more school work

I hesitate sharing my work from school because it isn't Shakespeare, Dickinson, or Keats.  It is all right, maybe good/warm, but not brilliant.  :)  Maybe presentable enough to show a few public/friendly eyes, those who glance this way, but not more than that. :)  My teacher approved of this one so I thought it wouldn't embarrass me too much if he liked it. :)

Reading with Father

calm, winter's white night

filled with warmth of bread

melting butter and honey.

Golden beauty dripping

illuminated by firelight and

strengthened by father's baritone.

children are curled on the floor

in a fortress of pillows, afghans, patchwork quilts.

his voice, creating impressions

we follow; we pursue

traveling worlds newly made

wonders envelope our minds

as father gives life to words

stark black and brilliant white.

outside, the snow falls

A memoir for my class... a really short one... around 500 wrds

 This is one of the stories that I have written this semester.  It does have grammatical errors in it.  My teacher doesn't worry about that too much.  Content in Creative writing is more important to him, for which I am grateful.  It isn't a great story and I am hesitant to share, embarrassed but I thought I would put it here anyway... just to have some evidence of life on my blog.

            “Somebody stole my man.... Somebody stole my man,”  Alta sang as she shuffled her walker forward.  It was her favorite song, tuneless, angry and heartbroken.  Most often she would sing it as she meandered on her morning constitutional.  You always knew, that on these days, Alta was feeling lonely. To me, her singing was humorously tragic.  Her lament had the soul of the perfect southern jazz song.  It made me smile.  But it also made me wish that I had time to spend freely talking to her.  But I didn't.

            There were others, like the “Relief Society President”, perfect, pure, and pristine, who came out one Sunday ready for church, looked at her panty hose and, echoing the sentiment of most women, said, “Damn panty hose, they got a run in them!” She promptly went back to her room and changed.  There was the World War II vet who would wait in his room for family to come.  They rarely did.  One day he said to me quite bitterly, “I wish I could die.  I am ready to die... But He won't take me.  Almost everyone I know is gone, but He won't take me.” Being young, I didn't know what to say.  How could I find a way to relate to someone who had suffered the horror of war,  the pain of old age, and the loss of family and friends.  I felt so inadequate.  Then there was Norma, who never said a word.  But her walls were full of pictures of her young self, smiling, waving, embracing her husband, camping... not the same shell I helped to dress and shower every morning.  She never said a word to me; just smiled or grunted in frustration.

            But, of all these I remember Alta most. 

            The first day I had heard her singing her song, I came into her room and found her sitting on her bed and she looked at me and said, “She took him away from me.  He left me for THAT women.  Left me alone. You be careful! You can never trust a man.”  Once again, my bashful tongue left me without reply.  How do you comfort an older woman who has been abandoned by her husband?  "You'll find someone better?"  "He doesn't deserve you!"  "Men are jerks!" Everything felt trite and emotionally untrue.  And for me, giving a simple hug or a pat on the back was like jumping from the high dive; completely scary.   Another time, after her slow march and song, I went into her room and she spoke differently of her husband's betrayal, “He left me, he wasn't supposed to die first.  How could he die and leave me, alone!”  Her bitterness was the same, her loss just as deep even though this time her husband hadn't run off with another mistress.  Death was the female fatal.  I wondered which story was true, but knew there wasn't a way to know.  Alta suffered from Alzheimers. 

            It wasn't long before the disease began to take its final advances.  I remember walking into her room and seeing feces on the floor; a trail leading to the bathroom with Alta inside it, moaning in pain.  That day, I learned part of the process of death, loss of bowel control.  As I cleaned up the mess from the floor, I wasn't disgusted.  There was a tranquility in the room that minimized the nature of my work.  I imagined that maybe her husband, setting the record straight had come, ready to bring her home.  The reunion would have been sweeter on the other side of the veil, if that was the case.  There wouldn't be any more blue songs for Alta to sing.  She would have her man again and know that, maybe, maybe he had never left her.

