NINE

"I can't believe I am nine. I am getting old."

 "I just want a cake that is a number 9 but is green."

"It doesn't feel any different being nine."

My Hands, My Children, My Job

*I'm setting a mark for myself to blog on here at least once a week. So many happenings are going unrecorded, and though I'm doing it entirely for myself, I know there are a couple of readers still out there that miss me. So let's see how this goes.*

During late December, my hands finally succumbed to the cracking and dryness that often happens during the winter months. My right thumb had a significant, painful crack on it and no matter how much lotion/ointment I applied, it wouldn't heal. I dealt with it for a few days, and was hopeful that a week in the Caribbean humidity would cure it. That Caribbean humidity worked a miracle on my skin, although a havoc on my hair. (It's rare I can empathize with my mother-in-law about hair issues.) My thumb healed perfectly, and my hands spent a glorious 8 days rarely needing lotion.

Despite going on our cruise earlier than usual this year, I returned home optimistic that the softness of my skin would last throughout the rest of the cold, dry weeks of winter we have yet to endure, as it has the past couple of years post-cruise.

My visions of smooth skin for the rest of the winter didn't take into account the fact I'd be washing my hands 4,073 times for a couple of days last week, and now this week.

You see.
We have a new identity (hobby?) around here.

The Sowby Family is perhaps now better known as Public Vomiters.

Meet Joshua, third grader that spewed his breakfast, including a red berry smoothie (TMI?) across his third grade classroom last week.

And this is Drew. 1st Grader who five days after big brother's debut, decided to match him by throwing up on the school bus yesterday afternoon.

And this is Ellie. 6th grader who I kept home thinking she had a mild case of I'm-sort-of-sick-but-really-I-just-want-a-day-home-from-school. But the fact a few hours later, a bathroom rug was thrown away instead of washed, confirmed my earlier ambivalent feelings of keeping her home had in fact been the right choice.

Despite Ellie being home sick yesterday (her throwing up didn't start until after lunchtime), I decided to do Cookie Day. Every so often, I greet the children at the bus stop with a container of cookies, and I hear reports of children spying me from a few houses down as the bus approaches with chants and cheers of, "Cookie Day! Cookie Day!" I love the enthusiasm and cheers that greet me as I stand there with my blue lid container full of cookies.

Except yesterday, as I stood by while the bus doors opened, intermixed with chants of "Yay! It's Cookie Day!" and "Cookie Day! Cookie Day!" were more loud and overpowering voices yelling, "Drew threw up on the bus!" and "Drew just barfed!"

Rarely am I at the bus stop to greet my children, but the bus driver knew I was Drew's mother, so I didn't really  have an escape. I wanted to stand there passing out cookies like normal, or even run home to help Drew, but more accurately, I daydreamed for just a moment of running home, hopping in my car and escaping to a hotel for an undetermined amount of time.

I didn't.

Instead, I passed the cookies to a neighbor boy to give out, and turned to the bus driver (who had just retrieved the emergency 'Body Fluid Cleanup Kit') and I said, "I am so sorry." And then quite insincerely added, "Can I help you clean it up?"

(For the record, I asked GENUINELY at the elementary school if I could help clean up Joshua's and they told me, "Oh, the janitor's got it taken care of.")

A part of me thought the bus driver would say, "Oh no. It's part of the job, go home and take care of your child." or even, "Oh, it's no big deal. Keep passing out cookies." Instead, I somewhat stumbled into the bus as he said, "Yes. I think I will let you."

I have cleaned up a lot of throw up in my life. I'll spare you the details of some of the worst (my BFF's teenage brother throughout his whole bedroom, mere weeks after their mother died is likely still at the top), but the floor of a school bus, mixed with my child's lunch remnants come in as a close second.

Wondering how my soft hands relate to all this?

Ellie and Drew threw up more times yesterday afternoon and evening than I can count. I washed my hands more times yesterday than I have in my entire life combined.

By yesterday evening, I could feel the annual crack on the side of my thumb beginning to make a second appearance of the season.

So last night, when a child started spewing in their bucket as they walked to the bathroom, and Mike continued eating his dinner, I said, "That's fine, I'll help AGAIN. But don't be surprised when I HAVE to go alone to the Caribbean next week for medical reasons."

