Home

I have a hard time saying that word-- home.  Why?  Probably because in part my heart has a home in many places now, because it is connected by delicate fibers too fine to be seen, to others hearts across oceans and mountains and yellow-grass fields.  People who have inspired me or touched me or been my friend.  Somehow if I say the finality of that word, will it feel like I am severing those threads, threads that have woven into my heart and helped to make me who I am?  It is because of people I have left behind, people who secretly in my heart I want to just come on over for dinner or a walk to June's seat or blab an hour away at the park like we used to, that I have the very hardest time saying that word-- the "h" word-- because it means I'm somehow letting go of those times and recognizing they won't come again.

And another reason, as a child I often caught myself imagining climbing the mountains where I was born so I could see what was on the other side.  I think there will always be a part of me that wants to see what is on the other side.   An insatiable wanderlust that makes me want to see, experience, and sometimes, --live-- on nearly every inch of this sweet planet.

Home also means letting go of the grass-is-greener syndrome-- recognizing that happiness isn't found in a place, it's found in one's heart and way of life.  Nor is any dwelling perfect-- there will always be something left to be desired.  Moving doesn't solve problems, it just swaps them out for different ones.

And lastly, because home means commitment.  Commitment to something.  It means we are going to ride this thing out together no matter what happens, thick, thin, hot cold, happy or sad.  And that is a little bit frightening.  In some ways, it is staring down the barrel of death.  Of accepting what life will throw at me, and being okay with it.  Growing old, experiencing loss, watching loved ones grow and move on.  Will I ever be able to say that word without a little hidden tremor in my voice?  I don't know. 

But I do know one thing.  I do love where I live.  I love watching the seasons change on the mountains, then creep down the valleys, or the reverse.  I love places I can escape to just minutes away where I can think and see God face-to-face.  I love having so many thoughtful neighbors watching over me.  And knowing every last one.  I love one last thing.  That I brought a baby home here.  And others have come and gone and dropped their coats on the floor and we've said goodbye and hello as the seasons changed with the whoosh of cold or warm air from the back door.  We've buried pets and hidden teeth under pillows and decorated the Christmas tree and snuggled under warm blankets.  We've laughed, shouted, helped eachother, fought, and danced like weird people in the living room.  If there is anyone worth putting down roots for, it is these little ones that I want to give stability to and let them make friends without worrying about whether they'll have to say goodbye to those friends.  It is for memories and for family and for good enough.



Home

Sitting in the night study
Only the glow of the
Weekend's photos
Clicking across a
Computer screen,
Baby nursing into sleepy
Bliss.
Dino jammies,
Soft sweaty head.
Black cloud
Dances with streaks of
White,
Inching along the
Hills.
Little oohs and ahhs
Trickle down the stairs
From little out-of-bedders
Pressed against an
Upstairs window.
Then it comes,
A sheet of water
Orange from the glow of the
Streetlamp standing sentinel
Outside.
Now we're snuggled up in
The dark,
Watching
the Glow
Hero wall,
Partially finished pine shelves,
And a train of little
Feet down to watch
The show.
The tapping of rain on the roof,
Gorgeous glut of plenty
Outside and in,
Protected,
Safe,
Happy,
Rain,
Lamplight,
Little feet,
Wonder,
Heroes,
Projects,
Home.

Halloween Fun

Don't you just love this month?

I'm sorry.  I tend to blog more often at my other blog right now.  Even about day-to -day stuff, which I thought I'd reserve for this blog!  Oh well.

Here is some of our latest via Instagram.  You can read more about adventures in these pictures: www.5for50project.blogspot.com.  Happy Halloween everyone!

 

Harry Potter movie night.












Slimed!  With a green smoothie.  And so pleased.  Can you see his toenails?  I was painting Ava's, and he kept emitting a loud, high pitched squeak and sticking his foot in next to hers.  He was not content until each toenail was painted.  And he has been so proud of those toes. 



Ava wanted some "acorns" with her lunch.  I told her she had to wait.  But she still insisted on keeping the acorns close.  Very close.

Will Work for Food

A friend of mine asked me to take her family's pictures.  I was really flattered, and a little bit scared, because I am a major rookie at photography.  If I get a good shot, it is usually an accident.  :)  But, knowing that I would be doing her a service, that she wouldn't be out anything, made me feel better.  Oh yeah, and the fact that she fed my whole family and taught us an FHE lesson.  While I was taking the pictures, I thought, I think I'd trade photos for making dinner any day!  

 

I had a minor panic attack when the bench in the pictures looked tilted, really tilted, but Photoshop is magic!

 

What a darling family.  And I just loved watching the husband wife relationship in play here-- they are really cute with eachother.

 

 I had a less blurry one of these two but this was the momma's favorite.