'second' mothers

The other day I drove out to Mona to go to a family reunion on my mother's side.  As I was driving and watching the green fields, orchards, farms, and mountains flow silently by, I felt a sense of peace, the feeling you have when you are going home...I watched the land morph and blend... country that I had been so familiar with... country that led me to a house I used as a refuge in my youth.  Aunt Larita's home.  She is my mom's sister, and to me so unlike my mom and yet so like her too.  To me, they have inherited (don't all my mom's sisters?) they have inherited what I imagine to be my grandma's best traits... A quiet strength, courage and composure, a tinge of sassy fiestiness with sweetness in the contours of their faces.   For me, she became like Emily, the chicken, in the Virginian, who would adopt potatoes, puppies and other farmland offspring... I was not hers, and maybe I was a little bit strange, but I felt warm and comfortable, drawn into her warmth, into her brood, and into her home. (although Emily is a comical tragedy; my Aunt is not :)  I would make her laugh at my fickleness with all my "Cecily" type romances... very one sided, but none-the-less-real and dramatic to me.  She would feed me food, food I can still remember today.  Grilled zucchini and tomatoes with basil and melted mozarella... bananas foster... my tongue still reminds me of how delicious it was.  Occasionally, she would take me horseback riding and would always push me to be brave, take control, ride tall, and have fun.  Once, the horse I was riding became so unruly that both she and I panicked a little bit.  This horse WOULD NOT do what I was asking it and was even bucking and rapidly walking backward, I think it knew it had a novice on its back.  The situation became slightly dangerous and I kept thinking, I will not give up... I will just listen to Aunt Larita and everything will be okay.  If I remember right, she was also unsure of what to do in the situation and was hoping all would turn out well, it was lucky that I didn't know if that was the case.  I can't remember how it all ended, but it did... everyone was unhurt and Aunt Larita rode that horse from then on...she needed to tell it who was boss after such an unseemly display.  Now, with my two children playing in the back of the car, I was heading back to this safe haven a harbor to turn to... a second mom and it felt oh so good to be heading home.

My Aunt Marlene was another 'second mom' to me.  When I graduated from school, my next place of education was the oh, so cold Ricks College in the frozen town of Rexburg (Iceburg).  My first semester there I was... drowned, drenched, weighed down with homesickness... It was healing to have a home and a family to go to. I still remember my first visit to her house.  It was a Sunday dinner... warm and complete... which was significant to a college student who was learning to live and cook on her own... yum, boxed noodles :).  The thing I remember most... or the feelings that still burn like an ember within me... were the feelings of... family, love and peace... not that there was a yoga zen quality... or that it was even quiet and peaceful... there was movement, noise, laughter, bantering, teasing, and fiestiness... but it was family and it was love... which made it peaceful.  My Aunt Marlene... I love her... I love all the red haired, Irish fight in her little body.  She worked at Ricks, and if there was ever a problem to resolve, who did they call?  Did they call a three hundred pound, muscle bound, tall, dark and brooding man?  No.  They called the little 4'11 Irish lady with nerves of steel and a sharp wit and tongue.  I think she could keep a pack of wolves at bay, scare terrorists into submission, and convince any soul to obey... just by her mere presence... her calm and firm reasoning and maybe a prudent tongue lashing.  And yet... she was so soft and gentle.  I remember crying with her, over some sadnesses on certain occasions.  I would talk.  She would listen.  And she would share stories, her love stories about my Uncle.  How and Why she came to America.  I would tell her about school, the things I was struggling with... and she took me in, wrapped me up in love and family.  I trusted her.  I trusted her heart and her love... she and her family were people that I absolutely loved.  She was an adopted mom.
Time and distance has changed these relationships ever so slightly.  I am not the same and neither are they.  Relationships do change.  I am not able to see either of them as much as I would have liked, and I am not good at the occasional phone call... email??? Facebook?  Is that were you go to strengthen the bonds of 'second motherhood'?  It sometimes seems that in parental relationships there is a constant ebb and flow...there are times when we cling to the lifesaver and times when we must swim alone... but still appreciate that the lifesaver is still there... home is still there, safety, love and peace are still there.  I know that if the need ever arouse that absolutely... they would be mothers I could turn to.

