Two Goats, Ten Chickens and A ....

(Hank and Lily)

I'll make this short and sweet.

Last week, Luke showed Lily at the County Fair. Do you remember Luke chose a girl goat this time around for a specific reason!?

 From April 27th, I quote,

"The reason I didn't sell Hank last year was because I knew he would die for someone to eat his meat. Rob (the 4-H instructor) told me girls are popular because people get them to breed. They don't kill the girl goats as much for meat because they want them to breed. It will be easier to sell Lily knowing she won't die."

Yeah well, that didn't exactly happen.

Luke will no longer be "raising" animals for county fairs. We don't have anymore room. Two goats is the limit. I'm not going to allow Lily to breed, we'd end up with a darn goat farm.

With the exception of the hay that supplements Hank and Lily's diet that our dear neighbor won't charge Luke for, Luke pays for the feed himself for the chickens and goats, Today after our Money Grab, Mike pulled Luke aside and helped him understand how much money he spends on animals--pretty much everything he earns and/or receives. Mike lovingly suggested perhaps it is time to sell an animal.

You'd have thought Mike was suggesting selling Luke.
I don't think the conversation went the way Mike hoped it would.

If nothing else, Mike and I have come to the realization that, not only does Luke have 2 goats and 10 chickens, he has a pretty big heart.

Guess there could be worse things for a 10 year old boy to have.

A Unique Opportunity

As part of a workshop Megan attended at BYU a couple of weeks ago, she had the opportunity to play an organ at Temple Square. The participants had the choice of three organs, the Assembly Hall, the Tabernacle, or the Conference Center.

Although the organ inside the Tabernacle is by far the most historic of the three organs, I kept my opinion to myself about which organ Megan should choose. Megan chose the Conference Center organ. When I asked her why she was choosing that one she replied, "I see it on television for General Conference, I've been in the Conference Center for conference a few times and I think it would be really cool. I've never even heard the Tabernacle one played."

As Mike and I watched her play her hymn that Wednesday night, we were absolutely thrilled she chose that organ to play on. She will always remember it. I think every time she watches a General Conference broadcast and sees a close up of the organ, she will remember fondly her unique opportunity. I was touched by the spirit as I listened to some workshop participants play various familiar hymns. Of course I sang along despite Mike next to me saying, "You really should stop singing." Nobody could hear (except him), and I really didn't care that his fine ear for music had to tolerate my off-key singing.

Of course when Megan played, I did not sing along. I was disappointed I forgot the video camera, and I could not figure out the lighting on my camera's video option in such short notice. A little disappointing that we can't exactly see it is Megan. But I promise it is.

The dress she was wearing was very long, and just before she played the last verse the instructor told her to adjust her dress to make the pedals easier. Thus the laughter and clapping at the end of the video. I'm sad I didn't get the last verse, with the loud "whatever musical term they use" holding of the last note. It was loud, it was strong, and it capped off perfectly a unique and awesome opportunity.

PS-We found out that the "field trip to play the organs" only happens every 4 years of the BYU Organ Workshop not every year like we previously thought. She lucked out on that one, now didn't she?

Ellie's Dream

Ellie is 8 years and 3 months old, and still adores playing with baby dolls. I know not all girls her age still do. In fact, I'm pretty sure by 8 years old, Megan's were long put away. Not the case with Ellie. With Ellie there is always a baby doll, a baby blanket, a car seat or some doll paraphernalia lying around. Saturday afternoon, the boys decided to play outside in the water but Ellie opted not to. At first, I wasn't sure why in the world she wouldn't want to participate, but then I got it. Without anyone really knowing, she was "being the mom."

She pulled up a small chair, gathered her baby, convinced Joshua to "join the game" and "mothered" on the side.

For the record, I was being a mother at the other end of the patio too. But instead of babying anyone, I had my feet up on a chair, a book on my lap and a delicious sugar cookie hidden within its pages.  I would occasionally look up when a child said, "Watch me, mom!"

Ellie on the other hand was really mothering. I could overhear the "motherly" conversation she was having with Joshua. And I loved that he was whining to her about wanting to swim with the other boys, and not to me. (How she held him off from swimming sooner I will never know!)

As I glanced over at Ellie lovingly lay her baby in the baby carrier, so she could attend to Joshua, I began to wonder if I have ever really written about that baby carrier thing. At about the same time, Joshua asked, "Ellie where did you get that car seat from?" As I listened to her reply, I knew I had to put down my book (careful to hide my sugar cookie from any tempting fingers or spying eyes) and snap a photo.

