Connecting with a Child

You wake.  The rustling starts in your room - I feel it more than hear it.  And then the squeak of the hinges from your bedroom door fills the silence.  I hear your feet slapping against the tile floor before I see you.  And I don't know yet how our morning will go.  You come around the corner and stop to stare at me for a few seconds.  I drop whatever I'm doing and turn to you with a toothy smile and open arms and tell you how happy I am that you are awake.  Some mornings you climb into my lap.  Those are my favorite mornings because those mornings are easy.

Other mornings your eyebrows furrow in my direction.  Your shoulder turns as I reach for a hug and I see the anger in your eyes. On those mornings you make me work harder for that smile I love so much. But that smile comes, now.  If I work.  Always.
This is progress.

I've studied you.  For four years and seven months I've watched.
Learned.
Tried.
Failed.
Failed.
Failed.
And succeeded.

There is one lesson, one most important lesson, that I have learned about you.

You feel love through service.

It took me four years to figure out this truth in you.  Four years is much too long to find a truth as important as this, and for that I am sad.  But I am happy that it did not take longer.  I am happy I took the minutes, the hours, the days, the months, and the years to ponder about you.
Because now
I know.

It is not really in my nature to serve.  And you are good for me in that way.  You are making me into a better person because I care enough about you to change myself.  The progress is slow.  But it is moving.

It is not really in my nature to serve, even though my days are filled with serving.  But I see now that folding your laundry means little to you today.  Much greater is the time I take away from the folding to help you reach that toy.
To fill your cup with fresh water.
To tie that string around your toy car.
To read that storybook.
To serve you in ways that you feel,
ways that you see,
ways that you understand.

So that is why, on the days when you awake with furrowed eyebrows and anger in your eyes, I dance in service circles around you.  That is why, when I see that my service has erased your furrowed eyebrows and replaced the anger in your eyes with joy and love, you see my fist pump the air.

Because I love you.
Because I want you to know that.
Because I want you to feel that.
And that moment when my heart connects with yours and I know you've felt my love?
That is a beautiful moment.

New Year, New Direction

I always take a deep breath at the beginning of each year.  It's not really something I consciously do, and I admit that it's a little bit quirky, but it's something that has become so consistent in my life that I expect it, I wait for it, and when it comes I smile through it.  It's not so much a deep breath of preparation for coming months ahead, nor is it a deep breath for the completion of months behind...  It's mostly a deep breath that fills my lungs and my soul with insight about where I am in life right now, and with promise that the coming year will bring both happiness and growth (which sometimes are the same thing and other times are not).  The deep breath smells sweetly of fresh beginnings, of no mistakes, of potential, and it finally exhales into resolutions to be a little better, to try a little harder, to pray and smile and listen a little more, and to enjoy this journey of life that I am living.

This year my deep breath came on the second of January.  I closed my eyes when I felt it tickle in the back of my throat, I let it come deeply, and as it filled my lungs I thought about my life.  So many changes, I thought.  I've been through so many changes over the past year and I have so many changes coming up in the present one.  I felt a warm sense of accomplishment for the way I've handled the changes of the past year, and at the same time a sharp sting of resolve to handle the anticipation of the coming changes with more grace than I have been.  It's been ugly, folks... the anxiety of this upcoming move has kept me awake at nights and the sadness I feel at leaving this lush east-coast for the barren desert rolls around inside of me like barbed wire.  My mind has figuratively picked apart the desert countryside of my future and has been exploring the dark crevices of my fears.  But they remain dark.  I do wish the hot sun would shine on them and take the mystery away from their shadows, but that is not possible.  I don't like the ugliness I feel, so by the time my breath slowly exhaled I had made my new years resolution.  I will harvest beauty this year.

In order to help me with this goal, I've decided to give my blog over to the idea.  I've changed the title from Turning Tomorrow into Yesterday into Harvest Beauty, and I will try to write my posts accordingly.  I've found that, even through the darkest trials of my life, there is always beauty.  Always something to hold on to, always something that shows that God is mindful of us and of our lives.  This is my resolution this year.  To remember that in every life painting, there is a brush stroke of beauty.  Sometimes it's the entire painting itself, and other times it's hidden in the painting like a clever artists name.  Regardless of its size, my goal is to find it, recognize it, harvest it, and keep it in my heart.

I'm reminded of the story of Joseph of Egypt who harvested and stocked and saved for seven years while the crops were plentiful, and when the seven years of famine came he was ready and did not suffer. 

I will keep as much of the harvest here as I can so that it will be readily available to me (and to you if you want) when beauty is in short supply. 


Here's to a beautiful 2014.

