Angel Cakes

Thursday Morning:

As I type this I’m eating breakfast, and it’s papusas, which doesn’t really seem quite right, but Mike surprised me with a bunch yesterday afternoon and, with leftovers still in the fridge (and for who knows how long!), I’m taking a page from Penny’s book and not letting the unbreakfastyness of the food be any sort of barrier to my eating it for breakfast. (Penny is always eating unconventional foods for breakfast. Microwaveable taquitos, lettuce doused in ranch dressing, etc.)

It’s currently quite cold outside (when only last week my kids were still wearing shorts to school). Yesterday it began snowing just as I was waking up. By the time the kids were climbing out of bed, I was not only searching for matching gloves to stuff in everyone's backpacks, but pulling boxes of winter boots out of the garage (as it was quickly becoming evident that shoes were not going to be recess worthy).

Hans plead (demanded) to be put in full snow garb — snow pants, coat, socks, boots, hat and gloves — four different times throughout the day (two of those times coming in to be undressed and redressed in order to go to the bathroom). Mette joined him three times — also with a full bathroom break (complicated by her improper judgement of the amount of time it would take to get her coat and snow pants off). Summer, Anders and Jesse went out only once, but came tracking in snow multiple times in search of one thing or another. And it’s interesting how often I can be a good mom for such a long time ... without it ever quite being long enough! Just a few less suiting-up episodes, a few less kids (and their dripping snow clothes), or even one less bathroom event and I would have thought I’d been a champion snow-day mother. (In fact, it often occurs to me that, were my life circumstances slightly different than they are, I might be going about deludedly believing that I know a good deal about patience and gentleness. As it is, I am forever being shown that I do not!) By the last round of mopping up puddles under boots and gathering soaked coats and gloves to try and drape over chairs and railings to dry, I was beginning to snap at everyone.

Luckily, that’s when Mike (who happened to have the day off [Veteran’s Day]) swooped in, gathered up the troops, and took them all to Costco. And for nearly two hours I cleaned the house and studied this week's Come Follow Me chapters without a bit of noise or chaos. Which is something I haven’t experienced for weeks (months?). It was lovely. And then, when everyone returned home again, it seemed lovely to have them after all (a feeling aided by the rotisserie chickens, Doritos, and pumpkin pie they brought with them).

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Friday Afternoon:

The other night the topic of Christmas music came up. Anders mentioned how "Silent Night" was his very favorite Christmas song. Summer, listening nearby, said, "Yah. I like that song. Sometimes when I hear it my eyes get kind of wet."

And then this morning, as I attempted to listen to a conference talk while cleaning a mass of books, stuffed animals, papers and pens, and Mr. Potato Head parts from the floor of the boys’ room, Hans paused his playing, considered President Eyring's voice, and said, "I like the gospel." And then, "What's the gospel?" Haha.

But I loved these two little glimpses of ... oh I don't know ... their little souls recognizing and responding to things that are peaceful and good. It gives me hope that important things truly are occurring here despite their being carried out within much that is messy, loud, mundane and stressful.

And now Daisy is here. (She arrived just before the kids got home from school and even surprised Jesse, Anders and Summer by picking them up as they walked home.) And everyone is extra happy and together. She and Penny and Goldie are laughing and talking about how much homework they have and how soon they can get it done and what adventures they might then manage and what movies they might watch. And Anders is showing her the new little Lego set he bought with his birthday money from Grandma Harris. And Mette is taping shut the cardboard-box-with-colored-paper-glued-all-over-it piñata she made for Daisy’s return. And I've wound a few Christmas lights around the banister (stopping half-way as most of our strands are burnt out). And all the absolute lack of any personal time, and all the piles of snow clothes, and all the stuff I can't organize because I am cleaning up after too many toddlers and helping too many people with homework, and all the tantrums and fighting and crying that we often endure ... seems perfectly OK. Again.

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I know well the triumphant Bible stories of Elijah causing the widow's little barrel of flour to never run out, and of him raising her son from the dead, and of him defeating the priests of Baal (oh that's a fun story to tell!). But I was recently reminded (and thank goodness -- because I wouldn't have remembered it on my own) of a less-known story from a time when Elijah was so discouraged that he sat himself down under a little juniper tree and asked the Lord to please just let him die. (Remember me writing about Jeremiah last week? I seem to be drawn to stories of discouraged prophets of late. Haha.) But this was just such a touching story to me. His journey was just too hard. He really just could not go on. Anyway, he falls asleep (if it had been me it probably would have read, "cried himself to sleep") but after a while he is woken by an angel. And the angel has baked him a little cake! Probably not a frosted birthday cake. Ha. But he's prepared him a little meal. "Arise and eat," he says, "because the journey is too great for thee."

"I get it," the angel seems to say. "It's too hard. You're too tired. And too discouraged." And the angel doesn't solve his problems or take them away. But he comforts him. And feeds him. And somehow it's enough that Elijah can go on. He "went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights" the scriptures tell us.

Anyway, I've been thinking about that. And about these little moments from the past few days. Mike taking the kids to Costco, Summer getting teary-eyed over "Silent Night", my girls all in the kitchen laughing and happy together. They're all my own little angel cakes. Just these small things that keep my strength up for the journey. And I'm grateful for them.

I'm also grateful for Anders thinking he could keep his strawberry milk safe from tempting his siblings by removing the wrapper and writing these alarming words on the bottle: 

And for Summer sneaking into the storage room, finding a strand of boxed-up Christmas lights, and creating this cozy little sight for me to discover when I checked on her before heading to bed myself: