. The 50mm 1.8 lens — $100. I'm pretty sure it's Canon's marketing trick because that lens has taught me more about aperture (that blur that makes subjects stand out). They hook you in with the cheapie and then gouge you with anything beyond but by then it's too late and you're addicted. I love the 50mm. It's pretty sharp and I think the color just a little more vibrant than the standard the camera came with. It's a fixed lens so I have to move in and out, but that's okay because kids are always moving, too.

3) I like to get in close in my photography. Maybe this comes from my scrap booking days way back when I had time to scrapbook. I'd cut off all the extra "nonessential" parts of my pictures in order to tell the story. Now, I frame my pictures in the viewfinder the same way. I get as close as I can. If I can't get any closer and still have focus or I don't want to disrupt what is happening out front with my closeness, I will post crop. Sometimes it's a little tricky getting in close and succeeding in grabbing all of what I'm trying to capture in the moment. That's when I change the angle. Down low, up high, sideways to get it all in. And sometimes, just a part tells all the story I need.

4) Nextly, (I know that's not a word) I got a 100mm 2.8 for my birthday after a year of practicing with my 50mm. It's an L series which ain't cheap but man, is it sharp and bright. It's a dual macro so it really takes great shots of little details, too. I do love that it takes me into the action without getting up in the kids faces. It makes capturing what is going on easier because it zeros in while I hang back and leave their fun uninterrupted by my camera. It's great for outdoor candids. That's just what I have ... a zoom lens in your price range can do the same.

5) I got frustrated with seeing a sunset, taking a picture of that sunset, and viewing the results on a screen only to find that the orange wasn't as orange as what I had observed naturally. This was the same for a lot of colors. I know I could saturate in post production but who wants to feel like they are faking a picture? I wanted pictures to look as I see them. Here is where I played with my camera's factory settings a bit. I went into my camera's main menu, selected "picture style" and by touching the "display" button, edited the ones I might use most — Standard, Portrait, and Landscape. I was given a menu to boost or lessen the sharpness, contrast, saturation, and color tone of each. I spent an afternoon out in the yard with the kids, playing with these settings to get the desired effects to have my pictures come straight out of the camera as I see them, not as I have to post produce them. Again, here I say, read your manual for directions. See if you need to change those factory settings to get what you are wanting out of your camera.

6) Have your camera ready. If I'm in the kitchen, it's on my counter and pretty much already set to my indoor use. White balance on indoor, ISO up higher, and aperture low enough to avoid blurring. Same with heading outside. I check those settings before I head out so there's no stopping standing or waiting while Mom gets her camera ready.

7) Play with light ... a lot. I remember family photos with that debate: "Stand in the shade." "No, stand in the sun." "No, back to the sun." "No, don't get back lit." Well, which is it??? Shade is best, but not always available in which case, I put the sun behind. I love to catch the setting sun behind and get that orange glow. Squinting into the sun is never pretty. Just turn until you get a fully shaded face unless your effect is to have sun on one side and in that case, whatever.

8) Focus. Learn what those focus points on your camera can do. And learn how to rotate them to get a different perspective. Focusing on a hand, eye, flower can be pretty powerful. Learn to isolate those ... read that manual... focus can make all the difference in a good picture and a great one.

9) Let life happen. There's an art to conversing with your subject and snapping shots without breaking your concentration on the moment. I watched my sister do it. She's a pro at making folks feel at ease for a portrait. Boy does that take practice, but if you can be spending a quality moment with your child, and still capture that easy laugh or concentrated look ... that's it!

10) I don't like to post process much. It feels like cheating. I did purchase Lightroom 3. I determined Photoshop would take a semester of college to learn. If I can get my picture coming out of my camera pretty much like I see it, all I do in post process is heighten my exposure and pull in some black. Too much post processing looks ... well, over processed.

Unlike film, digital photography is limitless so snap away! There was a time I kept my camera on continuous shoot in the hopes of catching a fast moving child perfectly. That's a great start. Eventually, as skills get better, you'll get tired of shuffling through 20 of the same picture and get better at snapping one or two of exactly what you want. But, practice is key. Last summer, I loved to just take my kids to the park and tell them to go play and pay no mind to what I was doing as I practiced away with settings, angles, light and so forth. It was fun for both of us and I look back at those pictures now and remember, "Yeah, that was a good day."

Just capture the magic your heart holds close.