All in

There is a home video clip, somewhere in my box of home video tapes, that was recorded over nine years ago.  It shows my brand new baby girl, McKenzie, snuggled tightly in Brian's arms and rocking back and forth in an old, hand-me-down rocking chair that matched all of our other furniture only in the way that they, too, were old hand-me-downs.  In the video, Brian and I laugh at the little squeaks that come from sleeping McKenzie each time the rocking chair changes directions. Back, *squeak*, forth, *squeak*, back, *squeak*, forth, *squeak*.  Rather recently, my eight year old McKenzie and I laughed at the cuteness of that little baby on the television screen... and then, rather suddenly, the milk I was drinking came perilously close to being sprayed across the room in a bout of laughter as the following conversation occurred through the speakers:

"Why don't you turn the camera around on to yourself?" Brian said in a joking tone.
"No!" I replied.
"Come on, Linds!"
"No way!" Then, obviously feeling the need to explain myself to any future viewers, I continued. "I just got out of the shower a few minutes ago and haven't blow-dried my hair yet." And the milk-spitting sentence, "I can't even find time to blow dry my hair anymore."

This was surprising and funny to me on a variety of levels.  First, that I used to actually blow dry my hair (I seriously just contemplated packing up my blow dryer last week with all the other things in the I-probably-won't-need-this-in-the-next-few-months-before-we-move category).  Second, that I cared about being seen if said activity had not been completed (if that were the case these days, no one would know I existed save for phone calls and email).  But mostly because I felt that I had no time to do something for myself when my husband was home, holding our only child, who was sleeping. Sweetheart, I thought in a rather condescending tone, why don't you go ahead and blow dry your hair when you're done with the camera.  

But, soon after my initial reaction, I started finding it easy to cut my 21 year old, brand new mom self a little slack.  And then a lot of slack.  To the point where I actually understood why she said she could not find time to blow dry her hair.  It wasn't about time in the sense of minutes and hours... not really, because she still had quite a bit of that to herself.  It was more about the concept of time.

Up to that point, my time had been strictly governed by myself.  Though I had external responsibilities that needed to happen at specific times (class, work, church, etc.), there were few (if any) surprises along the way.  I could sit down at the beginning of the week and, planning around those external responsibilities, decide what hour I would eat lunch that coming Friday... and what hour I would go to bed on Wednesday.  I was in complete control about whether or not I was late to class, or early to work.  I was in complete control about when I wanted to shower and I could decide to blow dry my hair before even leaving the bathroom if I wanted.  But a baby changed that.  All of the sudden things, such as time, were unpredictable.  I could plan to take a shower at a given time, sure, but if the baby was awake and fussy during that time then I would have to reschedule.  I could plan to blow dry my hair right after said shower, sure, but if Brian called me in to the living room to listen to the funny squeaking noises my baby was making, and if I found it cute enough to warrant pulling out the video camera, the blow drying would have to be rescheduled.  Eating lunch could not be set in stone, and even an intense spit-up or a major blow out on the way to church took being on time out of my hands. 

This was an adjustment for me and, in this way, having a dependent child altered my own independence.  When McKenzie was born, it felt like her independence was handed to me to take care of along with a responsibility to teach her about it over the years and, piece by piece, let her take it over.  But as long as her independence rests in my care, it mixes with mine... diluting my own independence, yes, but making me part of something bigger.

And so much better.

With the addition of each child, my independence has diluted even further, and the time I'm able to take for myself, time in the sense of minutes and hours, is shaved some more (to the point where, now that I'm a mother of four, I feel I really don't have any for myself (which is not entirely true because, here I am blogging (though, I am doing it one handed while nursing my sweet baby (yes, it's taking forever)))) and this change has always been an adjustment.  I wouldn't be truthful if I didn't admit that sometimes I want my own undiluted independence back... sometimes I'd like to eat breakfast first, or go to bed before everyone else is ready.  Sometimes I'd like to watch a show in the middle of the day, or type away in my journal or blog all through the dinner hours (and use two hands to do it).  But those desires have been weakening through the years and something is happening to my heart through it.  Joy is settling in.  A deep joy... a lasting joy... the kind of joy that is untouchable by outside sources.  I'm starting to feel that the deepest joy, for me (other than feeling loved and bonded to my husband), comes from this sort of self sacrifice for my kids.  From letting go of somewhat selfish desires and throwing my whole heart into caring for these beautiful babies of mine. 

From being All In.

