bzzzzzzzz.....

Thanks to my new calling at church, I get to spend my Sundays with teenage girls for the foreseeable future. The boys laughed when I told them I get to teach the "beehives", which is what the 12- and 13-year-olds are called, especially when Eric told them that if I did a good job I would be promoted to the "wasp's nest" (he made that up).

Yesterday was my first day. I went to the Young Women's room after Sunday school and was given a phone list (almost every girl has her own cell phone, I was amazed to see), a birthday list and a calendar full of fun activities for the month of February. As I looked at the calendar I felt a familiar twinge of excitement. I joined the Mormon church when I was 16, so I participated in the youth program for about a year-and-a-half. I remember I would painstakingly transfer each scheduled activity into my day-planner and draw little pictures around them in marker. These goings-on were the highlights of my life. I looked forward to them so much. The little seeds of testimony that have grown and supported me throughout the last 12 years were sewn during those times. And now I get to help create those experiences for these girls.

The best part is something that I had totally forgotten about- Young Women's is all about building up. During our lesson yesterday we were given a treat with a little reminder to:

Forget your "worldly" value- Remember your true "werth". You are an "original" and unique daughter of God! He loves you!

(Can you guess what the candy was? So creative!)

Even now, my eyes fill with tears at that beautiful, simple message. I think we all need frequent reminders of our true worth.

Then I learned that I need to be able to text and be on Facebook in order to keep up with my girls. I think I can learn how to text, but Facebook...I just can't. Sorry girls.

*I awoke to these little critters yesterday morning...little Eric rediscovered this book that my very fun and creative aunt and uncle gave him a few years ago.

Snow: FAIL

Does this look like a happy face to you?...

Or this?
If you could see this one, it would not be happy either...
It turns out that we're not snow people. We had nine inches here on Saturday and there's still enough of it hanging around that school has been out all week and they have tomorrow off. We spent the weekend hunkered down at home- church was even cancelled on Sunday. We played monopoly, ate homemade pizza and soup with friends and watched movies.

Saturday morning we spent a good twenty minutes padding everyone out, but when we reached the front yard Brigham took a snowball to the eye right off the bat and started to cry. Marley refused to let me put her down, and you saw for yourself what was on the dog's mind. Eric and Eric are the most cold-hardy among us and even they were happy to go in after about fifteen minutes. In our defense, we own a total of two real winter coats, three pairs of hand-knitted mittens (not warm, but very cute!), and zero pairs of boots.

The kids and I basically spent yesterday and today inside our house. Removing all the magnets from the fridge and scattering them around the house. Dribbling the basketball in the living room. Attempting to microwave rocks. We've also had some lovely moments. We've read books, done projects, snuggled, baked and just talked. But we're all starting to feel a little cooped-up, you know?

I reached my boiling point this afternoon while waiting for Eric to come home from school. He walked in at five o'clock sharp and I took off with the dog for a chilly run. At one point I was navigating a patch of ice when I saw two off-leash dogs up the road. They saw us coming toward them and started to trot over. I just started yelling like a mad-woman. They got the hint and veered off in another direction. The last thing I needed was my stir-crazy dog taking off on a joy romp through the neighborhood, dragging me behind him through the slush and ice.

I averted that disaster, came home, showered, ate dinner and escaped again to Target, where I bought lollipops, valentine-making supplies and a Hello Kitty toothbrush for Marley. She has an obsession with toothbrushes:

She gets it from me and I get it from my mom, who gets it from my grandmother. We really like to brush our teeth. I brush mine at least three times a day. I take a long time to brush, and I get bored staring at myself in the mirror, so I wander around the house talking to people while trying not to dribble toothpaste slobber on myself. It drives Eric crazy, but I can't help it- it's genetic. I mean, look at this:

Basically, we're ready for the rest of the week. Bring it, school system! Call me again- go on, do it. Tell me school is cancelled another day, and another, and another. We have stuff to do anyway- 46 pipecleaner bees to make and attach to valentines (bee mine- get it?)...yellow snow to make...toothbrushes to collect...

Forward.