I'm a nice, compassionate, serving mother and wife like that.

Whoever Would Have Thought?

Starting the last Saturday in August, we have found ourselves on the sidelines of a football field every Saturday cheering on Joshua. And you know what? I have loved every second of it.

I LOVE this series of photos that depicts a pretty stellar play by Joshua earlier in the season. (Photo credit goes to a mom on the team. (?) Pay close attention to Joshua's ability to get away from his opposition.

You likely don't have to know the Sowby family too well to know that our involvement in organized sports over the years has been next to nothing. This comes from a variety of reasons, not the least being the time commitment it would cause a family of seven for only one child.

Joshua's passion for football has been obvious for over a year now. He plays football, he thinks football, he imagines football, and I'm quite certain, he even breathes it. Mike and I fought somewhat against letting Joshua play tackle football at such a young age, but decided in the end to let him try it.

My introduction to the football league at the beginning during try-outs was nothing short of an emotional wreck for me. I can't really describe it, or rather, shouldn't. But suffice it to say, Joshua got his tonsils out on the 2nd day of practice. The first day of practice when reminding one of the coaches that Joshua was having this surgery done, said, "Oh. But he'll still be here dressed tomorrow night though, right?"

Poor Mike took the brunt of my emotional breakdowns that first week regarding football and the commitment it started to be, but before long, I accepted Mike's advice of, "You've made the decision. Just move forward with it and don't second guess it anymore." 

Joshua's tonsillectomy during tryouts turned out to be a blessing! Due to his spotty involvement during tryouts, he was put on the team with the coach that I had secretly hoped he would get.

I can't say enough nice things about Coach Nate (and his dad, Coach Bryan) and their dedication to a group of 22 boys, several of which often disrupt the lessons being taught. These coaches are patient and kind, and seem to care about teaching these boys skills that will benefit them both on and off the field.

Though there have been plenty of times I've sat on proverbial sidelines and watched my children participate in their various interests and hobbies, there's something about seeing one's child committed to a team, dedicated to his position and giving his all to help secure wins. For almost 3 months now, Joshua has put 6 hours of practice in each week, not counting the games. Over the years, I would have (secretly) chided another family for putting this much time commitment into one child, but not only have we made it work, but Joshua has NEVER complained ONCE about having to miss out on free time, other activities and even a missed opportunity for a family trip. I've joked, "We sold our souls to football this fall" but it's worked, and I've seen a side of parenthood I never imagined I'd see.

Joshua clearly knew upfront that Mike and I were not committing to a "life of football", but only to this one season. Last week while driving home from a game, Joshua very quietly from the back seat said, "I love football. I want to play next year too." I can't help but admit, it  made me smile. I'm not sure I mind giving up another fall season of Saturdays to a football sideline.

Before my maudlin football ramblings get to be a bit much, I'll end by simply saying:

There is no doubt, I am Joshua's biggest fan.

Go Joshua!

Go Braves!

Two Patients Not THREE

Joshua and Luke had their tonsils out on Tuesday morning. After 10+ bouts of strep throat since December, we're hopeful this procedure puts an end to it. In addition to the removal of tonsils (and adenoids), Joshua also had a procedure done on his tongue, which has set him back a little more than Luke. (He can't lift/move his tongue much and so it makes eating a little trickier for him, and more pain than his throat alone.)

Upon being given the hospital gowns to wear, the boys became a little too animated and excited. I think perhaps it was a combination of nerves and the fact Luke was given lavender colored pants and a star gown to wear.

Poor Luke. It didn't help that he didn't comb his hair that morning.

Joshua went to surgery first and thus was done first. By the time we saw him, we was fairly awake and alert.

I think he felt like he had to stay awake for us, but we assured him he could sleep. We certainly weren't relying on him for conversation.

Luke was wheeled into the recovery room while we were with Joshua. Typically they don't allow parents to come in there for a while, and though they kept the curtains around Luke so we couldn't see them wake him up initially, they called us over to him probably sooner than they would have had we not already been in the room.