This idea of being an All In Mother is not new to me... I've tried to be her for most of my mothering days, but I've been discouraged because she seemed so unattainable.  My efforts to reach her took so much energy and it felt like they yielded only varying degrees of failure... sprinkled with success.  The frustrating truth is that it has always been hard for me to feel fulfilled when the end of a day comes and I have nothing tangible to show for it.  The kids may be clean, fed and happy, but all I can usually see is the massive heap of dishes in the sink and the five dried Cheerios stuck to the counter from breakfast.  I've been the Mostly In Mother... and that has brought me incredible happiness; however, something is shifting.  The years of prayers regarding this subject are being answered and my attitude is finally changing from one of I'll help you quickly, but I need to get back to the laundry or the dishes or the sweeping and the mopping to one of Of course I'll help you or hold you or read to you or watch you patiently while you show me how you can put your shoes on your feet in nine minutes flat, and if I have any extra time I might see to those dishes...  I have always wished that this mind set had come naturally to me when I became a mother, but it did not.  I was expecting it to - I thought it was part of the whole 'mother's intuition' phrase that is actually a bit meaningless because nothing has been quite intuitive for me.  I've had to learn.  Learn it all.  From how to diaper a newborn (I forgot how strong their legs are and how easily their foot can end up in poop) to willingly sacrificing my own desires for them and to find real, lasting joy in that sacrifice.

I'm thinking that the reason that lasting joy was so hard for me to feel was because I was still subconsciously trying to hold on to 'my time'.  'My space.'  'My needs'.  It's true that when I'm focused on myself, I feel burdened by a sweet request for a glass of water and I don't have enough patience to stop what I'm doing to watch (for the hundredth time) the awesome way my boys can slide across the floor in their socks.  But, as I mentioned, something started shifting in me last week.

My Wednesday started early... 3:30am early... with my newborn baby.  With his tiny head cradled in my hands and his feet gently kicking my belly, he calmly looked up at me and played for a while.  His blinks were slow, but always opened back widely in the dim light.  He experimented with the tiny muscles under his eyebrows and lips and I noticed that he seemed to be bringing me into focus much better than he had been and that his eyes had mostly stopped crossing.  I talked to him for a long while and felt a little pang at how fast he was changing.  He stretched his neck out, tilted his head and his squishy lips contracted into a tiny O.  I smiled because I love those tiny O's.  I love you. so. much I breathed...

...and I felt eager and ready to give the rest of myself to that precious boy and my other beautiful children in a brand new way.

Later that morning I found it easy to crawl into the backseat of the van and talk my three year old through his tears about going into preschool.  His whole world has turned upside down with Timothy entering his home (just yesterday he asked me, "Mom, when is Timothy going to get gone?") and, though he's always loved preschool, he did not want to go.  My to-do list at home was 50 items long with things like Spray Paint Stools and Re-Caulk the Master Shower and Clean Out Fireplace.  I had been looking forward to those three hours that morning when Miles would be entertained at preschool... but, amazingly, I didn't worry about my to-do list for the entire twenty-five minutes I sat back there with him.  And when Timothy spit-up enough to warrant a bath when we got home, I didn't stress about that either while I gently sponged the warm water across his tiny body.  I didn't get one thing crossed off of my to-do list that morning while Miles was gone, but when he came home I still felt warm with fulfillment.

And the feeling has stuck!  Somehow.  The only explanation I can see is that the Lord must think it's finally time to answer that prayer.  For a whole week we've had so many wonderful experiences.  The things I used to feel burdened by are not burdensome anymore and my love for my children has, unbelievably, increased.

Anyway, I haven't finished processing these thoughts completely, and I do realize that there must be a balance in all things (uh, I do have to keep a house on the market) and that I need to take care of myself, too.  And I do believe that my kids will benefit from seeing me take time for myself occasionally... I've just been surprised by the level of happiness I've felt by saying yes as often as possible, by taking the time to get the band-aid on that tiny scratch now, or by sitting and talking with my three year old for 25 minutes of time that had been allotted to work.  By letting the dishes stay in the sink so I can give a bath to the baby and by holding and feeding that precious newborn through the still hours when everyone else sleeps.  By not being so concerned about the things on my list that are not getting done and by remembering that the things that are getting done are eternally important. By not wishing for my undiluted independence...

  ...but by embracing that vibrant, colorful mixture of Independence I have coming from myself, McKenzie, Carson, Miles and Timothy.  By loving that this mixture swirls around in my heart, guides my decisions, leads my schedule, and fills my minutes and hours and days and years with purpose and meaning.

And with so much joy and love.

Smiler

It's a unique story, I think...

My grandparents met as young missionaries, both serving in Canada, in 1937. After their missions had been completed (my grandpa's a year before my grandma's), they spent only two weeks together before my grandmother wrote in her journal, "Went to assembly with Arvid and then to his place for lunch. Love him, and he loves me. I'll be Mrs. Seth Arvid Dodge someday."