Dear Eric,

I sent you to school this morning with my blue and orange Jansport backpack. The zipper on yours is broken, so I gave you mine. I used it for four years of college, and I can still remember the day I bought it. I had gotten a $50 gift certificate to the Container Store as a graduation present. I bought a red travel jewelry case and that backpack. As I stood trying to decide on colors, the song Nothing Compares to You by Sinead O'conner was playing on the store radio. I started to cry, thinking of my highschool friends, my home, family and school that I would soon be leaving behind. I was scared and apprehensive, but something inside me told me to move forward. Something told me there was something better ahead.

My freshman year of college was more fun that I ever could have imagined. I cried much, much harder when it was time to come home for the summer than I did when I had left. I counted the days until I could go back to school, back to my friends, my classes, my loblolly pine trees. When I did come back I fell in love, and I don't even have words to describe what that was like. I only know that for some people it happens gradually and for some if feels like being whacked in the head with a baseball bat, only in a good way, and that's what it was like for me. But getting married was like stepping over a chasm into another world, and I knew I would be giving up some things I might never get back. I remember sitting in the backseat as we drove away from the party the night before our wedding, next to my soon-to-be father-in-law. He patted me on the shoulder while I cried and wondered once again about all that I was leaving behind. Once again, something inside told me to move forward.

I thought about these things when I sent you out the door this morning with my college backpack. I miss your baby self. I'm trying so hard to let go of that baby and embrace the boy you, because I know that all too soon, he will be gone too. It's really hard, but something inside me tells me to move forward. I know that God only takes away that which is precious to us in order to give us back something even better. I love Elder Holland's words from this month's Ensign:

Faith is for the future. Faith builds on the past but never longs to stay there. Faith trusts that God has great things in store for each of us and that Christ truly is the "high priest of good things to come (Hebrews 9:11).

I love you! Take good care of my backpack!

Love, Mama

Rule Number One...

Don't eat breakfast cereal that changes the color of the milk.

I saw that in an article on how to encourage healthy eating in your home and it made me laugh. I see the point, and I do believe in sticking to natural, unprocessed foods as much as possible (I make my own whole wheat tortillas, for heavens sake!), but I'm not giving up my Lucky Charms for dessert. It's okay anyway, because I've found a loophole: eat them with cream, not milk- it won't change color.

Yep. I do. And I pick out almost half the cereal to raise the marshmallow to cereal ratio. You know what? Life is short. I figure if a little sugar cereal brings me happiness, then a little sugar cereal it shall be.

Other weird things I eat:

1. Brownie mix, mixed with water and microwaved for 11 seconds so the chocolate chunks melt.

2. Tortillas filled with parmesan cheese and olive oil.

3. Pretzel sticks dipped in marshmallow fluff.

I think a balanced diet is full of two things: foods that feed your body and make you feel good physically, and foods that feed your soul and make you happy. Sometimes I can combine them, but sometimes not and I'm perfectly okay with that. Sorry Michael Pollan.

The pursuit of happiness:

I had to laugh out loud when I saw this picture of Marley in her red silk kimono. First, because she's so darn cute, and second, because by some trick of lighting, my kitchen looks like something out of design*sponge! Maybe I need to add an asterisk to my blog title? In real life- my kitchen does not look like ANYTHING out of design*sponge, but that made me wonder...maybe the same is true of the actual houses they feature?

Eric's sweet little basketball team finally won a game on Saturday. I died. I have been to a few gut clinchers in Cameron Indoor Stadium, and none of them compare to the agony and joy of watching this game. It was mostly agony though. I have one question for the out-of-control parents who scream instructions to their kids and yell at the refs (in an eight-year-olds' basketball game!!): Why? Just- why? I've never even felt the urge to yell at my kid during a game. That's what you're paying the 75 bucks for the coach to do right? I leave the coaching to the coach and consider my role to encourage and praise. Do they really think their kid even hears or processes their repeated shouts of "GET THE BALL! TAKE IT! GET UP- DON'T CRY! REBOUND!" over all the other parents yelling and screaming the same things? Honestly, I don't understand it and I feel so bad for those kids.