Homes

I know Pendleton so well. I know the dust, the farm lands parceled amongst the undulating hills, like a patch work quilt stretching until it rolls out of view. I know the blue mountains in the distance, and the surprising closeness of the stars on a dark night.   How often have I inhaled the cool smell of pine and traced, with my eyes, the outline of the trees, like black lace, against a burning red sunset.  The clouds that roll in are full and fluffy.  When it rained, I would dance on the front lawn transporting myself into a different world, swaying to Enya as the thunder cried through the mountains.  I learned to love the blueberries so round and sensuously clustered together.  I am homesick for it... My parents' home, so snug and tucked away.  it was a haven, a place of tranquility, time to escape and be healed... it will always be a home, my home, a place for my heart... but, now it is only a place to visit... I cannot stay indefinitely... getting there is hard work...and now I must work on building that same sort of home, for my children... a place of safety, love, peace and healing. ... Home can be so many places, it seems to change almost constantly and usually it is the one place you crave the most... the quiet and safety.  There have been a few places, and people that have seemed to embrace me and have become family and home for me... 'home' is always the best place to be :)


Just recently, home has become somewhere different.  We have moved from a small two bedroom apartment with asphalt out front, to a spacious medium/large, three bedroom, 100 year old house with a fenced in backyard and a 15 foot ceiling.  Even though every room is stacked with boxes; the boys seem to relish the exploration of new space.  I wonder how they will feel when everything is all put away.  I can't decide how I feel in this moment.  Anticipation, sadness, overwhelmed... I guess a part of me is a little spoiled and wants more.  Like maybe room enough for a horse (not in the house of course)... or no neighbors, somewhere up in the mountains far away... or I would even take everything put away and feeling like home... right now I just feel suspended... unable to truly breath surrounded by a pile of my belongings.  If my stuff could find a home... then maybe I would feel more at home :).  In later years, will I know this house and this place like I know Pendleton?  Will this place be the one where we welcome more children?  Graduate from school?  Learn, even more, to be poor and in love? Is Provo a place you can know?  Or is it too large to be personal... too many people too close and squished together... and none of us knowing our neighbor.  Sometimes I think that modernity has made it impossible to know each other... we have all been compartmentalized, separated in our homes, cars, cubicles etc...  This is my home now.  This is where my husband and my children are, the loves of my life.  I can plant a garden here.  I will probably sorrow here.  Experience bliss, joy, and happinesses uncountable.   In the end, this is where I will create and come to know the beauty in people, nature and life.   I will post pictures later :)

Further thoughts on Motherhood

So, I have been having conversations with myself about motherhood because I posted something, on Facebook, about it.  To me it was moving and beautiful, but I can see how some could be offended by it if they are working mothers.  This is what I think, and it is completely personal and doesn't need to be thrust upon anyone else (ie: you don't have to read this and you can disagree :).  I think that both stay at home moms and those who work can do an excellent job at being mothers.  I believe that we should not judge one another either way.  We cannot know each other's hearts and motivations.  I think that staying at home, in some ways provides more opportunity to nurture your kids because of the amount of time you are with them.  When you work out of the home, you have to work harder at finding the quality time your children need.  I think.  but...those at home could be distracted just as easily with their time too, I guess.  In the end, what really matters to me is that I try every day to be a little bit better (and that is hard work, I have so much room to improve!).  I try to find one on one time and be a friend and a mother.  I like the idea of remembering where my children are in my life... what priority they take in the list of things I have to do.  And are they really just on that list of have to doos... and if they are on that list is it ever done? :)  My job is to help my children to be healthy people who know they are loved and are lovable... who are healed and can help heal others... they aren't something I have to do but people I can embrace and love so that the work I do, becomes a joy.  When we do what we do because we love God, family, people then Motherhood can become a joy.  The end.

Peace, and sickness

I have shrunk, cringed, hemmed and hawed at writing.  I don't know why.  Fear. Possibly.  But I must and should press on.
I don't want to forget all the little moments, good and bad.  Maybe, I will not do it perfectly but I will learn to embrace both.
Josh is still sick.  We had a few days, maybe even a week where I felt more hopeful... it was as if we are nearing the end of this last bout of chronic fatigue... I could see the finish line nearing.  And then.  We had too many late nights in a row with Birthdays, 4th of July and other celebrations and NOW... he looks gray again.  I can feel the tiredness emanating from his body, pulsing fatigue.  And I feel a little crushed.  I will repair myself.  But.  I would so love to have a healthy husband.  I would love to play basketball with him, hike and run and jump and play.

If he were better, we could take the kids to the park, we could finish school faster, have another baby (I would like four, I think.)...We could eat Green Eggs and Ham with Sam I am! we could take a walk with the Sheep as they walk in their sleep from here to there where mysterious things are everywhere... the possibilities seem limitless.  But we are not there yet.  Despite this thorn, this pricking painful thorn... life is good.  We are poor, sick and happy.  We have enough to cover our needs and some wants :)  We laugh together and enjoy one another's company, even though we cannot be as adventuresome as we would like.  I feel that I have the choice, to find happiness/peace in these difficult circumstances or I can allow myself to become bitter and resentful.  Being bitter hurts.  Peace is soothing.