She nicknamed him 'Smiler' in the mission field when her first landlady had said he was the best smiler of all the missionaries. . . and the nickname stuck with him through the end of his life.


















His funeral was both beautiful and inspiring for me. Full of hope, rest and peace. Everyone who attended wore a 'smiler' pin, made by my cousin Heather, to honor his life, his perspective on life, and to help us remember that this was a happy time for him.

I have a lot of pictures of people that most of you don't know, and I won't post them here...but I'll break that rule with the picture above. The two older people above are my grandpa's brother and sister - delightful people who are easy to talk to and who remind me a lot of my grandpa. Look at her smile. :)

Five of grandpa's six sons (the other one had been there earlier in the evening). It was so touching for me to see just how much respect flows in this family. Over the course of one weekend, I gained a greater knowledge for where I came from as our focus was turned to my dad's family. My grandpa, with his eternal companion, raised a wonderful family.

No wonder my dad is such a great guy...

My Kid

You are beautiful. Inside...outside...everything-in-between side. As your sixth tooth fell out this morning, my heart started accepting the fact that you're really not a little kid anymore. Somewhere in the business of life, you dropped the 'little' and started encompassing the 'kid'. I get it now. I get that soon you'll be a big kid...and sooner you'll be a tween...and soonest you'll be a teenager.

But, for today, you're a kid.

My kid.

I love this you. This starting-to-understand-real-life you. You approached me this morning while I was in a meeting and quietly waited by my side until I finished what I was saying to the other ladies around the table. "Excuse me," you said, "may I have a chip?" I didn't realize you had been listening the thousands of times I asked you not to interrupt me...

We went shopping the other day, and I sincerely took your fashion advice. You had adult-like reasons for your choices...and, besides, I think we both have just as much sense as the other when it comes to fashion. I had fun, McKenzie. Real fun with you.

But, by far, the experience that has touched me the most about your personality lately was watching your pure, innocent joy as your brother learned to ride his two-wheeler bike. Not 24 hours after you took your own training wheels off, you were right by Carson's side with praise and encouragement. I watched with mild discomfort as the neighbors gushed over Carson's accomplishment in your presence - worried that you would feel the thunder behind your own accomplishment stolen away. But you never hung your head. You never looked angry. Instead of feeling jealous, you felt pride and happiness for your little brother. Days later, I watched you run to a friend and exclaim, "Guess what my brother can do?!"... and it touched me to tears. Well, Kenz...you worked hard to be able to ride on two wheels, too! I'm proud of you for that. But I'm mostly proud of you for the heartfelt support you gave your brother in what could have been a frustrating time for you.


This may be the best phase (though I admittedly say that about every new phase you enter). Your independence is strengthening, your mind is hungering for and swelling with knowledge, your greatest desire is to make me happy, you delight in the time we spend together. We play house (even though I mostly insist on being the maid who needs to get the dishes done), and learn the piano together. We paint our fingernails and toenails while listening to Junie B. Jones in the CD player. And when I laugh at a funny part, that makes you laugh even harder. There are moments of calm sadness when I think of the cute little snippets of you that have been left behind...but I genuinely relish in your growth.

I am so proud of who you are.

Becoming the Man

I watch you. A lot, actually - like, every minute of almost every day. But sometimes, I just sit back and watch you. We're buddies, and I am your favorite person in the whole world. You look to me for protection, for nourishment, for laughter. For clean clothes and companionship. For extra quarters to buy gum and remote-smarts to turn on Tom and Jerry.

You live in the world of a boy - dirty much of the time, running, playing, building, jumping, jumping, jumping, skipping and pushing your trains along in front of you. I wish you could stay here forever. By my side. Holding my hand as we cross the street. Sitting on my lap through your favorite stories. Laughing at my pretty lame jokes. I love being your world.

But, if you stayed here, you'd never see the other world - the world of a man. Of using the potty every time you need to go; of thinking rationally and controlling the urge to tantrum. Of sacrificing your own happiness for the happiness of another. Of working hard to make yourself succeed. Of feeling the love in your heart that only your own little baby can bring. I love thinking of you in that world.

And, little by little I see it happening. Flakes of little boy blowing away in the breeze, slowly revealing the man inside. The man you will become.

Tender Emotions

A funeral was held in our church today for a stillborn baby girl and I was in charge of organizing much of it. We didn't know much about the family - just that they were related to a newly activated family in our ward. But as I got to know them, and talked with them about their experiences, I remembered, once again, how grateful I am to have the knowledge the gospel brings to my life.

