And we have a . . .

SMILER!

Oh all right, I haven't captured it on camera, but it's true! Our little Baby Star smiles!

Unquestionably!

Of course the poor angel tried to smile at us for some time before we would acknowledge her efforts.

"No. No," we'd say. "True she is looking directly into our eyes. And is fully awake. But she's only two weeks! It can't possibly be a true smile."

Or: "Impossible! Yes, it may be that she is completely alert and appears to be smiling -- directly and delightedly -- in response to our own smiles, but she's only three weeks! It just can't be so."

Finally, at four weeks, after a joyous smile lit up her face in response to Anders, we quit insisting on things like "reflex smiles", conceded that she had been smiling at us all along, and declared her our earliest smiler.

And, as if that wasn't enough, the other night she was lying on my bed while I busied about with something or other, when suddenly I heard a single, heart-melting coo!

Did you realize babies learn to make sounds?!? Purposeful sounds above and beyond cries or little fussing whimpers?

Well, of course you did, but I'd forgotten about the miracle of all these tiny little beginnings! Perfect gifts -- coming just in time to rescue and restore the parts of your soul that felt they might die if your newborn aged.

(Also, isn't Summer falling asleep while holding Starling just so so dear?)

Lastly, these next pictures were taken nine days into life with Starling:

Is life, you might be wondering, any more normal now? One month in?

Who can say. It no longer feels wholly new and otherworldly like those very first few weeks did -- when even doing something as simple as taking new baby Starling out somewhere (like to her first doctor appointment) felt strange and like, "How can all these people coming and going around me be acting so normal? Can't they sense that all of life has changed? Don't they recognize that there is nothing remotely normal about me being here -- with this brand new baby in tow?"

No. It doesn't feel like that. (Which in some ways is a bit sad. That space of time being almost sacred in it's newness and unfamiliarity.) Normal life has demanded all of its attention again. Birthdaying and Easter, groceries and school drop offs and pick ups, dinner-time and laundry. We are doing all of those things. But just . . . with a lot more juggling and a lot less sleep and almost always one less arm and hand. 

Here are a few pictures of the normal trying to go about its business:

Penny in several mustaches. (Certainly this fits just fine in the normal category.)

And Goldie is fully free of her crutches. They assure her that her leg is strong and not to fear doing normal things (like this small jump here), but she's still limping and going to physical therapy so she's not completely "good as new" yet. They guessed it would be six to nine months before she'd be that. Still, when I think of all the craziness of that first while and how truly impossible it seemed (after her initial surgery) that she might ever be able to even get up off her hospital bed at all, her being crutch-free is pretty amazing!

And Daisy turned 17. SEVENTEEN! It's one of those numbers that surprise me more than others in how old it sounds. She has a (surprisingly well-lit) window-well outside her bedroom window where various little green weeds manage to spring up between the rocks and live throughout the winter. For some time she's felt she ought to make a little fairy garden in that window-well . . . and so, among other things, she got some fairy garden homes for her birthday.

(This globe was from Goldie. It turns out Daisy has always wanted one. Only who knew? Well, Goldie, apparently. It's nice to have sisters around to know the important things that moms might not.)

And last of all: Easter!

(I've avoided this for most of the year -- mostly because it just hasn't seemed real, but I find myself increasingly slipping into sentimental little thoughts of lasts. Next year we won't be pulling out Abe's old Easter basket and he won't be opening treat-filled eggs with the rest of his siblings. Each of these thoughts are like a tiny hole stabbed in my heart . . . that I quickly plug up by not thinking about it lest I bleed completely dry.)

The Backdrop to the Beautiful

Recently I began bravely/tremblingly tackling all of real life again (everything that was already fairly demanding made somehow nearly impossible simply by the addition of . . . one small, helpless, floppy, new person).

During one moment of frantically trying to get rolls out of the oven, hand one screaming child a spoon, stop a toddler from coming in from the backyard with chicken poop on their foot (yes, that), and call several missing older children to join us (because I had actually made dinner and so help me they better come appreciate it!), all while Starling was fussing and crying to be fed (which is no quickly-taken-care-of process), I hurriedly attempted to pry open a slightly jammed drawer (to retrieve the spoon being cried for) and managed to, instead, pull free a thick splinter -- that wedged itself completely under the nail bed of my right index finger. 