In Ellie's words (said with a mature-I'm-a-mother-not-your-sister-tone of voice), "I got the car seat when I was 3 or 4 but the handle broke. So then I found the basket to put it in once. I got the car seat cover for Christmas when I was 6."

That car seat/basket will surely never end up being given away to a thrift store like so many other belongings do. It is a keeper for sure.

I'm really not sure how much longer we will so frequently see Ellie in a chair rocking a baby doll, or carting around this basket. But I will be sad when it is over. Not only because it will mean Ellie is growing up and leaving one of my favorite little girl stages, but because I will no longer have a visual reminder of what I am doing.

A visual reminder that I wanted the exact same thing as she did.
A visual reminder that my little girl dream to grow up and be a mother came true.
And some days, I need that.

One of the deepest desires of my heart, is that her dreams come true too.

Family Vacation Continued

We ended our camping trip with a stay at a nearby Marriott. I am still mildly embarrassed about what I looked (and smelled!) like as I checked us into the hotel. I'm not sure that shower floor will ever be the same after the seven of us were done showering for the first time in a few days.

Obviously the hotel was a big hit as Joshua has suggested several times since,
"We should go and stay at that 'inpartment' that we did when we came out of the mountain."

(I think it is hilarious that in the only photo I have of the hotel, Joshua has a bag of potato chips and a juice box--I can't tell you the amount of fruit and vegetables Mike had the children eat for the previous 3 days. Vacations to me are kind of about junk food, not so much for Mike. So following yet another healthy portion of apples, carrots and leafy lettuce on his sandwich, Joshua was allowed one of the Koolaid Jammers given to us by the campground hosts 2 days previously. Perhaps I was subconsciously rejoicing with Joshua and that is why I took the photo at that particular moment.)

I love the city of Logan. I'm not sure why every time I visit, I feel a slight longing to live there.  (I'm sure it has a lot to do with many wonderful memories I have of time spent there.) We ate at a little diner, that Megan ate her first ice cream cone at when she was 2 1/2, but only because my Grandma was there with us back in 2001 and she was appalled Megan had never had one before. In my defense, Megan was my first child and I was uptight that ice cream cones were too messy.  Believe me when I say I have certainly relaxed over the years.

At one point during our so-called vacation, Mike and I left the five children in the car with Megan in charge while we left for maybe 7 minutes total to get Aggie ice cream at the USU ice cream parlor. Those 7 minutes were bad news for the children in the car, and when Mike pulled over a few blocks later and I had to climb into the back seat, I was not a happy mother. I was even more mad that in the attempt to maneuver myself back there, I had to eat my ice cream cone more rapidly and couldn't enjoy it like I had planned on. Next time I will be the driver when I have an Aggie ice cream cone and Mike can be the acrobat.

We loved the little tiny zoo even though we had a hard time coming up with the "over 600 animals" that their marketing team seems to think they have. Although the turkey that gobbled at Mike was well worth the on-your-honor $9 it cost our family to get in.

(Can you see that startled expression on Mike's face?!)

We ended our little family vacation at the American West Heritage Center. The activities were right up my kids' alley. I enjoyed the potential of it too, but honestly, by about day four together, I wasn't quite feeling all the positive-how-fun-to-be-together feelings much anymore. It didn't help that while Mike decided to go back to the car to fix everybody lunch (which by day four I was judging to be more about maintaining control over the cooler and food container than kindness of heart) I opted to bond with the children at the "panning for gold exhibit." No bonding occurred, unless you count the moment I snapped at Megan to quit laughing when I discovered I had some sort of varnish all over my skin that would not come off. With every effort I made to wipe it off in the panning for gold water, I smeared the sticky brown stuff worse all over my two hands.

With a less than kind tone, I told the four children to stay together and meet dad at the car in 10 minutes. I would take Drew to the restroom with me while I washed my hands. The brown sticky substance on my hands was irritating enough, but when combined with sensor water faucets that apparently could not sense my hands beneath them, and further compounded by the fact that I was on day 4 of a family vacation, I took on a less than friendly tone with a worker dressed in period costume who began washing her hands next to mine. I told her exactly what I thought of the panning for gold exhibit but refrained from sharing my true feelings with her about the sensor faucets. (She wouldn't have understood anyways. The water seemed to be coming in a perfectly steady stream for her.)