I suppose it was inevitable that my emotions would be stirred up as I remembered my own stillborn son. Jess Samuel. Though I think about him often, I rarely mention his name out loud. Though I still cry myself to sleep some nights, I try to keep my tears to myself. Though my experiences make up a great portion of who I am today, I don't share them much. Only my journal and a (very) few close friends and family members know the details of my grief, and only my own heart knows the depth of it.

I feel like Jess, and the experiences I went through with him, are enclosed in a small bubble in my heart. I protect that bubble because if it's popped, I would not only dissolve into a weepy mess, but I fear that I would forget some of the most important lessons that were learned as the contents of the bubble freely spilled into unexplored crevices and dark areas of my heart. But it's hard, sometimes, to feel like a portion of my life needs to be guarded. The walls protecting that tender bubble need to be maintained and strengthened as chinks get taken out of it by unfeeling comments, and unbelieving attitudes. By people who don't seem to care, and by those who demean my grief.

I guess nothing could have prepared me for the funeral today which left those walls as rubble - leaving my delicate bubble exposed.

I tried to run from the chapel - to regain myself, and repair the walls a bit. But I was stopped on the way by a small circle of women from the church who, with tears streaming down their faces, asked how I was doing. Their concerned eyes told me that they remembered what happened almost four years ago, and the sincerity of their question left me no option but to fall into one of their shoulders and cry. Most of these women were seasoned with the experience that age brings...and they handled my delicate situation with grace and love, understanding and, most of all, support. As I cried with them, I found myself wishing my mom was there. Wishing I could cry with her...but I felt so, so blessed to have these other women there to provide the same sort of support my mom would have - even if it wasn't quite the same. I was so touched by those women who rallied around to love me on a day that was not even about me.

I felt the bubble in my heart expanding as - instead of air being blown through the wand - love, and support, and gratitude slowly blew in. They'll probably never know how much I needed them today. They'll probably never know that they took something as fragile as a bubble and lovingly expanded it into something that's even more worth guarding - because now I know not only of the Savior's love for me, but of the love that can come from my sisters in the gospel. It won't be long before the walls are rebuilt - but I've learned that taking them down, sometimes, can be just what I need.

I have a lot of gratitude in my heart tonight for all the caring people in my life. I have great parents, fun siblings, a wonderful husband, sweet children, good friends, and strong Relief Society sisters that help make trials like this bearable.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

"You are your mothers daughter"...

...those were some of the last words Brian mumbled as he was drifting off to sleep last night at 1:30 am. I had spent the whole night getting ready for McKenzie's big day today, and when Brian got home from work (at 1:00am) he helped me finish up the last of it. By the time we went to bed, there were bright pink streamers hanging from the ceilings, balloons covering the floor, a "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!" banner prominently displayed, a cute, fluffy, pink robe sewn and wrapped, rice krispy treats with sprinkles sitting in dishes ready to be taken to the preschool party, a day full of fun planned (seriously from the second she woke up until she hit the pillow for bed) - - - and I was still laying in bed, worrying about how to make McKenzie's 5th birthday special.

"What if it snows tonight?" I worried aloud (it did...but didn't stick at all, and thankfully didn't shut anything down). "What if I'm supposed to do more for her preschool party?" "I hope it doesn't make her sad when she finds out her favorite teacher isn't going to be there tomorrow." "Do you think it's going to ruin her night if I don't have anyone over to sing 'Happy Birthday' to her?" "I wish you didn't have to work all afternoon/night."

"Linds..." Brian interjected - already slurring his speach with exhaustion, "stop worrying. Everything is going to be great tomorrow. You've thought a lot about it... I don't think most moms spend this much time thinking about their kids' 5th birthdays. You are your mother's daughter," he finished endearingly.

He fell asleep, and I lay awake thinking about his statement. It's true...my mom could definitely be classified as a 'worrier' when it comes to her kids. From a very young age, it was easy to know that my mom cared about the way I was feeling in all situations, and that she would do anything possible to make that feeling 'good'. Just as I did everything I could to keep McKenzie from feeling one ounce of disappointment or sadness on her birthday, my mom did everything she could to keep us from those same feelings all the time. As I've become a mother, and realized that self-sacrificing is not usually intuitive for me, I've come to appreciate my mother even more for her thoughtfulness, compassion, and selflessness in my behalf.

One of my best friends here once said to me, "I want to give my kids the same kind of childhood you had...or, at least, the kind of childhood I imagine you had from your stories." She then continued by bringing up my mom (who she's never met) and I was touched because she recognized that much of my childhood happiness came from my mother.

I guess this is just a long way to say I love you, Mom! And, even though I spent much of the night worrying last night, I'm glad that I have a little of that in me - because that's what I love so much about you.