It was very bad timing. 

It hurt. 

I yelled. 

And, not very kindly, told everyone to stop screaming at me, as I searched, in a panic, for misplaced tweezers, and failed several times to get a hold of the splinter (and wondered despairingly what one is to do if they can't pull free something from under their fingernail). Eventually I pulled it out and was able to staunch the rather tremendous flow of blood. 

But kids needing dinner, and a crying baby, and all the associated mess hadn't disappeared in the meantime. 

It all seemed such a fitting contrast to the peaceful, beautiful and POWERFUL feelings I'd experienced while quietly holding my new little Starling during the brief period of time-out we'd enjoyed.

I knew that everything magnificent and brilliant I'd sensed was real. The most real truth in all of this. But I never get over how odd it is that everything mighty and significant and lovely . . . plays out amidst a backdrop of stress and mess and exhaustion and . . . ORDINARY. 

It always does! It's where everything good exists! In the middle of . . . everything else.

It makes it very hard to see anything more than tiny glimpses of the might and importance and beauty of the things we are living and choosing and doing -- though I imagine perhaps that is part of the why of it. Maybe we never would have understood or seen at all without the contrast. Maybe it's a huge part of our growth and test -- recognizing all that is right and a gift in the midst of everything trying to drown it out. 

I'm not sure. 

But I read a little article I liked in the most recent Ensign magazine. In it, a man told of a time in his life when he was serving as a bishop. Work was demanding. Family was demanding. He was exhausted. He'd come home late one night after a slew of interviews only to realize he had something that needed fixed on his car so he could drive it to work the next day. As he was fixing it, he began a whining prayer asking God why He couldn't lighten the load a little. In the middle of the prayer, he had some words come strongly to his mind -- three times. They were simply, "This is it!" 

This was life. This was mortality. These exhausting daily demands were the experiences he signed up for -- the very things that would help him become who he was meant to be. 

I typically recognize big trials as events intended to help us grow, but less often do I realize that the daily, recurring, tiresome struggles and frustrations are this hugely necessary component of our mortal existence. Seeing, on occasion, the lofty things beyond that are a huge gift, but, in a way, all of this is a gift. All of it is intended to change us and challenge us and give us the stress to push against that will make us something vastly greater than we ever could have been otherwise. In that sense, I suppose I should not only be trying to see the beautiful in the midst of the messy, but to recognize and allow the mess itself to create beauty in me!

It reminds me of this C.S. Lewis statement that Elder Renlund is fond of quoting:

"[Mortals} say of some temporal suffering, 'No future bliss can make up for it,' not knowing that Heaven, once attained, will work backwards and turn even that agony into a glory. . . . The Blessed will say, 'We have never lived anywhere except in Heaven.'"

Coming and Going and a Thousand Other Things

March 2019 will undoubtedly go down as one of the . . . what's the right word?! biggest? most significant? wildest? most memorable? months in the life of our family. . . . Yes, all of those words. Exactly. And also: none of them exactly. Because there is also this element of us . . . not quite being able to grasp, understand or truly feel the true bigness of any of it!

Tied to the moment we found out our very first baby would be a boy -- nearly 19 years ago -- was the idea that, the minute we got him somewhat raised, he would leave us -- almost completely -- for two whole years. Where? We had no idea. But we wanted him to. (Unbearable a notion though it was!) And we planned on it. The thought was wrapped right in with his very existence so naturally that I hardly recall specific discussions about it! I'm sure there must have been many, but it felt almost as if our very own hopes were the seed that was planted in his heart; and then nourished by a whole slew of people -- most of all, ultimately, himself. 

But, for all of that . . . we didn't live as if he'd really be leaving us. Who can comprehend something nearly 19 years away? (It's still almost as unreal at only three months away!) And it certainly never occurred to us that we would receive the news of his departure and where he would be going the very same week as his ninth sibling -- our tenth and youngest child -- would be born! I went into labor only three nights after Abe opened his mission call. 