They warn you before surgery that everyone wakes up from anesthesia differently. Yet it still came as a little bit of a surprise for Luke to:

a. tell the nurse to "Shut up!" when she asked him a question

b. kick me when I was rubbing his leg

c. tell Mike to "Stop! Go away." when Mike said, "Hi Luke."

The nurses assured me they have "seen and heard it all" and told me not to apologize for Luke's abruptness. I still did. I'm not exactly going to stand by and laugh with them when my son covered his face and told everyone to stop talking to him and LET HIM SLEEP.

Within a few minutes, Luke and Joshua were wheeled into the final recovery room. Luke was a completely different person! He was pleasant and saying all sorts of "Please" and "Thank yous" to the nurses questions of slushes, drinks, and pain.

Luke had/has absolutely no recollection of his earlier outbursts to those caring for him. So I'm quite confident it was the anesthesia talking and not him.

I've been extra-attentive to the boys since their surgery. I've been checking on them frequently, getting them popsicles, ice cream, drinks, etc. It's a fair amount of work, as I tend to stay downstairs and they are spending most of their day upstairs. Drew has sort of been laying low with them.

Here's an example of an exchange: "Hey boys! Are you guys doing okay?" To which DREW will respond, "Yeah. I'm fine." And then 30 minutes later or so, I hollered, "Hey boys! Do you want a popsicle or something?" To which DREW responded, "Yes. Get me an Otter Pop."

Note to Drew: You ARE NOT the patient.
Luke and Joshua are.

Warning: May Cause Disease

In this day and age, my parenting peers are discussing the effects of screen time on their children, how to manage it, how to work around it when parents aren't home, what time restrictions to place on it, etc. etc. etc. I always assume that people think I am exaggerating when I tell them that we really don't have any rules or regulations about screen time. (Duh-of course we do about appropriate sites, etc.) But time limits? Not at all necessary. We have the absolute opposite at our house. We have to set limits and regulations on their imaginations. 

While I ran a billion after-school errands with Megan for her upcoming Carnival Fundraiser this Saturday, I returned home to this:

"We're making home-made rafts." ~ said one child

"Did Dad give permission for the wood to be used?" ~said the parent

"It's old wood." ~said another child

"What exactly do you need rafts for?~ said the parent

"To play in water." ~ said a child

"What water?" ~ said the parent

"Water in the pasture. And when that dries up, we'll take them somewhere else to use." ~said the same child

"What is going on?" ~ said the other parent who arrived home minutes after the first parent

"Did you ask permission for the wood?" ~ said the other parent

A short time later, we could hear laughter and happy squealing all the way across the field to our pasture. Megan, being the first to ascertain where the laughter was originating from suddenly declared, "They look like neglected children."

To which my eyes wander to where she is looking and I behold this sight.
Neglected children?
Not really, they actually get a lot of attention.

Imaginative children?
Yes.

(See the broken wheel on the red wagon? That would be from it being used to descend the hill and ride into the water.)

I walked over to get a closer look, and though all my responsible, clean, uptight personality traits wanted to yell and tell them to get their clothes on and get OUT OF THE MUDDY WATER immediately, the part of my personality that understands they are only young once, and the soft, motherly part of my personality that heard, "Mom! Are you mad at us? This is the best day EVER." simply took some photos, and told them to come home in 10 minutes.

I didn't get any "after photos" of the mud strewn across their faces and bodies, or of them standing in their underwear in the back yard while I hosed them down with a hose. To which they complained about the temperature of the cold water. To which I responded, if you can play in mud puddles, you pay the price of a cold hose squirted at you before you're allowed into the house to shower.

Megan is concerned they are going to catch cholera. My BFF is concerned they are going to get ticks. My only concern is what will they think of next!

Joshua's Special Day

I've relaxed a lot over the years, and the day of Joshua's baptism was proof. Because amid all the preparations for a baptism service, (us singing a musical number, a child giving a talk, change of underwear and towels, etc. etc.) , plus 40+ people converging at my house for dessert a few hours later, when I pulled out Joshua's white shirt from his closet and realized it was FILTHY,  I... actually laughed out loud. (I may actually have said "damn-it" first, but I did laugh out loud. I promise.)