A Day to go Down in History

I find it fascinating how easily a mother's life revolves around her children. Sometimes I go through phases where I try to reconnect with my pre-mothering self, or try to reground my personality in just myself and God - but I realize, time and time again, that a little piece of my heart is in each child...and their beautiful personalities are woven through and through my own so much that it's impossible to separate one from another. I believe that my emotions will always revolve around their lives and their happiness - and how wonderful that, in this breath of time, my whole life is physically revolving around them, too.

Maybe that's why I was so thrilled when I felt my baby move for the first time tonight. I just love thinking about her cute little hands, and her cute little feet, and the masses and masses of hair she will have when she's born, and those long, dark eyelashes, and that beautiful, beautiful face....... No, we don't know if it's a boy or a girl, but McKenzie and I are rooting for a girl and since I write this blog, I get to impose my wishes on it. :) And, if the baby is anything like McKenzie, she won't have any real hair until well past her first birthday...but again, my blog. It's been so fun to cheer for a girl with McKenzie - she's kind of in this 'girl power' phase, and I guess I'm feeding into it a little bit. (I just hope she won't be too disappointed if the results come back in favor of a boy.)

What a great ray of light for me tonight, feeling that little nudge. I put on my favorite pair of pants this morning and sighed when I realized that, no matter how hard I pulled, tucked, squeezed or yanked, that blasted button was not going to make it. So, I got out the elastic band to hold it together and felt a little twinge of defeat as I succumbed to my fate for the next few months. I lathered concealer all over my face and, still, those little red blotches shined right through like they were the star of the party (sadly, even in Beautimus...I've made a point to not look in Wretchimus for the next long while). I try not to let my physical appearance dictate my mood for the day...but sometimes it does - so it was great to feel a little nudge of encouragement from my little one, to help me remember exactly why I'm doing this. :)

Nostalgia

It's foggy outside. If I squint just right at the streetlamp's cone of light, and don't look too closely at the ground, and imagine a quiet stillness, it almost feels like it's snowing. I stood for a long time in the dark tonight, squinting out my window at the fog, letting the Christmas tree lights dance in my peripheral vision, arms folded and toes curled up into my slippers for a little extra protection from the dropped temperatures. And, after a little while of quiet contemplation, unexpected tears started to fall from my squinted eyes. I guess I kind of wished I wasn't standing alone in my living room, pretending to see snow. I opened my eyes and backed up into the couch to cry for a while, and look at my little Christmas tree. We put it up last night, and I was kind of excited that I would be able to spend the whole Christmas season in my own house, looking at my own tree, and focusing on my own little family.

I guess I feel differently tonight.

Tonight, I miss my families...the one I grew up in, the one I married into and, of course, my overworked, exhausted husband...and I'm having trouble swallowing the fact that I won't see them this holiday season (or, at least not much of them, in the case of my husband). I'm sure I'll create more memories of this '1st Christmas at home' but , is it wrong to cry a little for what won't be?

Ah, here I am, miss gloomy-doomy - and after such a long time of silence in my posting! Sorry. I guess I'm just 'ebbing' a little again. I haven't really done that for a while, so I suppose it's about time. Well, I'm sure the tide is on it's way in - and, this time, I think I'll take President Uchdorf's advice and try to lift up someone else, as opposed to sitting around and waiting for the tide to come in itself. I have a feeling that he may know a little secret on how to help me bring in the tide myself. :)

100th Post!

I feel like this should be a momentous occasion! I feel like I should be blogging about something insightful and beautiful! It's kind of like when you hear 'caller number 7' win $1000 in gas money, and you hope that he's really worthy of such a gift. You hope caller number 7 will value that $1000 as much as caller number 6 or 8 would have, had they received it. You hope caller number 7 is not some unappreciative soul that feels a sense of entitlement from the world and who has a bank account already holding millions of dollars. And you listen to his reaction to the gift and try to discern for yourself whether or not you think he deserves it. (You all do this, right?!)

Well, I suppose I kind of feel like that with this 100th post. I'd like this post to have some confidence and excitement about this, and I'd like to give it something that will make it feel deserving of such a title. But, since I just realized that I had 99 posts about 5 minutes ago, I don't have much! I suppose there is something sort of historical that has happened in my blogging world, though: I have changed my blog title. I'm not sure if that's taboo or not, but I've done it anyway. :)

My blog title used to be "All We Ever Need is Right Here!". This name was not just an arbitrary name chosen to deceive others into thinking our family life is perfectly content and full of sunshine. It was, instead, a sentence that came out as I was writing in my journal 3 years ago after I'd given birth to our stillborn son. Instead of an exclamation point at the end of the sentence in my journal, however, it was a period. A period of boldness and seriousness. (I changed it for my blog so it would appear a little more light-hearted.) It was during these dark moments of my life that I realized that everything I really need is within the walls of my own home. My husband was my rock - showing enough tears to be human, and enough strength to pull me along. He was my shoulder to cry on - and on - and on - and on. My daughter was my little sunspot - forcing me to get out of bed, to smile, and to laugh again. And my Heavenly Father (who played the most important role) was there to comfort me through his Spirit and reassure me that everything would eventually be all right. 'All we ever need is right here' became the sentence I latched on to...the one I think about when I'm disturbed by some outside problem...the one I always want to remember...