Asher, my sweet boy, who finds tiny wizards hanging out on his head.  What an imagination.

Sometimes I feel like I am rediscovering him... like he isn't just a person but a world, a galaxy full of wonders to acquaint myself with. His potential and his abilities are limitless.  His intelligence, his sweetness astound me.  Not that his intelligence surprises me... he is smart... but you forget exactly who and what your child is... You start thinking of them as children who spill milk, make dust clouds in the dirt, mud pies on the side walk, don't listen to you at the park, eat pancakes for breakfast, play with their brother (sometimes sharing sometimes not)...

and then one day, one afternoon, one minute you stop and listen to what they are saying... you bend or kneel down to their level and listen and find that no, this is not a child at all... but a spirit, full of light and intelligence... someone so full of endless possibilities and greatness.  It causes your heart to expand with love for this sweet person and you feel So grateful for this small opportunity to be with them.  Moments like this happen for both my sweet little boys, where I am in awe of who my little children, really are.  God's children.

My Hug gives you Super powers

The other night, Joshua was spurring Isaac to attack me.  At the same time, Asher was trying to save me.  Asher came and gave me a big squeeze and then said, "My Hug gives you Super powers!"  His hugs do give me super powers, they fill me up with love and laughter (especially when we are playing).  What could be more super and powerful?

Life has a tendency to continually define and redefine who we are.  Sometimes the scriptures refer to this as the refiner's fire, or smoothing out the rough edges.  We have moments that seem to, with brilliant force, expose us... either with our weaknesses or with our strengths.  Sometimes both.  Occasionally, it is when we feel weakest that we are the strongest.  For, despite our frailty we keep moving forward, pushing ourselves against or over the insurmountable.  In our sojourn, we sometimes have moments of keen introspection.  We surprise ourselves with what we are able to accomplish and are sometimes saddened with the mistakes which can slowly burden us.  It is not always easy to take a step back in these moment... moments where we see just how destructive a burden can become... and still love and accept this fugitive being.  Often, this is when we find ourselves pleading with God, wishing most fervently to be encircled within His peace and love, as if in an embrace.  In this place, there is divine affirmation and healing of all the wounds we carry within.  Isn't this one of our greatest needs, to be healed and to know that God loves us?  He sees everything about us, our strengths and our weaknesses, but is most concerned with what we can become, who we really are.    It is before God that we are most vulnerable, because He knows who we are... I wonder if we were to stand before Him, like the woman waiting to be stoned... how vulnerable and frail we would feel.. knowing the effect of our sins and that they would keep us from his presence... but he does not condemn us... He knows that we are more then even we could imagine... we are an inner world of intent, desire, and love... souls aching to find safety... burdened with unmet needs...desiring to do and be good.  He knows what we need and how to heal us and give us strength to overcome.  He will light the way, allowing us to see who we truly are.  As we come to know God, we come to know ourselves and see, with His eyes, who we truly are and all the good we are capable of doing.

http://mormon.org/me/3QV2#

Soldier's letter to his Wife

A week before Manassas, Major Sullivan Ballou of the 2nd Rhode Island wrote home to his wife in Smithfeild: 

July 14, 1861
Camp Clark, Washington

My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days-- perhaps tomorrow.  Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more...

I have no misivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter.  I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution.  And I am willing--perfectly willing-- to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt...
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with might cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long.  And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of the future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us.  I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whipsers to me--perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed.  If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name.  Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you.  How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been!  How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness...
But, O Sarah! if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights... always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.  Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again...
Sullivan Ballou was killed at the first battle of Bull Run
one week later

What we really need is to celebrate love like this.  Mostly, our media encourages a fleeting temporary love... the relationship will only last as long as the brief moments of passion... a year maybe seven... but often not forever.

pictures

I am in a writing slump.  So here are some pics that I have been taking.

dear blog

What happened here! :)

I want to write.  I like blogging.  I don't know what to say.  Something Creative.  Some sort of Essay, where I can creatively express life in symbols and metaphors and tie it all in with being a mother and a wife.  Nothing. Got nothing.
I want to write creatively because in my last paper I wrote there were at least two amazing sentences, two sentences where I felt brilliant, like Shakespeare... and now... nothing.  So, instead I will talk about the transition back into mom hood (I never stopped being a mom, I just didn't have as much time to devote to it.)