My toilets were clean for guests to use in a few hours, my sliding glass door wiped free of finger prints, and the kitchen floor swept of debris. But Joshua's shirt, that he hasn't even worn for two weeks (didn't go to church last week due to General Conference), was neglectfully left in his closet with nary a thought about it until 20 minutes before he was due at the church.

Luke was dressed in a brand new suit at his baptism, and of course the girls in perfectly new and clean white dresses at theirs. But not the poor 4th child. He wore a white shirt a size too small.

But I was more relaxed, calm and pleasant than at any of the others, and that's what really matters.

Joshua's baptism service was simple and beautiful.

As Latter-day Saints (Mormons), we believe that baptism is done at eight years of age because it is the age of accountability; the age of discerning between right and wrong. Baptism at age 8, isn't so much the symbolic "washing away of sins" (children under 8 don't "sin") as it is making a promise to follow Jesus, and the first step to returning to live with God and Jesus again.

Four of my children have now been baptized, and for some naive reason, I think my children are going to be so overcome with the baptism ordinance and commitment they are making, that they will be committed to never again disobey, or do wrong. You'd think I of all people would remember children are NOT PERFECT, but instead I seemed shocked somehow when just hours after Joshua's baptism, Drew came into the house to tattle, "Joshua just called me an idiot." (An absolute no-no in our house!)

Four kids, four burst bubbles: baptism doesn't equal perfection.

I looked at Drew and smiled and suggested, "Why don't you go outside to Joshua and say, 'Congratulations. You've just made your first mistake.'" To which Mike piped up, "Perhaps you could offer to help him repent?"

Maybe you had to be there.
But it was funny.

Saturday was a good day. As our home and yard were filled with family and friends that love Joshua and our family, I couldn't help but smile. These days are fleeting, and when I came across these little children sitting out on the step eating ice cream, I couldn't help but wish time would freeze for just a few moments. Instead it keeps marching forward and before I know it, these photos of young children will be only a memory.

They are only young once.

(Damon, Elizabeth, Miles, Drew, Jonah, Joshua)

This photo was taken the next day. 

(Drew, Cousin Kate, Cousin Annie, and Joshua)

Life is good.

Permanent Records

From a fairly young age I have loved writing in a journal. I wrote my first journal entry when I was 4 years old in my green hardback journal. I wrote on and off for years growing up, and then when I was about 13, I wrote faithfully daily up until the day I got married. It's been spotty for the past 18 years, but lately, I've been rededicated to writing regularly in my personal journal. (There's just soooo much I don't want to forget about life in all of its ups and downs.)

Every so often I do my best to get my children to follow suit and write regularly in journals too. Ellie is the only one that does it on her own, and I LOVE IT!! Luke is asked to do it every so often, and it is probably one of his least favorite things to do. But like I told him a couple of weeks ago, when there was apparently "nothing to write about." "Just write about ANYTHING!You'll be happy you have recorded the daily stuff of your life."

He must have got the idea, because he proceeded to write about an incident that will likely be fun (for some?) to remember one day. Luke gave a brief synopsis of the event (he is required to do at least 6-8 sentences!), but instead of taking a photo of his version (privacy?), I'll share briefly my own version of it.

On a pleasant Sunday afternoon two weeks ago, Joshua walked into the house from playing in the backyard wearing only his underwear. Of course I was immediately alerted to something being wrong and I asked him what in the world he was doing, and WHERE. WERE. HIS. CLOTHES?!?

As I looked at the family room window to the trampoline, and listened to Joshua's version of the incident, it all fell into place. Luke, Joshua, Drew and a couple of neighbor boys were jumping on the trampoline, when Luke thought it would be funny to chain Joshua to the side of the trampoline and see if he could get himself free. Which Joshua was able to do...but he had to leave his clothes chained to the trampoline in order to gain freedom.

I didn't laugh (at the time). I went outside, yelled at Luke, sent the neighbor boys home, and instructed Joshua to go back and retrieve his clothes. Luke's defense was, he wouldn't have done it to anyone but his own brothers. Mike laid on the couch throughout the whole incident trying not to laugh.