So, why did I change it? Because I've found something new to latch onto. I will take the previous sentence and tuck it gently into a comfortable, padded room called 'things that mean the most to me'. And I will pull a new sentence out...something that will hopefully develop a different side of my personality...

'Turning Tomorrow into Yesterday". This name is not just an arbitrary name chosen to sound philosophical and analytical. It is, instead, a thought that came from my little preschooler on our way to school. She asked, "Do you remember when yesterday was tomorrow?" My mind turned the statement upside-down and I thought to myself, "Yes...and soon tomorrow will be yesterday as well." I couldn't get these thoughts from my mind for 3 whole days as I turned the words around and around and around, analyzing it from every perspective imaginable. A family motto is forming around these ideas as I've realized how important it is to spend each day creating positive memories that will last into tomorrow. I feel like I waste so many hours of a day...whether I'm vacuuming mindlessly, reading to my kids with no emotion, watching a dumb TV show, or sifting through pictures on my computer without letting them touch and remind me of the experiences they came from. I think that, maybe, each experience can be an enriching one - one that will make memories and/or teach life lessons. President Monson quoted a grandmother who said of her young mothering life "I wish I had enjoyed the doing a little more, and the getting it done a little less." I guess this is what I want for my family as well. To enjoy doing things...and to always remember that we are, right now, turning tomorrow into yesterday.

And so, in my 100th post, I officially change my blog name from 'All We Ever Need is Right Here!' to 'Turning Tomorrow into Yesterday".

Caged Aquatic Life

On our way home from the beach, my beautiful sister, Michelle, treated us to the aquarium. It was really awesome - though I wished I had a better camera...I wasn't able to get any good pictures of the actual creatures. :)

You may notice in the bottom left hand corner of this picture there is a little blue sign. That sign says "Please do not sit or climb on the alligator." Whoops. I didn't actually see that until after I took the photo. I thought the kids looked pretty cute in it, anyway.











We got to pet sting-rays...slightly disgusting.


You know, ever since we returned home from our beach trip, I've been contemplating and analyzing my oceanic fears. And I've realized something - I don't think I'm really scared of ocean life (I'm actually quite fascinated by it)...I think I'm more fearful of the unseen ocean life. I loved snorkeling and swimming in the clear waters of Hawaii, where I could keep an eye on the open waters around me while snorkeling, and where I could easily see where I was stepping while swimming - but add a bout of cloudiness to the water and I'm a panic-attack waiting to happen.

One of my fondest memories is one where I literally swam with a wild sea-turtle for a few minutes in Hawaii. He was playing just outside the breaking waves, but the energy soaring through the swells was enough to carry us both in a rhythmic sort of dance. I didn't quite dare to touch it - it's beak looked a little intimidating - but it sure was fun to watch it glide so effortlessly in the water. Contrast that to one of my most terrifying memories: swimming in the vision-thick waters of Emerald Isle last year two days before the triathlon. I couldn't even see my hand clearly as it sliced through the water just more than a foot in front of my face. Each time I put my face back into the water I couldn't help but envision gaping jaws, with rows of razor-sharp teeth, invisible to my eye until it was mere inches from my face. By then, it would be too late. My breathing was extremely strained as I practiced in that ocean for those few minutes. I had to breathe every-other stroke, as opposed to every 3rd or 5th stroke I had practiced in the pool. I seriously had to coach myself with encouraging words as I felt a panic-attack coming on.

Anyway - long tangent to maybe explain why I liked the aquarium. :)











Merrill actually found one of these on the beach - we mocked him for thinking it was something cool when it was, for sure, just a piece of man-made plastic. Looks like he was right! This is a skate egg sack - the skate's 'wings' (like a sting-ray) are all rolled up inside, and as it breaks free from it's sack, it unrolls in the water, swims away, and the egg sack washes up on shore.











Carson's favorite animal was the baby octopus...and McKenzie's favorite animal was the jelly-fish.