Angel Baby who knows how to get in TRouBLe

Coming home was harder then I thought it would be.  I wanted to be home with my children, but a part of me missed the.... what is it... the socialization, the learning, group discussions, finding new literature to read...I am not sure exactly what it was that I was missing.  It was a battle of sorts for me.  I wanted to be with my children and missed those perfect days, with my children, that serve as a store-able heart warmer.  And yet I missed the 'freedom' of going to school.  Today, I had a moment where I didn't feel that tug-o-war.  Asher had made a fort on top of our couch with all of its cushions.  He was standing on top of the pile proclaiming to be a super hero AyAh.  Later, he explained how the pillows beneath him were shrinking machines, a shrink-a-madoodle, and then he shrunk me.  All this was done, while I was laying on the floor cuddling with Isaac and tickling him as we watched and listened to Asher play.  Finally, Asher joined us and then Josh came in the room and laid down on the floor... there we were... one happy, laughing family.  It was a perfect moment.  But it only lasted briefly.  One perfect moment is food for an eternity. right? :)

Practicing his Super Hero Mojo

Later, Asher gave me the super hero name of JoJo and Josh became DoDo (as prompted by myself :).  Asher doesn't realize the significance of DoDo yet. :)

I won't say

I received my grades, and they are ones I am happy with.  Maybe someone else would feel like they didn't do well, but I do feel like I accomplished something AMAZING!  so, we are good.

My world during School

This will be a compilation of some of my thoughts this semester


the world, not the sky... the world is falling down.

I must say that the past few weeks have been roller coaster like...without the hands waving in the air and joyous screaming... Roller coaster ride that is more like... thinking everything is okay and then suddenly you are on a dark and rickety ride, with plunges and twists and turns you weren't expecting.  You aren't sure were you are going, you wonder if you will make it, and you hope the light at the end of the tunnel is just that, a light, and not some steam engine barreling down upon you.  What a steam engine is doing in an amusement park I couldn't say.

I have found that being a mom and being a student is not easy.  The two seem to exclude each other, for me.  I cannot concentrate on being a mom when I have a huge paper and deadline looming before me.  When I am a student doing my paper I cannot keep track of or even take care of my children.  Meals become sporadic, kids run around naked, bedtime shifts and becomes a debate, colds turn into pneumonia (they were naked all the time!), in laws are asked to devote serious amounts of time to my children, chaos is a permanent guest at our home.  Not to mention the abundance of short tempers and the shortage of patience.  While I am at my desk, sitting in my chair, my heart burns and desires to be with my kids, while my back, eyes and brain burn from sitting and staring at the computer screen.   If you combine this with Joshua being sick for three months now, a certain dalliance with chronic fatigue... the burdens just seem to multiply, by two at least.  Now, I am not only a mom and student, but a permanent taste tester of different physicians, quacks, and naturalistic D.Os.  And still, no answers.  No solutions.  No improvement.  Some days, maybe a little and others maybe a drop in energy, maybe even a little more sick.  One week, I was sure that Josh had a tumor.  A friend of mine related a story to me of a friend, who had a husband who suddenly became sick and exhausted, finally they found a tumor and he died three day later.  I would frequently converse with myself... battling the sudden surge of panic, what if he died?  What would I do?  How could I possibly repair my heart?  The tumor has been excluded from the list of things making Josh sick.  It was a relief, and a reminder to myself not to worry about things that I don't have control over.

Then we had the week of attempting to finish a project for one of my classes.  I tried to be proactive, tried to get it done but found myself tied up and anxious... not able to be mom, not able to be a student, dr. appointments and Isaac getting sick, then Asher getting sick, then Josh getting sick... I am sick now too... My teacher was willing to work with me... but who knows how much I tried his patience, or if he is used to having students like me.  well... the project is finally done, for better or for worse... Asher has pnuemonia, which causes all sorts of anxieties in my little heart... Josh couldn't get out of bed this morning, Isaac has a really bad cough, and ...well... here we are...