I gained a small sense of satisfaction when a few minutes later I saw a large tarp being placed over the panning for gold exhibit. As I glanced down at my still stained brown hands, I felt no remorse for the children who would be told panning for gold would not be available during their visit.

With all that said, I was bound determined to return to the car, cheery faced with all five children happy and smiling to greet Mike and our waiting sandwiches. I was going to appear a nice, cheerful, happy mother on day 4 of a family vacation. As I led my entourage back to the car, Drew wanted to be carried and I didn't want to carry him. It was 165 degrees outside and I was hot. As Megan and the children opted to detour slightly towards the store to exchange their $@#% gold for a small prize, I snapped at Megan to take Drew with her. In a slightly louder than I thought voice, I said, "I'm done with him for now. Take him."

With that, I returned alone to the suburban and the waiting sandwiches. Just as I was about to put on my nice-cheerful-happy-mother-on-day-4-of-a-family vacation expression to let Mike think for just one brief moment of our parenting career that I really was all about being a nice, cheerful and happy mother, Mike greeted me with, "I could hear you from here announce to the whole park that "You were done."

The day sort of went down hill after that. But it is a memory nonetheless.

I don't even regret that I ended up having my phone only for the after-lunch photos. Remember by this point I wasn't exactly "feeling the love" so mediocre cell phone photos may actually be a more accurate portrayal...

Here's hoping time dims some memories more than others.

Camping for Seven

For the first time in about four years, we had a proper family vacation planned for the second week of August. It had been planned for months, and we were all anxiously awaiting the time of departure. I'll leave all the details for a personal journal rather than a public blog, and suffice it to say that the vacation didn't come to pass in the way it was originally all planned.

Though we all felt plenty of disappointment and regret, we also knew without a doubt that the right decision had been made for our little family.

Instead?
We took our five children camping for a few days.
Oh boy.

First of all, I have to say we are blessed to have a decent, running, big enough for us family car. It is a suburban for Heaven's sake But when you need seven sleeping bags, seven pillows, seven chairs, seven pads, food for seven for a few days, not to mention a change of clothes or two, plus a tent to sleep all seven people in, the suburban seems significantly smaller. Oh, especially when it wasn't really an option to leave a child or two home alone and so all seven seats in the car were occupied too.

Luke wasn't exactly thrilled to travel the almost 100 miles with an 8-man tent on his lap, but considering Megan had two camping pads on her lap, it only seemed fair.

For being a pretty "insignificant vacation" I sure ended up with a lot of photos. But that's okay. It really was a wonderful few days. If we don't count the "rattlesnakes in the area" risk, a difficult child, a child that pee-ed in the sleeping bag, a parent that was extremely uptight if anyone rearranged the food container or cooler (not me by the way), it would have been nearly perfect.

But even with all those not-so-great things, there was plenty to make it a trip to remember.

Luke's Sunday assignment to go into nature and capture with a camera things that make him appreciate Heavenly Father's creations...

Grandpa's Sunday nap visit to our campsite. (I liked to think he genuinely wanted to come and visit us, but Mike insists "Your dad has a brand new convertible Mustang, why wouldn't he want to enjoy a beautiful Sunday drive."

The swing that went from this...

to this... courtesy of a physics lesson from Grandpa Peter...

The darn "Vacation Fairy" (that had supplies from the "cancelled trip") that somehow found us at our campground...

I have many fond memories camping in Logan Canyon with my family 22+ years ago. We were just a few miles away from where we camped when my brothers Casey and James were the same age as Joshua and Drew are now. It was a stark realization how quickly time really does pass.

Mike always acts as though he is doing me a giant favor whenever he offers to put Drew down for a nap...

Playing games and eating our some of my favorite things about camping...

Due to the potential of rattlesnakes nearby, we were pretty vigilant about keeping all of our children in long pants, and shoes and socks. For those that know Drew, this was no easy feat. By the last night, we were picking our battles...

Surprisingly, our campfire programs were quite entertaining. If you don't count the number of times we had to tell the children to either quit being too hyper or to stop crying, or to demand Luke quit aiming his behind into the fire...

I wish I had a photo of our family testimony meeting on Sunday morning or of the impromptu family gathering in the tent late Sunday afternoon. Between some really cheesy jokes from a Phineas and Ferb jokebook, a pillow fight among the five children, and a few funny personal stories thrown in, it was a highlight of the trip. I loved that as we drove home after having done a fair number of activities for the last few days, "Sunday afternoon in the tent" was what nearly every family member recalled as their "favorite part of the trip."

