Memorial Day

Yesterday we went to the cemetery with my mom and dad. We were joined by my brother Aaron and his oldest son William (who happened to be in town), as well as my sister Shannon's family, and my niece Ashley with her husband and baby. I love this tradition, and I think it is why cemeteries always seem like happy peaceful places (as opposed to spooky) to me. The traditions are a little different depending on whose graves we are visiting. When we go to my dad's parents, he always tells the story of when my grandpa died -- how even though he'd been in a coma for several days, he gripped my dad's hand so hard it was almost painful when my dad talked to him about how much he knew they both loved each other, and how when he did die, all the family in the room, tears in their eyes, rose and gave him a standing ovation (my grandpa had been head of the theater department at the local college). My dad also likes to clear away the grass and clean their gravestones. This time the kids reverently helped. Before we leave my dad's parent's, my dad always says a prayer then, kneeling, presses his hands along the raised letters of their names. This time, because it is a special favorite of the kids, he also told of how my grandpa and his brothers were struck by lightning. The horses they were with died and the boys were knocked unconscious and temporarily paralyzed, but managed to survive. My grandpa always clearly remembered the image of the lighting streaking away in the distance and his step-mother rushing out towards them with her skirts billowing and hair blowing in the wind as he struggled up the hill towards their home.My mom has a few more ancestors in the cemetery and she is the geneologist, so when we visit her side, she shows us pictures and tells lots of stories. My great great grandpa Thomas Wallace had a plenty rough life. His mother, who was English, was disowned when she married a Scottish sailor. She moved to Scotland where they had a number of children. One day her husband (who was known to be a drinker) left to find work and simply never returned. She used the little money they had to get back to England -- much of the journey with her little ones on foot. When she got to her old village -- hoping to plead with her family that they not let her children starve, she found that they had moved and no one knew a thing about what had become of them. By this point she and the baby were nearly dead, and did die, three days later of pneumonia -- leaving her other children completely helpless. How they grew up is another story, but eventually Thomas joined the church and came to Utah where he had 11 children -- nine of whom died. After losing so many children, Thomas was a bit of an overprotective father. My mother always tells the story of the time he wouldn't let his daughter Lizzie go on a hayride so she climbed out her window and down the huge oak next to it to go. When she returned, Thomas was sitting in her room waiting. He didn't say a word, but early the next morning she woke to the sound of her father out chopping down the Oak tree. We all know and love that family story. Here my mom is in story telling mode and showing pictures to the kids.Here are a few more pictures from the evening. Including one of Abe at the traveling Vietnam War Memorial. It gets set up at different places around the country and happened to be here yesterday. It is half the size of the original but contains all of the names. We weren't able to stay as long to look as I would have liked because Penny was throwing a tantrum and we didn't want to destroy the reverence of the place. It did make me sad though. Just to think of that many young men -- sons, maybe fathers -- just gone. Mike and I watched a documentary last night about the many graves and cemeteries of American soldiers in Europe, and Mike told me about some war in Paraguay where 2/3rds of the young men were killed. How do civilizations survive the death of that many men? It seems like it would throw things out of balance permanently.I really do love this tradition, and I had such a pleasant evening.

Penny

Penny just turned two. I love my little Pen. She has perfectly square little teeth, and her smiles cause her eyes to squint nearly shut (just like my brother Rob's eyes when he smiles). Time goes so quickly and she and Jesse were born so close, that I keep getting confused in my mind and having trouble remembering if something involving a baby was just last week with Jesse, or a year and a half ago with Penny. All she wants to do lately is catch things. The kids catch bugs, but she wants to catch birds, horses, cows and even airplanes. "I wanna catch it, Mom!" She'll say so hopefully. Today I told her the cow she wanted to catch was maybe too big to catch. She then simply wanted to "hold it." And only reluctantly agreed that maybe petting it would suffice. There is something about this stage that makes me look at her more than any of my other kids and think, "Who are you? You aren't my little baby anymore, and you aren't yet one of the big kids that I know so well. Yet here you are. Your own little person with your own story and life to live, and how is it that you are mine when I can see so clearly that you are someone all your own?"