Someone asked me the other day, why I don't write blog posts as much anymore. She complimented me on being funny and writing well in the past, and asked why I stopped. I didn't really have an answer, except to say, that maybe as my children get older, they do less funny things, or more accurately, they do things that are sorta funny/sorta questionable. Such as chaining a brother up to a trampoline and him having to strip down to his undies to get free. Perhaps good judgement would say to keep it in the personal journals only. But here we are. (Which really, now that I think about it...sharing the yellow snow incident a few years ago was questionable too.)

(Joshua drew a picture of the trampoline experience in his journal later that evening to go along with the above entry.)

It just so happened Drew chose the exact same thing to write and draw about that Sunday evening too.

And now I have a whole blog post about an incident I had no intention of recording. I was going to write about journals and how much I love Ellie's journals that she always invites me to read. (I'll give her privacy and won't take a photo of them.) I love how much she writes about herself. Love it! She'll surely treasure those written monologues one day.

Megan on the other hand, has discovered a new way to record her life.
Oh boy.
Megan's biggest fan is herself, and her newest hobby is perfect for her.
Vlogging.
She can talk all she wants to a camera and nobody has to interrupt her to get a word in, or tell her to stop talking.
And she gets to edit the hours of her chatter to her greatest priority. It's quite a good hobby for a self-proclaimed narcissist. (insert winky face)

You can watch her introductory vlog here. (And if you really love it...there's more on YouTube!)

Now. Go record something permanent yourself!
You won't regret it.

Just a Typical Sunday

Our Sunday afternoons are quite often slow-paced. But let me clarify what I mean by slow-paced... we have little (if anything) scheduled or planned. It doesn't mean everyone walks around in slow motion, or that our voices and tones are slower and more controlled.

It simply means, there isn't a lot of things that have to get done, and for some questionable reason, we all seem to end up for hours in the SAME ROOM!

Mike and I have tried to question our children for years, "What is so cool about Mom and Dad that you want/have to be right here with us?" They don't ever really give us an answer.

We don't have a huge house, but we have bedrooms children could go in, an upstairs "loft/family room" that children could play/entertain themselves in, and we even have a spare bedroom that is often used as a craft room/toy room/school room, etc.

But not on Sundays. For some reason on Sundays, everyone likes to gather in the same room, and as rosy and peachy as that sounds. It usually isn't. Mike lays on the couch, I sit in the chair with my feet up on the ottoman and the children fit themselves (and projects and toys) in there around us.

Lately, the attention is focused on the television screen for NFL football games. So NOT what I want my family to be doing on the Sabbath, but I have relaxed even more since THESE DAYS.

Except no one watches the game quietly. There's Hot Wheels being vrmmed somewhere in the room. Megan is trying to tell us story on top of story as well as random NFL facts that I DON'T CARE ABOUT. Luke is throwing a football to Joshua, Ellie is typically fitting in cartwheels whilst dodging Hot Wheels and footballs.

Someone always yells at Drew to stop making so much noise. Someone yells because they got hit (or near miss) with the football, someone yells at Megan to stop talking so much, someone yells at Ellie to go cartwheel where there is more space, and I too often yell at Mike, who is calmly and quietly laying on the couch and ask, "How do you SLEEP THROUGH IT ALL? It's NOT FAIR!"

On a recent Sunday, the football toss escalated into a chaotic, wild game of sibling football. Obviously knowing how these types of events escalate, I was quite happy when I looked over and saw that Joshua had ON HIS OWN ACCORD separated himself from the chaos and sat in the corner of the family room reading a book. I was so proud (and shocked) of his little move to avoid the inevitable trouble, that I Instagrammed this photo with this comment: "Once in a blue moon, while absolute chaos ensues with all the other children, one child will choose to separate themselves and make a better choice. #hemaybemyfavoriterightnow #sundaysarenotmyfavorite"

(bad, bad photo I know, but I've never claimed to be a photographer...I'm a memory recorder.)

He remained my favorite child for a while...

This particular Sunday evening, we had somewhere we needed to be. So amid this typical Sunday evening, we interrupted the children to get on their church clothes so we could have our annual tithing settlement with our bishop. (Personal, short, family meeting with the clergy of our ward.)