Eric's team scored 18 points in the first half to lead by 17, but the other team rallied in the second half and tied the game. Poor Marley was screaming her little head off by this point, but no one could hear her anyway above all the parents' screaming. They got up by two with about 30 seconds left, when Eric randomly fouled a kid (he tripped over him) and the kid made his two foul shots. Poor Eric was devastated and trying so hard not to cry. All I could do was catch his eye from the sideline and mouth "It's okay!" as the second shot went in. Then Eric passed the ball to a kid named Peter, who made a shot with 6 seconds left on the clock. Bless that boy. I will love him forever, and if I have another son, I might even name him Peter. (That's not Peter in the picture though...)
On Sunday, Brigham picked out my jewelry for church. It was hard to get a good shot of myself, but it was the mood ring he had given me for Christmas, on a silver chain since it's too big for my finger, and then a ring my mother-in-law gave me on a string of pearls. I thought it was very inspired! I paid him a dollar a few weekends ago to re-organize my jewelry box, and ever since then he's been into picking out my jewelry. That kid:).
This is how he chose to watch the video on Martin Luther King that was our Family Home Evening on Monday...
I keep reading articles and hearing on the radio about "studies" that "show" that having kids makes you less happy. I'll agree with them- if you asked me to rank my level of happiness while doing different activities throughout the day, sure- I'll take a massage, or even a run, over playing Candyland. But they're completely missing the distinction between momentary happiness and lasting happiness. It's impossible to quantify the joy that children bring you. I guess I don't have much hope of a study ever affirming my choice to be a mother. Luckily, I have other sources of affirmation...

But I do sometimes worry that with all these studies floating around I might never get nieces and nephews on my side of the family. Don't listen to them you guys- have kids! Well, okay- get married first. And then have kids- they're awesome!

What I love about being a mom:

My children think I invented cinnamon sugar.

When our carpool buddy, Trent, climbed in the car this morning, I could tell by the delicious smell on his clothes that his mom had gotten up earlier than I had and made him a good breakfast. When I asked he told me he'd had bacon, chocolate chip pancakes and juice. I wanted to get a handle on just how big of a slacker I am, compared with Trent's majorly pregnant mom, so I asked him if it was someone's birthday. He said it wasn't, so then I flat out asked him if he gets special breakfasts like that all the time or just some days. He said he usually just has oatmeal (phew!) with two scoops of brown sugar, to which Eric replied that that's what he usually has, except he has cinnamon sugar on top. Then he said:

"That's cinnamon and sugar mixed together. It's this thing we made up. Right Mama?"

I tried to skirt around the issue by saying that it was true that I did make the cinnamon sugar myself, but no, I didn't make it up. But I did make it though. From scratch. You may not know this if you didn't have a working mom who doesn't like to cook, but you can actually buy cinnamon sugar at the store. So I get points for that, right? And just the thought that my kids actually thought it was my brilliant idea was enough to make my day.

***Post Edit: They are not actually peeing into the pond in the picture. That is something I might be found letting them do, but I would have the sense not to take a picture while they were doing it!

What should I make?

"My pottery class starts tomorrow."

silence

"What should I make?"

He looks at me, blinks. "Huh? What should you make?"

"Yes, in my pottery class!" I say, indignant.

"But you didn't say anything about your pottery class," he replies, and then laughs, telling me I mumble. Always have.

"Marley," he asks the baby, "What did you just hear Mama say?"

silence, then chubby legs kicking the carseat

"See?" he says, smiling. And I do.

Then, "Don't you think they'll tell you what to make?"

"Oh," I say. "No, I don't think they will."

------------

Imagine. Telling someone what to make. That wouldn't be right. Would it? I don't want them to tell me what to make. I want to tell myself what to make. My thoughts wander back to what I should make...

toothbrush holders for the boys...

a mug...

a pie plate...

------------

"A mouse," he offers.

"Oh. No. It's a wheel class- it has to be something round."

------------

a trashcan...

a vase...

a bowl...

A bowl, yes. A giant bowl that we could flip over and crawl underneath and live inside. It would be warm and echoey. And people who want things and need things from us, they wouldn't be able to get in. They would tap on the bowl, and wait for us to come out. But we would stay under, and laugh and talk and eat popcorn together...

But... I think, as the car rolls to a stop and the doors open and it's time to get out and go to baskeball practice...

It may be that they will tell us what to make.