Four Boys

Here are some pics Ashley took yesterday of the four boys that were born with-in four months of each other in my family.

Both Abe and Jesse were born into the family at the same time as a slew of boys and one girl. The only difference is that with Abe, it was all my siblings having kids with me. With Jesse, only one sister and then three nieces were the ones having kids (my niece Amber had a little girl during this same four months. I guess that is what happens when you are at the end of eleven siblings. Craziness.

Anyway, in order: My Jesse, Ashley's Israel, Kristen's Lewis, and Shannon's Miles.

Daisy

Abe, . . . Must you?

Goldie

Hodgepodge

Hodgepodge? Right after I typed that title, I wondered about the origins of that word -- hodgepodge, so I typed it in google. I didn't find exactly what I was looking for. I did, however, come across one definition that I liked. It said hodgepodge was a soup full of various ingredients. And I quote, "Often this soup is a token of poverty, when a food is prepared from whatever ingredients are available." Such it is with this post, my friends. Such it is with this post.

I have felt very little desire to post of late. And have very little post worthy material to offer. Still, in a humble attempt to feed my faithful visitors something, I have pulled from the nearly bare shelves of my mind all the scanty ingredients I have to make a bland but, at least, varied soup. Disclaimer: while I plan to discuss soup at some point during this post, there will never actually be any real soup for anyone to taste, not even a soup recipe. All references to soup in this paragraph were strictly metaphorical.

Alright. let's hodgepodge our way to a post.

1. Fireplace. I love that Penny occasionally yells, "Fireplace, Mom! I saw a fireplace!" when, in fact, she just saw and heard a police car rushing by. Fireplace? You ask. It makes sense though. Police car -- sort of like a fire truck -- sort of like a . . . fireplace. In general Penny is so much more pleasant these days than she has been for the past few months. She had some pretty serious ear infections for awhile and was often to be found telling us angrily, "I'm MEAN!" But lately she has even occasionally taken to saying, "Yah, Mom, I'm happy!"

2. Whisk. I've had this whisk since we were married. It has been rusty and broken for a good three years. Still, in my thriftyness, I couldn't consider the luxury of buying a new one. Finally, however, I relented, and do you know how much a similar new one cost me? $1.85. That's right. $1.85. Thank goodness I saved us such a bundle by being so frugal and careful all this time.

3. Hat. This is for you, Kristen and Ashley. I don't know how many of you are familiar with Jan Brett's children's books, but I love them. In one, a mitten gets stretched a ridiculous amount when a small creature, followed by ever bigger and bigger creatures, decides to crawl into the mitten to get out of the cold. This hat was knitted as a gift to one of my nieces' baby boys. Because it was only a tiny bit big on their newborns they passed it on to my slightly bigger Jesse. While it fit him fine, it was just roomy enough that I found myself putting it on Penny one day when I took her out in the jog stroller. Not long after, my nieces were laughing to see the same hat appear in some photos on Goldie's head. I told them it was just like the mittens and hats in the Jan Brett books. They laughed that they would soon be seeing it on my head. Well, girls, it fit with not even a bit of a struggle. I don't know that heads get a tremendous deal larger than my own, but if they do, this darling little cap should have no trouble fitting them all.

4. Husband. The other night Penny kept crying and crying in her bed that she wanted chips. It was bedtime though so I had sadly told her, "No honey, no chips. Go night-night." I then went to take a shower (as I'd been out for a late run). When I got out I asked Mike, "Has that Penny ever quieted down?"

"Yah," He replied, "I just had to give her some chips."

Also, I'm glad he has such faith in my abilities. Our yard is full full of dandelions (incidentally, my kids can never understand why I consider the lovely little things a weed). I was talking on the phone with Mike today and said, "Why don't we have Saturday be a yard day so you can spray all our dandelions."