I am facing my storm and I will come through standing up, kneeling down or crawling... the point is I will make it :)

Isaac saying please

Isaac... I have finally figured out how to get him to say please... before I would say something like this... "when you say please I will give such and such to you"... or in moments of desperation,

"just say please and you can have it!"... he wouldn't say a THING... just whining and pig squeals to get what he wanted... so frustrating, to think this might be the manner of communicating with your children for the rest of their lives!!! :)... but finally, one day I said... "Isaac, how do we ask for things?" and he said, "please."  Ding, ding, ding! revelation... Isaac will not be pushed into saying or doing something, in any way shape or form... he has to figure it out himself.  Which for me translates into great ingenuity as a mom... think mom think.  So, now I say... how do we ask for something and he always says, "please"... hurah hurah... by the by... I can't tell you how many times he will say something ... like someone's name... and they will try to get him to repeat it and he will sort of smile his secret smile and keep mum!

my boys, during school

tonight, Asher was practically drunk.  at least that is what I would call it, maybe slightly delirious would be more appropriate since he is only three. :)  He has a fever of over 100 and he came out of his room saying... "I can't sleep because I can't smell!" ... that is his way of telling us, I can't breath! So, I went to the store because we were out of Vick's baby vapor rub to see if it wouldn't help him breath better.  While I was there I bought some Vitamin Water.  When I came back both Asher and Isaac were bouncing around like rubber toddlers who had just eaten a bowl full of sugar.  Josh informed me that they had actually calmed down a little bit.  Kids who are sick, in the middle of the night do strange things.  Asher saw the drinks I had brought home and was eager to try some.  I encouraged him to drink the one that would help him get better and not the one that makes you think real good... my way of explaining the waking up process that I wanted to avoid.... He then started speaking about the situation with the speed of a motor bike on the autobon... at the end of his conversation he said... " mom, you don't want the one that makes you think, you don't want to think bad thoughts, bad thoughts hurt your brain and the bones inside your head."... what a good kid, he understands the true nature of bad thoughts :)

The other day Isaac and I were walking outside in the moonlight... We were picking up the kids after a long day of school and homework... we just couldn't get it done with them at home that day... Anyway, Isaac really wanted to be outside, so I took him out and we walked around the house looking at the almost full moon and the stars.  I pointed to them moon, and said, "Can you touch the moon Isaac?"  He reached his little hands towards the luminous orb and strained and grunted trying to reach it, when he realized he couldn't reach it, he turned to me and said, "please"... or in baby talk... peas... As if to say, will you get if for me because I can't reach it.  I hope that one day, he will be able to hold the 'moon' in his hands.  He can reach, given time.

Asher and his prayer

Tonight, Asher gave the prayer over the food.  During the prayer he asked that all the monster be sent away, at which point he stopped and conversationally turned to his father and said, "you know I don't like monsters or monsters in the lake or watermelon monsters or lake monsters or alligators in lakes." (something to that effect)

it was so hard to keep a straight face...

all that is left

The only thing that can make life easier is your attitude.  Life is hard, it isn't easy.  There isn't a bed of roses laying around for anyone to come lay down on and take a nap.  Besides, don't roses have thorns, not really comfortable.  What we do have and can cling to when we need it are: faith,hope, love, and gratitude.  Yes, even gratitude for those difficult events that make life harder... they are what shape us most, show us how to change, and what we are capable of doing.  We are amazing.  We are children of God.  Our divine potential is limitless.

spring

I don't mind the variable whether of Spring.  In fact, I like it.  One day it is warm and inviting, the next everything is drenched and the new greens, purples, pinks, yellows and golds seem to be magnified by the rain... and occasionally you wake up to a blanket of snow, as if to show by contrast, the brilliance and determination of new life.

i now have curly hair

it isn't a good picture, but you can tell my hair isn't straight anymore which is the purpose of posting myself on my blog

wanting to write

 I wish I had more time to I write.  I miss writing about my children, it was such a nice way to
keep those memories certain... and now everyday I think of all the sweet, funny, cute, intelligent, naughty, mischievous things they do and I tell myself to write them before I forget but I have already forgotten ... many of the small things that add and contribute to the whole... that make the picture, the memory complete.  A brief moment to carry with you for the rest of eternity.

I miss being a stay at home mom.  It isn't easy staying home.  A certain amount of self is lost when you give your time and energy primarily to your children.  A certain amount of sanity casually slips out the door and silently beckons chaos in to take his place, like a watch dog that invites the fox into the chicken coup.  Some people, I suppose... I am not sure, we all have different needs...leave home to escape this loss of self and the intense years of childhood... but I don't know if you can escape it, insanity is still my friend, although I am not as home as often... she didn't take a vacation because I went out my front door to learn and grow at the university.