Two Crabby Kids. :)

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And, completely unrelated: I have this small problem with chocolate chip cookies. One of my best friends makes the most outstanding chocolate chip cookies...so, you can imagine my excitement when she gave me the recipe. The only problem is, I can't seem to make them right. Every time they come out of the oven, they're flat as pancakes. I've heard it might be because I'm mixing them too much...but I'm fairly certain there was no extravagant mixing today. Does anyone have any ideas on how to make beautiful chocolate chip cookies?

Well, we made some chocolate chip 'pancakes' for you tonight, Daddy. Can't wait to share them with you!

Relax and Unwind

I think the beach is probably my favorite place to be. And, when surrounded by great friends, it's just unbeatable! We've made it a sort of bi-annual (sometimes tri-annual!) tradition to rent a beach house for a few days with some friends, and I always come back feeling happy, content, refreshed, and a little tired. :) This trip was especially fun for me because my sister, Michelle, was able to come with us. I'm pleased to announce that I didn't get a hint of sunburn (or, unfortunately, an ounce of color...) - turns out sunscreen really does work!

Well, without further ado, I'll present the picture-log of our fun vacation to the beach:

One potato, two potato, three potato, four......It didn't take long for the kids to stake their claim on the room with the television! Couch potatoes all lined up on the beds watching cartoon after cartoon after cartoon. I found it funny that it was sometimes hard to tear them away from it to go to the beach! Ahhhhh - vacations!



























Once again, I didn't get a family picture at the beach...whoops! But here are some singles (and, by the way, thanks to a friend who recently blogged about how much she loves to take self portraits, I had no shame as I took my own. That happens when you're the only one in your family concerned with getting pictures).










We've learned from experience not to let the kids into the hot-tub unless we wanted to relax in warm, cloudy, yellow pee-water for the last half of our stay. So, the Becks brought a little inflatable pool that Merrill filled with warm, siphoned tub water from their bathroom. It turned out to be a fantastic idea! The kids thought it was great that they had their very own 'kids-hot-tub'.











What's a good beach trip without a little football in the water?! I think the top-left picture is Brian, Aaron and Paul...but I could be wrong about that one. The bottom picture was taken when the guys decided to go for a little late-night game of 500 in the ocean. Natalie was the only smart one to bring her camera...so I stole this picture from her blog...I hope you don't mind, Natalie! Judging from the picture, they were all pretty proud of themselves for braving the waves with only the light of the moon to guide them!

Now, if any of you know me rather well, or if you've been following my blog for a while, you've probably gathered a small bundle of evidence that would suggest that I love the beach. Whether you've read my Hawaii posts, (part one here, and part two here), my emerald isle posts (here, here, and here), or have just simply heard my love expressed through my mouth, it's not hard to figure out that I have a mild obsession with the beach. Given this obsession, it's rather quirky that I'm actually terrified of the ocean. Oh, don't get me wrong - I love to look at it...but getting inside it is quite a different story. I like to play in the waves...but I simply cannot get past the squeamishness I feel when I think of the creatures swimming all around me. Even as a child, I would feel uncomfortably anxious when I'd swim in Lake Powell and catch a whiff of that disgusting fish smell. That same anxiety is only magnified by thousands when I think about sea creatures - especially those that are able to inflict pain or (gulp) death on a human. And so, it took hours of persuasion and courage mustering for me to finally consent to walk out into the ocean with my sister. The water was warm, and it was kind of fun to scream as the waves hit into us...

It was fun, that is, until we both saw a FIN swimming TWO FEET AWAY FROM US! I am as serious as I've ever been in my life - Michelle and I both saw the fin at the same time, screamed and ran back onto the shore (thankfully we were only about thigh deep - so running was still a possibility). We could have TOUCHED it, it was that close. It is still to be debated whether it was a shark or a dolphin...but either way, I was terrified and made no further attempts that day to get into the ocean. Can you even imagine!?

At random times throughout the next two days, I'd finally be ready to try again when sting-rays made their presence known. A fisherman about 30 yards away from us caught one and let it go back into the ocean. THE SAME OCEAN I WAS JUST ABOUT TO GO INTO, might I add...Megan felt one swim between her legs while she was jumping in the water with Harrison...and Michelle stepped on one, slid across it's back, and felt one of it's 'wings' flap up onto her foot.

So, now I will show you these next two pictures...and I want you to praise me, encourage me, and be impressed by the triumphant amount of will I display here:










Was it worth it? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. Maybe just for the sole purpose of bragging on my blog. :)

I loved this picture of Carson and Brynnlee. The kids had so much fun - watching multiple movies a day, gorging on snacks, soaking each other with water, running from the waves...living the kid dream. :) Here are three more of my favorite 'kid' pictures...and, of course, another 19 pictures in the slide show...just in case you haven't seen enough already.