He moaned about the five days worth of stuff he already is supposed to do on Saturday, so I said, "Or I could just spray them myself if you show me where the stuff is and how to use it."

"Oh," he said dismissively, "You'd probably just spray it all over your face." He is such a smart alec . . . and yet even as I retype that I begin to laugh all over again. . . . Mostly just picturing myself spraying it all over my face. (Goldie is sitting here by me playing a little game, and she just said, "Stop laughing, Mom.")

5. Books. I've been reading some young adult type of books lately. For example, The Wolves of Willoughby Chase; and Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh. And I really enjoy reading books like that because they generally are quite well written, with an enjoyable little story, but quick and easy to read. However, after the shame I had to face upon realizing a year or so ago that the War and Peace I read was a wimpy abridged version, I finally ordered the newest full translation. It has received rave reviews about the accuracy and true to Tolstoy styleness of it all, and I am ready to conquer it. I'll tell you when I finish. It might be awhile as I plan on taking a leisurely pace as well as reading Watership Down (a book my mom read to us when we were young) at the same time because it will be fun, but look at how thick it is! Also, look at that cover. Isn't it appealing? I don't know why, but it is just so lovely. Admit it, that pretty blue-green is totally making you want to read it.

6. Soup. Here is the soup. Lately I eat Bear Creek potato soup nearly every lunch, as well as most dinners when Mike isn't home. Who would think someone could be so hooked on some type of reconstituted soup? I don't know. I'm not even claiming anyone else would love it, but I do. The odd thing is, I'm sure it will pass. I have a tendency to always have one or two things that I love and eat daily for months or maybe even a year . . . and then, no more. Once it was boiled cheese ravioli for every lunch. I had a good year of making cupcakes every week. Key Lime pie, Tuna melts, Maddox Turkey Steaks, and many more have all had their turn.

7. Goldie. Yesterday Goldie told me, "I know God always guides me because I always sing Jesus songs, and I always say prayers, and I always give money to the poor (hmm?), and I am always loving and kind."

There. That was your fill of hodgepodge -- the kind of soup that leaves you full, but not necessarily craving more.

Jesse is Growing Up

Here I am with Shan's baby and then trying to recreate the same pose with Jesse. As you can see, Jesse just isn't a little newborn these days. Don't these two pics just make you laugh?

And, he is finally getting a little chubby. He has always been off the charts on his height, but because his weight was only average for so long, he was kind of a skinny little fella for awhile. He still spits up like a champion, but something must be staying down now because he's recently become a lot more squeazable. He is such a pleasant little man to have. Seriously, not ever one ounce of trouble. Good boy Jesse.

An Awful Dilemma

I'm in a bit of a pickle. A bit of a fix, you might say.

Oh, alright, the charade is up. I'm not in a fix. There is no pickle. I just have had . . . maybe . . . kind of . . . a little bit of . . . possibly boring-ish posts lately, and I thought that sounded like a fun way to start a post. I would then go on to tell you the full pickle details. You , in return, would eagerly give me your warmest and best advice. I don't even use those cool phrases in real life though, so you should have known the gig was up the minute you read "pickle."

I suppose, however, if one were to consider, it might not be too utterly difficult to discover some quandary about which they might beg a solution. Whether or not that dilemma could be made to sound interesting is quite another matter. I imagine it would help if it were more than simply about items or appointments. It would, no doubt, add greatly to the scenario to have it involve several individuals -- all of whom stood to be either greatly rejoiced or eternally offended by whatever decision was hinging upon me. It also would certainly excite more of a response if the case were such that one or more individuals were either greatly to be pitied, or perhaps better, despised by their hand in turning matters so very conflicting for me. Of course, at that point, it might no longer be able to be classified as a simple pickle -- which seems to denote a rather trivial dilemma.