When I come home insanity is still there comfortably settled in between the couch cushions or plastered to the wall with the noodles or spread out on my floor with all the cereal crumbs or just hanging out with any other item the children have scattered, smattered, stuffed into crannies, thrown onto walls, ceilings or floors... they are so creative. :)  Occasionally, I will talk to her, especially if I happened to say something particularly inane in class... I will ask her, pleadingly, to help me keep my mouth closed next time I think I want to say something...  because I am learning the hard way that it is better to be thought a fool rather then to confirm it.  Why oh why do I like the sound of my own halting and uncertain voice... a voice that at the same time can be so stubborn and passionate.

I do love learning and am excited to be in school, but on the whole I miss my children.  I miss the casual day where we find ourselves going to the park, reading books, hanging out... just being together and doing things... I miss having them be my goal and my focus... I feel a little torn.  A little here and a little there.  But I chose this path nobody made me take it.  So, I will finish it and hopefully finish it well.  Then I will come back, back to my home, back to the place I love best.

For whatever reason, I felt like it was the right thing to do... I don't know why exactly... I am hoping that the future and God will tell why I felt a need to go back to school, hopefully I read the spirit right.  I don't believe though, in a God who punishes just because we didn't hear right when we are trying hard to do so.  Maybe a path correction but not anger or punishment at our sincere attempts at following His will.  In the end, I believe it will work out.

   It is funny to watch Joshua adjusting to the schedule.  Frequently, I wonder if the kids will match when he dresses them or will he finally realize just how picky his children are when he tries to make them lunch... Sometimes he will say, Asher or Isaac did this or that in complete shock and dismay...  I just have to smile and say, "yes love, that is what they do!".  What I think is normal for our children he is having to adjust to.

Isaac, is growing up so quickly... he says more and more words but never very consistently... he is a rascal and a sweety, loving and ferocious (not mean ferocious but independent and determined) all at once :)  He refuses to say please all though I know he can say it.  He sits on the books, still, when we try to read them not in a mean spirit but...that is just how books are read, you sit on them... and as always he likes to climb on things... the other day he climbed up on to our microwave and started dancing around.... you can't leave anything as a stair or a ladder lying around or he will climb from the box, to the chair, to the table, to the microwave, to the refrigerator, to the chandelier if he can reach it... and always with a satisfied air of accomplishment which always qualifies for a good dance.

Asher, my sweet Asher, is growing up and is just as precocious... so good at sharing and sometimes not at all... this morning he climbed into the crib to comfort a crying Isaac (I was trying to get him to go back to sleep)... he loves his brother and will try very hard to be a kind comforting older brother... most of the time.  :)  The other day he was jabbering away at Josh while Josh fixed our new exerciser bike... Josh turned to me and said, can you understand what he is saying... I smiled and said no, I wasn't paying strict attention though either... Asher then said, "I am not talking about bikes, or balls, I am talking about (dramatic pause) door knobs"!... we both laughed which thrilled Asher to be the center of our attention and then Josh said, "hey look! there are door knobs right behind you!"  Asher turns and in sudden revelations says, "oh yeah, door knobs!"...

We do all love each other... none of us are perfect we all make mistakes... but goodness we are lucky to have one another :)

part of a poem, Long Years Have Past Since Last I Stood

I thought if yet my weary feet
could rove my native hills again
A world of feeling would revive...

Absence is not forgetfulness,
And distance cannot vanquish time.

I am hungry/miss writing

one of last walks we took

I miss writing on my blog.  I miss the creativity and I miss capturing the slippery memories, so easily lost, of my children...  The funny things they say.  Like the other day I asked Asher what a promised land was... He started talking about cute little bunnies and how they would come and lick his face and it would make him laugh.  He is so intelligent and so creative... but it is so easy to miss in his flurry of words that bombard you in a moments notice.  If you aren't paying attention... it is gone before you know it and so are all the sweet little stories.

