This morning, as I sat at the foot of my bed, feeding Mette and calling to various children to find their shoes and come get their hair done, a mouse dashed into my bedroom doorway. A mouse! He paused, whipping his head about frantically as if unsure where best to run; but his panic, however great it might have been – out in broad daylight in a house with a dog and people and no clear shelter nearby -- can have been no greater than my own! I felt so helpless: reduced to a state of frozen terror by a mammal no longer than my pinky finger! I don’t know that it was fear over what the mouse itself might do so much as fear because . . . what on earth was I to do?? What? I ask you! It wasn’t as if I could expect to pounce and actually catch it (pouncing is for cats, and Tigger; . . . and heaven forbid that my hands should touch it). And it wasn’t like a spider that might wait while I grabbed a jar. I found myself actually relieved when it scurried off towards the front room. Relieved, dear friends, that a mouse was in my house, but out of my field of sight. But really. It was a very up in the air sort of feeling. I was not keen on it at all. And now? I guess I just ask Mike to set some traps. (And not tell dear Goldie. She would not approve. Bless her.)
Summer is just so fun right now. I really do love the learning how to talk phase so much. While the older kids are in school, she spends a good portion of her time yelling for, or at, Anders. If it isn’t “Annnnnders! Where are you?” It’s, instead, “ANDERS!” in a tone of much frustration or anger (even though what Anders may have done wrong in those situations is hard for me to ever place).
A few weeks ago was the first time she “told” on one of her siblings. She ran into my room and in much agitation shouted, “JESSE! Mmblblmm Jesse!!”
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Did Jesse make you mad?” I walked with her to the living room and said, “Jesse, how come Summer is so mad at you?”
“Oh,” he said. Shrugging. “Because I wouldn’t give her anymore of my crackers.”
It just made me laugh that it now occurred to this little human to go and tattle if a sibling wasn’t doing what she thought they should be.
Also, I heard her small voice coming from the front room recently repeating, “Need help. Need help.” I came and saw this. I suppose I shouldn’t have made her wait in her terrifying predicament for me to get me camera (first picture below), but . . .
I went to the temple last night for the first time since Mette’s August arrival. It’s so freeing, after a new baby’s arrival, once I feel I can leave on occasion and know that others can get them to bed fine and the like. I would be untruthful if I said that every time I go to the temple I have some profound spiritual experience. Or even if I said, “most times”. And yet . . . always always, during or after, there is an increase in peace and perspective. And something must happen – even if it isn’t always fireworks and sudden insight – because I crave being there. My spirit seems to recognize more than my mortal self can, that things can be felt there and layers of veil can be lifted slightly because I long to go back right after I leave. And always . . . so many thoughts, so many wonderings, so many “Was that coincidence? Or a bigger hand involved?”
Here is what I posted after attending last night:
Little, lone me stepped out of this place at 9:37 tonight and walked, with quick and shivering steps, to my empty, cold car. But I felt like, small as I was in this very big and dark world, I carried a tiny glowing speck of light with me. And in me. And, black as this night was, It seemed I could see a web weaved with the unmistakable dots of light from all of you connected to my life in any way. Thank you. Thank you for all those lights.
Anywho, that’s all for now!