Alas, I have no such delicious and gossip worthy situation to report or to plead an opinion on. I imagine that deciding whether or not to get rid of all of the lambs ear in my garden, or to sign Abe up for piano lessons this Summer won't cut it. Oh well, you are all more than welcome -- in fact, you are expressly invited to give me any advice on any topic or involving any terrible fix you could imagine. Go ahead. Let's see what you've got.

Flowers

Don't get all panicky about this new loooong layout. I'm just deciding what I think. It isn't necessarily here to stay (especially because it made the picture placement of older posts all wacky, and my little picture of Abe at the top of my blog looks to overwhelmed all lonely in white space). Besides, you know I don't dare to shake things up much, so . . . like I said . . . just seeing for a minute.

Anyway, there are likely (well, I mean surely) many things of beauty on this earth that I take for granted or neglect to notice. You know, sunsets maybe would be one. I mean pretty much every evening the sky is spectacular. When I took a painting class in 6th grade, I was always aware of sunsets -- mostly because I would look at them and think, "That is crazy! No one would ever think of painting that because it doesn't even look real!" Which of course caused me to marvel at how beautiful. Since, however, I shamefully admit to having noticed far fewer sunsets (except for maybe in Israel where we were always watching sunsets -- which, might partly explain why the lens prescription needed for my eyes doubled during that short four months).

Still, there is one beauty of nature that I never ever fail to notice. Flowers. And bless all of your little hearts who thought to bury your little tulip and daffodil bulbs clear last Fall. I love them! And if you are hoping that anyone even notices or cares that you went to the trouble, know that I do. I find myself looking at the flowers of every house I ever run or drive past. One house in particular that I drive past every day nearly takes my breath away. The house itself is a plain small gray rectangle of a house, but it has tulips of every color just packed all around it. It is seriously something that, I don't know, I guess that I honestly see as one of God's miracles. I love green and mountains, etc. But a flower -- what on earth!? Just a perfectly shaped brightly colored thing -- just real and growing? Amazing.

Once Mike and I went on a hike far off somewhere (I don't know where exactly -- we drove Mike's truck up a miserably bumpy road for almost an hour before even beginning our long hike). As we hiked back down we decided to walk over a hill that wasn't on the path but that lead in the same direction we were headed. As we reached the top and headed down the other side, our eyes met with thousands of red wild flowers. I never would have imagined that a flower growing all on its own off in the middle of nowhere could be so bold and pretty. Can wildflowers really do that? I constantly find myself wishing I could remember exactly when in the year that was so we could go find them again. It seems so quiet and strange to have something so gorgeous just happily growing and dieing all in its own loveliness with no one else there to see it.

Anyway, enough of that. I have a decidedly black thumb. Our yard will be a disaster for some time to come I imagine. My friend Kelly (whose Summer backyard would make even the very most indifferent to nature's beauties swoon) came over the other day out of sheer kindness to give me a little direction. Of course now that she is gone, my confidence is once again wavering. But she told me how I could actually move some little bushes I don't like, and even get rid of some other stuff to make room for things I do want. I was like, "Really?? Can I do that?" Still, she is going to meet me in a week or two at a nursery and help me get a few flowers. She is wise because she sees that I am overwhelmed, so my main goal for this Summer is just to get our front flower bed looking good (yikes, we'll see!!) and then to simply work on weeding the disastrous beds in the back.

Here is a picture of one year when I really had something going on in the flower department. It was in our WA home and truthfully, was laid out rather poorly with big things blocking smaller things and so forth, but I was quite in love with the fact that I'd had so many flowers actually grow!

Caught!

This morning, as I myself was doing a number of busy things, Goldie told me a very long tale. It was rather disjointed, possibly somewhat lacking in plot, and paused numerous times as she got distracted, arranged pretzels into the shape of a dog, and hummed. Still, at the end of this story (if indeed there was an end) Goldie said to me, "Mom, tell me that story."