Isaac slept through most of it

Isaac, has reached this fun stage where... he doesn't really talk but he does have some random phrases that he uses... phrases that make you think he does know how to talk, he just chooses not too... or else we have not figured out what phonemes he is using to make his words... His most favorite phrase at this time is "What is this?"  He will point to everything around him, "what is this?", "what is this?" and just beam when  you tell him the words, as if he is hungry/passionate, thirsty for knowledge.  One of his favorite objects is the moon... well and the stars... when we leave magra and pagra's (grandma and grandpa) house late at night he will stare into the night sky and say... wa'st this?... wa's this?... one night he started to scream/cry because Josh put him into the car before he could finish enjoying his star gazing moment.  It was so sad.

what happens when mom doesn't pay attention... it ended getting in everyone's eyes... don't let your kids play with pepper :)

oh... and I lost the battery recharger to the camera ... again.  I have been FOREVER without a camera... or so it seems.

I am loving my classes... I love learning.  I love talking and sharing in class discussions, although I always regret something I may have said or not said (clarity).  After class, I always want to track SOMEONE down to share what I am learning, or what I wish I had said... or how I didn't mean exactly what I said... what I meant was this... But that can't always be done.

reaping the momentary benefits of spilled black pepper... moments later he paid for it, having to take a shower (their least favorite) to get all the pepper off

Josh is sick again.  I feel like the both of us are trying to be hopeful and prayerful, but watching warily, crossing our fingers that the chronic fatigue does not return.  I do feel though, that even if it does return we will be okay.  I refuse to be as weak as I was when he first became sick at the beginning of our marriage... I will be strong and do what I have to do, no matter what happens.  If I could have my way... I would stay at home and grow my children and a garden and maybe write a book someday.

speaking of energy

Speaking of energy... yesterday, Isaac dumped chips and cheerios on the floor.  Cheerios for breakfast and chips at snack time.  Asher knocked over the tv while I was doing the dishes... everyone survived though! and he set free a bag of chocolate chips (while we were decorating the tree) all over my floor which really, really made Isaac's day... I followed a trail of butter to Josh's computer chair where I found it all squished and melting.  I had been in the bathroom and had forgotten to keep all the butter out of reach, it is the first thing I usually think about protecting from my toddlers reaching hands... duh, never leave the butter in reach... Isaac also got it in his hair so after bath time it was nice and soft... and I could go on but then I would look like a mom who isn't paying attention to what her children are doing... which may very well be possible :0) I hear some crashing going on in the other room...

this was written before Christmas

After Christmas and the New Year

 Everything feels like it has moved so quickly.  Frequently, when time seems to be slipping so freely from my grasp, really sand is an apt metaphor for time, I remember a book my father would read to my family when we were all at home, A Lantern in Her Hand.  It is a beautiful story about a girl who becomes a woman and a mother and sacrifices everything for her children.  She gives up her voice, her beauty, her artistic talent all is put aside so she can build a farm, indirectly a country, for her children.  Throughout the book the main character, Abbie, frequently laments the passage of time, in the beginning of the book she says,

"It was queer how it all hurt you, -how the odor of the night, the silver sheen of the moon, the moist feeling of the dew, the whispering of the night breeze, how, somewhere down in your throat it hurt you.  It was sad, too, that this evening would never come again.  The night winds were blowing it away.  You could not stop the winds and you could not stop time.  It went on, - and on."

he would NOT keep his gloves on! and then he would cry because his hands are cold... I am not sure how often I put his gloves back on...we didn't stay out very long though

There have been times when I have felt this need to stop time.  Not all of the moments have been happy ones, some of them have been bitter.  Once, when a friend of mine passed away I wanted time, the world, nature, to stop and mourn with me, it didn't make sense to have everything move forward without her.  Couldn't it stop for a moment?  Just one moment while I gathered everything that seemed so senseless back together to try and make some sense of it all, she died so young.  I knew I would see her again, which eased the pain but did not... take it away.

While some moments may have been bitter there are also some that are infinitely precious.  Now, I have my children and they are growing, how delightful it would be to be able to stop time and drink in the deliciousness of my children, to laugh and play, blow raspberries on their fat little bellies, one more kiss on their chubby, chubby cheek, one more hug around my neck, one more lullaby while they sleep so innocently in my arms... to prolong that moment so that it will be recorded forever, a never forgotten and tangible moment I can carry with me for the rest of my life.  They aren't even grown up yet and I am thinking of when it will be gone, probably because I know that one day it will be and this is the moment I need and want to cherish.  What a good reminder for me, especially when it gets hard as it always does when you are a parent.  Remember what is really valuable and important what you will cherish most in the end and focus on it.