It's the little things...
And that's what makes the sting of the cancelled vacation a little easier.

Yet Another Reminder

I've been pretty ornery lately with my children. Actually, I'd say more than "pretty ornery". I've been "very ornery." The kind where when I hear the first child wake up each morning I feel a little disappointed that the "wake-up" time has come so soon. I feel as though I roll my eyes almost every time a child says my name. I have resorted to paying out nickels, dimes and quarters for 5 minutes of silence. It seems everything I have ever tried to teach my children about the tone of our voices, or the level of our voice, or our body language has been forgotten because of my poor example.

Late afternoon is the worst time. I think about two guy friends of ours nearly every afternoon. Both of whom have told me on separate occasions "A glass of wine each afternoon would do you good." It is late afternoons on the long-everybody-is-home-all-day-every-day days that I can't help but wonder if they are right. I feel as though any day now, my children will drive me to drink. (I exaggerate slightly. I do not drink alcohol, and likely never will.)

Last Monday morning, Megan (who incidentally was supposed to be practicing the harp) brought a photo album to me to show me a specific photo of her when she was just shy of 2 years old. As photo albums always seem to do, it sucked me right in to looking at every single picture. One photo grabbed my attention immediately. I haven't been able to keep it out of my mind all week.

By photographic standards it was nothing. In fact it was a quick shot taken back in the days of a roll of 24 film that no matter how good or bad the photo, it ended up in an album. It was of Megan sitting in a little plastic pool on our back patio in July 2000, the summer before she was 2. Mike's feet can be seen on the side of the pool. Immediately I remembered that day. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, Mike and I were sitting watching Megan play in the pool.

I couldn't stop staring at the photo. In that moment I was filled with a sudden sense of nostalgia and longing for simpler times. I imagined the quiet and peace in which the three of us were enjoying the warm afternoon. As I looked at Megan's smiley toddler face, I seemed to remember the ease of housework, the lack of toothpaste all over sinks, or pee all over toilet floors and seats. And I remembered the days of considerably less laundry that took half the time to finish.

Drew shook me from my memory lane trip with a snatch of the photo album to tell me about a particular toy he could see in the background that he wants now. (Drew seems to have been born with a severe case of entitlement.)

The moment was over. Yet the picture stayed in my mind. It stayed in my mind the following day when I counted the seconds of peace and quiet in-between arguments, questions, or constant chatter between my now five children. (4 seconds was the record).

That photo stayed with me in a melancholy type of way. It didn't help the severe case of orneriness I was already suffering from.

Thursday afternoon, Ellie asked to get out the plastic pool. Of course Joshua and Drew joined in the fun. Within five minutes, Ellie had lost interest and disappeared. It was Drew and Joshua alone. Ironically, I was inside the door reading an old General Conference article about mothers that can be found HERE. The following sentence tugged at my wearied soul,

"May I say to mothers collectively, in the name of the Lord, you are magnificent. You are doing terrifically well. The very fact that you have been given such a responsibility is everlasting evidence of the trust your Father in Heaven has in you."

With that encouragement, I decided to go outside and enjoy the moment with my two boys. I tried my hardest to think of my long-term mothering mantra that I seem to have been forgetting lately, "Enjoy the little things in life. One day you'll look back and realize they were the big things."

As I sat and watched Joshua and Drew play I couldn't help but laugh out loud as I listened to Drew's uncontrollable giggle as Joshua was "sailing the ship." I laughed at Joshua swinging a cowboy rope while saving Drew from falling "in the ocean". I interrupted my revelry to get some home video footage, and some still camera shots.

(Darn that I couldn't get one of both of them looking at the camera at the same time! But I didn't want to interrupt their playing long enough for a decent photo.)

I don't print out very many photos anymore. But I think I'm going to print out this one along with the one of Megan 12 years ago.

They are contrasts in the stage of my mothering from my days of being with only Megan, the first-born, and enjoying Joshua and Drew, the last-two. I don't want to be too worn out and too ornery to appreciate all these little things that Joshua and Drew will soon be past.