Confused, I questioned, "What story?"

"The story I just told you," she responded.

"Ummm . . . I . . . uh . . ."

Had I been set up? I felt like it was a trap. I am going to inform my kids that they are not allowed to ever give me, "how good of a mother are you" tests. They will be required to blindly believe I am the best whether my actions and responses warrant such a belief or not.

And another thing. Just who does Jesse think he is trying to look more like a kid than a newborn?

Running and Me

". . . Running hurts, it always has. It teaches us that good things do not come easy. It teaches us that we are capable of more than what we think. It teaches us that hard work will be rewarded . . . Don't expect to learn those life lessons from jogging. Next time you suffer on the roads, suffer proudly. You just RAN!"

I saw this quote from an unknown author today on another blog and had to steal it. It made me smile and reminded me of many of the life metaphors I have discovered through my running. It also made me chuckle because non-runners may be unaware of this, but there is not much worse you can say to a "runner" than, "Hey, I saw you out jogging the other day." True your speed may have been no faster than a jog, but the word is painful -- it somehow implies laziness, ease, and lack of any real effort. It changes what you were doing from significant to pointless. Not that there is no value in someone going for a jog, mind you, it is just that when you think you are running, the word "jogging" is just depressing to hear.

When I was a Freshman in high school I tried out for, and didn't make, the volleyball team. I was crushed. To my limited ninth grade perspective, it seemed the end of the world. It was a horrible embarrassment. If you weren't going to be a cheerleader, then volleyball or soccer were the only other roads to potential coolness, and most of my friends had made the team.

The poor Cross Country coaches, on the other hand, were always trying to increase their numbers, and with no try outs necessary, were only too happy to grab onto those of us who had failed to make other more popular teams. So, despondent and disappointed, I fell back on running. I was good at running. While I didn't run more than the required distances through most of high school, it gave me confidence and involved me in something. I ended up getting the "Gold Watch Athlete of the Year" award at the end of my senior year. It was based on a number of things including number of times placing in state competitions. That maybe wasn't fair, since it is far more easy to place in state when you are participating in multiple individual events (cross country, then hurdles and the 400 during track season) than it is in one large team event like basketball. Still, running helped define me during those high school years and has been one of the few things I have managed to continue doing over the years. To this day, I count that initial volleyball disappointment one of the luckiest blessings of my life.

I have only run three marathons (spaced over ten years), but if you consider that during those same ten years I have also spent 45 months preparing each of these five for the world:

And if you then consider that those pregnancies have also meant countless months of nursing, waking up at nights, and simply trying to find care for them each and EVERY time I want to run, well, then that is fairly impressive.

I have a new goal in mind. It was Mike's idea initially because, while he can't be home as much as I'd like to make running opportunities for me, he is always very supportive. I want to run the Boston Marathon next Spring. Do you know how exciting that would be for me? There are over 20,000 runners. It is hard to explain the excitement in the air at any race, especially a marathon, but to run one that is kind of considered THEE marathon and to be able to have other runners around me the entire race and the roads lined with people for most of the 26.2 miles would be seriously such an amazing experience for me. I would love it. Still, I likely never would have considered it if it weren't for the fact that Mike's parent's are serving a mission in Boston. This would give us the perfect chance to visit them and give me the perfect opportunity to make something so big actually work.

The only catch is, I will need to qualify. I have beat the time necessary to qualify by a full ten minutes in the past, but times are only good for a year, and while I assume I can do it fine again, I've never had a "bad" marathon, and over 26 miles, even a 20 second slow down per mile could ruin my chances. Still, I am planning to run the Top of Utah Marathon this September in hopes that it will be sending me to Boston!