This leaving and arriving has felt almost cosmically calculated to force an awareness of how quickly time passes on us! The contrast in these two events has certainly not been lost on me. And both events make me more acutely aware of the significance of the other. (Somewhat like having my dad die the same week we announced we were expecting Hans.) But, more than that, I have this small feeling in me -- as if my spirit knows something my mortal mind can't quite understand -- that the timing of these events wasn't coincidence. Were blessings unlocked for helping Abe's path towards, specifically, El Salvador, by us accepting this 10th child? Were certain angels freed up to help? Were people made more ready for him there? I don't know! But I have felt, strongly, that there were exact and seemingly unrelated blessings that deciding to have Starling would bring to our family. I didn't know what those blessings were, but I felt Starling was eager and pleased to know her coming somehow would facilitate them. And the timing of these events? I don't know. It feels simply that someday -- likely not in this life -- I will be made aware of some even greater connection between them.

In the mean time . . . all mixed in and surrounding these major events have been a host of other occurrences -- most within a week (on either side) of Abe's call and Starling's birth -- some big and some small, but all worth remembering for our family.

We very often reserve Friday nights for family movie nights around here. Popcorn made by Goldie or Daisy or little paper cups filled with treats like goldfish, gummy worms and chocolate covered pretzels are often featured. This was the movie night . . . the week before I went into labor. (Though there was another on the very Friday night that I went into labor.) I believe they were watching Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit here.

Goldie began physical therapy and was given the OK to ditch her crutches. The rod and screws will remain in her leg for a year. She limps more than we'd like, and her range of motion is still poor, but it's a relief to have this big setback resolving itself!

But . . . before being fully free of her crutches, Goldie participated in The Wizard of Oz play at her junior high. I'm not quite sure how she managed it. She stayed somewhat in the back and was maybe hopping? I don't know. It was impressive. And I was glad I got to see it as her performances all were scheduled on the days surrounding (and on) my due date.

Penny had her big 6th grade dance. It's always 50s themed. They practice various dances for months and even have little dance cards all filled out beforehand. She is the first of my kids to be -- at least openly -- incredibly excited about the event. :)

Daisy took her first ACT and got a 34! It's a funny thing to me that she could get a score that high -- and feel only . . . content but not giddy. I'm afraid she would have had to beat Abe (which would mean a perfect score) to have embraced giddiness. But I am amazed! And impressed! (And relieved that at least two of our ten have college paid for. :))

Jesse had the Pinewood Derby. Somehow he and Mike managed to make a 2nd-place car during that first week of Starling home and Mike already taking care of everything else around here.

Abe got his wisdom teeth out. Poor boy wasn't sedated or put to sleep. And he bled so much the entirety of that first day that he didn't even attempt to go without gauze long enough to eat ANYTHING. But, within a day he was doing pretty well and has pretty much eaten regular food since.

Mike had two weeks off of work after Starling came. The first week he got kids off to school, took care of chores, and all the other tasks that are usually mine. And for part of the second week (which happened to be Spring Break), he bravely took the nine oldest kids to Bear Lake for several days -- leaving me completely alone here with Starling! It was truly the kindest gift he could have given me. It was absolutely luxurious just sleeping in with Starling cuddled next to me, eating what I wanted without needing to prepare an entire meal for everyone, writing, and just basking in the novelty of my tenth child . . . all while the house stayed clean! I kept thinking how some people probably think it's completely normal for a house to just stay free of crumbs all over the floor and shoes all scattered about and toys dumped out a thousand times a day. But to me it was miraculous! :) In the mean time, Mike took the kids on all sorts of daring adventures! He truly is an amazing husband and father.

We had General Conference weekend. The first session was completely quiet as only Abe and Daisy, who had work and other obligations, had returned from the cabin by that point. But by the second session, it was back to the usual wildness of Legos and coloring all about the living room. But, I still managed to have Starling sleep contentedly on me for the majority of every session. I've never had a newborn during conference before, and I loved it!

Oh! And . . . we bought a new car! Well, new to us. (But with only 3,000 miles put on it by the prior owners.) Its a Toyota Yaris. And the first new car we've purchased in ten years! (We've had our truck for nearly 15 years and our van for 10.) We just felt we needed something small and with better gas mileage at our disposal. So. That's fun!

And . . . last of all . . . all of this has made every one of us exhausted. All of us have felt a bit like Summer -- who fell asleep in her closet  while playing; and Hans -- who fell asleep half standing . . . and did not wake until he finally fell over. Hahah.