No joke: As I type this, Drew came up to me with a bandaid across his nostrils because his "nose hurts lots." I smiled and laughed out loud as I hugged him, believing the only reason I didn't roll my eyes and be irritated at him wasting a bandaid (or 3 or 4 of them as it takes a few tries to position one on the nose) was because of the type of blog post I was writing! I immediately thought of Megan, who of course would never do anything of the sort now. In fact, just last week as I watched her play the organ at the LDS Conference Center at Temple Square (more on that later), I wondered where exactly the last almost 14 years have gone.

Perhaps the days of one child, less laundry, cleaner toilet seats, fewer fingerprints, and less chatter have passed, but I know even with the absolute chaos of today things are still simple. I am determined to live in the moment more. I need to stop thinking about the days when my house will stay cleaner longer or remembering the days when it did. 

I am hoping that when the school bell rings on September 4th, it will help. I'm sure then I will return to my usual slightly ornery self instead of this current very ornery self.

Until then...

A Dream Accomplished

I can't remember how long ago Megan declared her desire to see the musical Wicked. Knowing that the purchase of a theater ticket was probably not something Mike and I would "just purchase" for her, she set about to earn the money herself. 

For almost a year Megan went to my parents' house to clean. Each time my mother paid Megan in cash. After taking out her tithing money (a financial donation to our church), Megan would put the cash in an envelope hidden on her desk. (Hidden because everything is hidden on that desk, not because she was hiding it from someone...)

Almost weekly, Megan arranged with my mother to be picked up from school and go spend an hour or two cleaning. The money going straight into the envelope each time. She didn't use that cleaning money for anything.

Nothing would remove that "Wicked Money" from the envelope. There were times Mike and I found ourselves in an immeidate need of cash (meaning CASH not money) and asked Megan we could borrow from it for one day. You'd think we were asking her to rip it up! She would look at us with a shocked look on her face and say, "It's my Wicked Money. I'm not touching it." 

Mike and I proudly watched her efforts. There were times it was discouraging to see how far away she was from ever having enough. But she kept going. Last fall, Megan attended a Young Women (teenage girl organization in our church) evening. They were to make a little table display of things they were working on, had accomplished, etc. As part of Megan's display, she took her "Wicked envelope" to represent something she was working towards. During the evening another teenage girl asked what the envelope was for. After Megan explained it to her the girl responded, "That sucks you have to work for it. My mom is just buying one for me."

When Megan came home that evening and told us about that unfortunate little dialogue, Mike and I were really not surprised when Megan ended telling us about it with, "I think it will mean more to me to work hard for it myself."

And so we continued to watch her efforts. 

On a spring afternoon in May, I was at a Power of Moms Retreat. I was in the middle of responsibilities and giving some directions when I received a phone call from Megan. Megan was squealing loudly and could hardly speak. Yet somehow she squealed out the words, "Nana got Wicked tickets." I couldn't help but cry. In that very moment, Megan was experiencing the "fruit of her labor." As Megan calmed down she said, "I only have $100, but when I asked Nana how much the tickets were she told me, 'Whatever you have saved.' Isn't that awesome? Mom! I'm going to Wicked."

Megan had us make a special trip to the bank to trade her cash in for a crisp $100 bill to hand over to Nana.  Of course Luke and Ellie had to take turns touching it. (We don't have $100 bills around here very much!)

Last Thursday was the big night. I'll tell you though, last Thursday was a LOOOONNNNGGG day. It was worse than sending any child to bed on Christmas Eve or the night before their birthdays. Megan gave a continual update of the time. The day dragged on and on for her. It didn't help that it was Luke's first quarantined day with whooping cough, so it pretty much dragged for all of us.

Finally the hour arrived and her ride showed up in style...

(Isn't my parents' new convertible Mustang fabulous?)

(Quarantined Luke went along for the ride with my dad who was serving as chauffeur for the evening.)

Megan's excitement lasted all night. She left with a huge smile on her face, returned with a huge smile on her face, woke up the next morning smiling, and smiled all that day as she wore her Wicked shirt while listening to the Wicked CD. (Both courtesy of dear Nana.)

The photos aren't the greatest, but they'll have to do.

Besides, who really needs a photo to remember this experience?

It was not an evening she'll forget anytime soon.

After arriving home she declared, "I am sooo glad I earned the money myself. I think it made it even better."

Mike and I refrained from saying, "That's what we thought." It was rewarding all around. Rewarding for Megan and her hard work, dedication and focus to fulfill a goal and rewarding for Mike and me to realize how much more positive an experience it was for her to let her work so hard for something herself.

And surely it was rewarding for my mother, who made the whole thing possible.
What a memory!