The difficulty, more than running the qualifying time, will be the training. It is frustrating to me because while some people have the time to run, but lack the motivation, I WANT to be running, but seldom have a great opportunity. Obviously I will simply have to make the opportunities, but it won't be easy. It will mean figuring how to go at 5:45 am when I am still up at night with a four month old -- a four month old that often ends up in bed with me during the night and who wakes up the minute I try to pull away from him. It will mean running at nights when the kids are down and Mike is finally home. I love love raising my kids, but those few precious hours from 8:00 pm on are my only time to be with Mike and relax, so giving up some of those hours isn't going to be easy. If I could just run at 7:00 each morning or drop the kids at school and run, it would be so simple for me, and I admit to feeling rather jealous of those who don't have to juggle so much to be able to get out. But I have chosen to have these loads of little people surrounding me. They are my responsibility and my most precious of all things.

So, here is to hoping and hoping my motivation and the fates will align to make this work. Heaven knows it won't be long before I feel that there is another little spirit looking down saying, "Hey, what about me!? I know you are stressed, but I am planning on being yours too." So, if I could just have this year to reclaim my body even just a little bit, to run two marathons in a year (one of them being such an exciting one), and to find the ways to train as hard as I'd like (I'm hoping for five days a week), I will feel so so grateful and blessed. I just want this really badly. I'm gearing up mentally because if I am serious, my training needs to start in May. The running itself isn't what I have to gear up for, it is finding the motivation to do it at very inconvenient and awkward times that I need to be able to handle. I love my kids more than anything in this universe other than Mike, but if I could just have this one me thing work out I will cry with happiness.

Penny talking about Megan, Ruby and Shannon

I thought Shan, Megan and Rhonda would enjoy this. Megan, she had been jabbering about you for some time. Of course when I tried to film her doing it she wasn't so much. Penny is cool because she says lots of real words mixed with gibberish . . . I think she just wants her sentences to sound longer and more sophisticated.

Advertising for Amy

My sister Amy has found another niche for her photography skills. I think it all began when she first practiced pregnancy shots on my lovely Penny filled belly. She has always been our go to for newborn shots, but my nieces Ashley and Kristen were smart enough to begin enlisting her in the delivery room. Why didn't I think of that? They got some amazing pics of those first precious moments. And now anyone can! Blow it up big to read the deal. It is 550, but includes not only two photo shoots, but several blown up big prints, a slideshow AND the entire disc of shots. Not bad.

Also, I thought I'd show you bigger views of two off of the card. (Hmm, they aren't actually that much bigger. I stole them off your blog, Ash. Why are they so puny?) I love love Ashley's expression in that second one -- just that total shock and amazement that a real tiny person all your own suddenly exists in the world.

And, this pic has nothing to do with pregnancy. It is just a favorite of mine. It is one of the graduation shots she took of my nephew Thatcher. Doesn't it just look cool? She has pretty great deals on family photo shoots and stuff too, so pass the word along if you know anyone needing some photography.

Jesse and the Camera/Conference

Jesse is such a content and good little guy. If he didn't spit up more than all my other kids combined (which was already a lot), he would be completely perfect. He giggles and laughs quite readily, but I can't ever catch it on film. I can't even catch a smile on the camera because this is the effect the camera has on him:

It puts him in a total trance.

Sometimes I can almost catch a smile if I hold the camera way out to the side where he can't see it, but even then he won't generally be fooled for long.

But, who needs smiles when they can catch this face:

Lastly, here is the set up Abe arranged for their General Conference watching. They may be loud and not necessarily hear a thing that is said, but I think I have at least accomplished one thing. They genuinely love the idea of conference. They love gathering pictures to color and Legos and setting up a little station to spend the day at. Saturday was a HORRIBLE day with our kids. There was more crying and time outs than in the whole last year combined. (Mostly because they have been fighting so much with each other lately! I hate that. Help!). But, even amidst the drama no one wanted to miss conference. In fact one of Daisy's most tearful pleas to be spared a time out was that she'd miss some of conference.Oops, did I already say "lastly?" Well, really this little video is lastly, which has nothing particularly to do with anything.