Mass chaos began again as children argued, negotiated, fought, etc. about the task at hand, but within a few moments everyone came back ready to go, only for us to realize we had forgotten it was 10 minutes later than we originally thought.

So...Megan scattered into the front room to practice her harp, and Joshua was told to quit throwing a football and to leave the family room we were all in.

Joshua obeyed.
Partially.
Unbeknownst to us, he took a soft "globe" and decided to use it as a soccer ball and entertain himself in the hall by himself.

Just as our 10 extra minutes were up, and we were to walk out the door to leave, we heard a sound that we knew wasn't a good sound. We didn't know quite what it was until we saw that it was 200+ pieces of Candy Corn and a large, tall glass jar hitting the hard tile floor.

First we saw this:

And then I noticed this:

(shelf where the fall decoration once stood- it was a tall glass jar filled with lots of Candy Corn and fall decor)

We all followed the sound.

Mike said nothing except, "We've got to go to the church. Megan, be careful not to step in the glass." I stood there, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the horrible mess scattered into the dining room, living room and hall. Joshua promptly burst into tears, I think most likely at the perplexity that NO ONE RAISED THEIR VOICE at him.

The sound of the crash and subsequent spilling candy and breaking glass was enough punishment for Joshua. He knew what he had done was wrong, there was no need to remind him. (Nice example that once in a while Mike and I do okay at parenting.)

The next morning at breakfast, Joshua expressed his surprise that nobody yelled at him when the decoration fell to the floor. Just as I was about to commend myself aloud to him and remind him that Mom and Dad are capable of having calm, controlled reactions, Joshua surmised,

"It was probably because the decoration was almost 'expired.' It's almost time for Christmas decorations anyway."

I wanted to argue with him about his surmising, but I'm trying to set an example of disagreeing and arguing less with each other. (A frequent big problem around here.)

So, I'll leave it for you to decide instead...

Mike and I remained calm, cool and collected because:

a. sometimes, simply put, we have pretty stellar parenting skills
b. likely we were too worn out and exhausted to care
c. if it's almost the end of a particular season we don't care if seasonal decorations get broken
d. a and b
e. all of the above

Hint, the answer isn't c or e.

A Fairy?

The long awaited day arrived recently...Joshua FINALLY lost his first tooth. He and Megan had a co-op effort to remove the tooth, and it was immediately placed under his pillow to await the over-rated yet highly anticipated tooth fairy.

Joshua woke up earlier than usual on Friday morning, and with a big grin on his face announced, "I got a dollar from the tooth fairy." His toothless grin and excitement over the mysterious placement of money under his pillow made me feel encouraged that I'd chosen laziness and had slept through my early morning Pilates class and was still in bed to greet him.

I like to think I somehow deserved the reward of seeing his early morning elation regarding a dollar bill under his pillow.

Luke on the other hand, upon waking up greeted me in my bathroom and asked in a somewhat accusing manner, "Why did you hit me in the face last night?" Despite no one else being around, I gave him that "mother look" and in a hushed voice said, "I wasn't in your room last night." To which his all-knowing 12 year-old prowess stated, "Well the Tooth Fairy is violent and she says bad words" as he turned to leave me to apply my mascara with no further interruption.

Seriously.
Children.
Forget the children. Where's the person that started the dumb (d_ _ _?) tooth fairy tradition in the first place? I have a few words to say to them?

Do they not know that the summer has already taken a toll on this mother?

Do they not know the skip in my step as I walked down the upstairs hall late the other night, encouraged that for the first time in A LOT of lost teeth the highly esteemed and sometimes forgetful Tooth Fairy was actually coming on the FIRST NIGHT???

We'll let my late-night Facebook Status tell the rest of the story....

For the first time in A LOT of lost teeth, the Tooth Fairy finally remembered to come on the FIRST night. Except as she tiptoed into the dark room, she tripped on a cardboard "airport", and fell onto the toothless sleeping child. The fall made enough noise to wake the nearby 12 year old, and as she went to hug him goodnight she elbowed him in the eye. Which caused him to make a loud noise, which made the Tooth Fairy realize she needed to get out of the room quickly before her identity was at risk. While leaving, she stepped on a sharp object and may or may not have said a bad word out- loud. The Tooth Fairy is still suffering the effects of having a sharp object jammed into her foot.

Whose dumb idea was a Tooth Fairy tradition?

Knowing full well Megan's displeasure in being assigned a responsibility to actually DO a secretive task, Megan had instead been threatened enlisted and strongly encouraged to not let the Tooth Fairy forget her duties. Megan didn't fail.

Except her timing was slightly off. She came into my bedroom to remind me about the visiting Tooth Fairy as I laid in my bed nursing a sore foot due to aforementioned sharp object jamming. I was a little less than cheery towards her and likely didn't thank her for her reminder. Which I didn't need.

In case you forgot... I remembered it all on my own.
ON THE FIRST NIGHT.
Although I may think twice about remembering it next time.

D_ _ _ Tooth Fairy.

A Renewal

I had one high expectation this summer...that I wouldn't feel worn down by the beginning of August like I usually do. I have fallen terribly short of reaching that expectation.

I am extremely worn down.
I am snappy, and ornery, and I honestly daydream about becoming "one of those mothers" that runs away. You know the kind. The ones that don't come back into their children's lives until they are grown adults.

There. I've admitted my weakness out loud, and it already feels better to admit it aloud. (Well, I did also admit it to Mike last week. Problem was, I think he was concerned I was serious. Which I guess I kind of was. It had been one of those days.) Somehow it is therapeutic to write out my weakness for everyone to see. Besides writing on this blog, is cheaper than a good hour with a therapist.

Anyway, I digress. This was and is intended to be a lovely, beautiful uplifting post, where the joy of motherhood oozes from the words. So let's try again.

This evening I decided to go on a bike ride with my three boys. (I had intended to go alone, but that didn't happen...) A little way into it, Luke offered to return home with Drew and let me enjoy it without Drew cutting me off and making me have to brake every few inches. Joshua and I continued the bike road alone. It was a lovely cool (for August) evening and Joshua and I rode along for 5 miles or so.

I didn't have my phone with me, so I wasn't able to capture a photo. But I'm actually glad about that. Sometimes mind photos are the best anyway.

Joshua rode ahead of me much of the way, his small little bum going side to side as he stood on his pedals riding as fast as his little legs would go. On our return home, I was reminded of exercising with Joshua and Drew years ago. This particular moment I recorded HERE came to mind. And I was suddenly thrust into a sentimental memory while my little boy ahead of me pedaling reminded me how quickly the years have passed since he was a barely three year old child running ahead of his stroller.

Joshua is my sweet child. Caught alone with that boy, he reminds me of all that is good, peaceful and beautiful in the world. He is the peacemaker and the giver of the family. The more passive personality among the assertive companions he lives with. Joshua is an antithesis of his mother.

As we rode along on our bikes tonight, a bench up ahead caught my eye and I called ahead to Joshua to wait for me at the bench. And then we stopped, relaxed and visited together. We sat side by side on the bench, with Joshua's red mohawk helmet on his head and enjoyed the views of the beautiful mountains I love. The same mountains I look at daily from my kitchen and family room windows, they are stalwart and un-moving and  rarely a day goes by that I don't look at them in some metaphorical, deep way.

Joshua and I then raced home on our bikes. Joshua clearly beat me by a long-shot and I was greeted with a big trademark Joshua smile as I approached the trail head.

Whether it was Joshua, the mountains, the fresh air, or a tender mercy from God that refreshed my heavy heart tonight doesn't matter. What matters is I am reminded to keep showing up, and to keep pressing forward. Motherhood isn't supposed to be easy. Neither is summer vacation. But sometimes those brief moments come along and I'm reminded that it isn't as complicated and hard as it so often seems. This quote by President Uchtdorf in one of my favorite talks ever reminds me, "There is a beauty and clarity that comes from simplicity that we sometimes do not appreciate in our thirst for intricate solutions."

My blog has been somewhat neglected this summer, but I am reminded tonight, that when I take the time to put my thoughts and feelings into words, things just feel better. And even though tomorrow I'll still have arguing children, crumbs on the counter, abandoned socks in every room, and pee on the toilet seat, my children are only young once. These days will not last forever.

I know that.
I need to remember it every minute of every day.

The days are long, but the years are short.