 

Funny Little Boy

I don't mean to neglect my other kids here.  But babies change so fast.  I want to remember some of these things Emerson does before this stage evaporates before my eyes.

He has learned to stitch two words together.  It is so cute.

When his dad gets home from work each day, he toddle-runs ecstatically to the back door screaming "Da!" or "Dad!"  When Miguel says "hi Emerson,"  Emerson says "hi Dad."  They will repeat this four or five times, saying hello to eachother.  Its so cute.  Only today Emerson said "hello Emer" instead of "hello Dad."

He calls Isa "Kaedon."  So funny.  If you ask him where Isa is, he'll point right to her.  So he knows her name, he just calls her Kaedon (he also calls Kaedon, Kaedon).   The other day she was tickling him and he said, with breathless deliberation:  "that......funnnyy......Kaedon."

Still loves trucks and trains and tractors.  He has a fire truck shirt that I make an engine sound while I'm putting it on him and he loves it.  Then he'll point to the trucks and make the noise.   Today I put one of Kaedon's old shirts on him and he looked down, rubbed the buttons and said "pretty...shirt."

When Kaedon played Ring Around the Rosies with him, when K would say "ashes, ashes" Emer would say "tractor, tractor.....truck! (for all fall down)"

Kaedon tickled him today and he told him "no no .....Bubba."

So cute!

He is even adorable when he is crying.

Babies in Church Poem

So sorry to be so sentimental lately.  If you only knew...I'm sparing you a lot.  This is just the tip of the iceberg.  (we put away the crib today!  I have to say I absented myself...I could not watch or take part)

I have had an idea in my head a while.  It has to do with babies and church and Walt Whitman.  And it is a subject that has been on my mind a lot, because Emerson will be going to nursery here in one more month.  (I need a little pep talk right now...not ready to let go!)

I have to admit, when Kaedon was little, I was thrown for a loop in church.  I have mostly always loved church (as an adult, mind you), and it was hard to take a baby out because I hated missing anything.  Church gives me a boost like nothing else can-- a little recharge and perspective changer for the week.  So it can be frustrating to take a baby out.  Sometimes I've even wondered why I was even there, I was missing so much.

Then, I turned around, and Kaedon was in nursery.

And I met a friend who helped me learn how to keep my babies from wanting to go out so much.  So with the rest of my kids, I tried to keep enough in my bag to keep them busy and take them out only as a last resort.  (They often forget its even an option when you rarely take them out)  And when I did take them out, I made sure it was worse for them out of a meeting than in, ie-- no running around, drinks, or play...just sitting in a chair in a boring room.  They quickly decide it's much more fun sitting on Mom's lap eating Cheerios and reading a book.

After changing my approach, my little ones were (mostly) so good, and I enjoyed the time just holding them, and realized they'd be in nursery before I knew it, that I learned not to wish away that time.  I really soaked it up and enjoyed my little buddies.  And I realized that even when I have to take them out, I'm learning how to be Christlike through actions and not just sermons.

I see so many frustrated first-time parents that I wish I had a way to explain this-- so they don't resent their child but see it as an opportunity.

Disclaimer:  I love church.  I love listening to people speak.  I love the "old men" in our church-- LOVE them (see here) (I LOVE conference...it's my favorite and it's coming up!).  They are so wise and I have learned so much from their wisdom and life experience. They are mostly not boring.  This poem I wrote to mimic one of my favorites by Whitman, When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer.  I tried my darnedest to keep to his original intent, meter, etc, and it was much harder than I thought.  Won't be doing it again any time soon.  Hopefully you will get the picture of what I'm trying to say?

When I Heard the Old Theologian

When I heard the old theologian,
When the nature of God was ranged in theory before me,
When I was shown the footnotes and references,
To highlight and cross-check them,
When I, sitting, heard the high councilman, where he
Lectured with much approbation in the chapel-hall,
How soon, unaccountable, my baby tired and sick;
Till rising and slipping out, held fast my child,

And under a pastel of Jesus touch'd with honey-sun,
I comforted and soothed 'til he fell asleep,
And, from time to time, look'd in wonder
At His face in my perfect
Sleeping babe.

One Truck Mind

I have a little boy who is suddenly interested in anything vehicle!  Kaedon used to love Bob the Builder at this age, and one day I was thinking wistfully that I just can't expect to relive Kaedon's childhood through Emerson, that I need to let him be himself, you know the drill.  Then, overnight, Emerson developed an interest in those things, and he has taken it to new extremes.  :)

First, he went through a phase where every vehicle was "a truck."  In New York, he loved to perch on my sister's couch and watch all the traffic, saying over and over and over "a truck. a truck. a truck. a truck."  I think it is so adorable.  He did this on the airplane, too, and I wondered if it bothered anyone to, you know, hear him say truck like 50 times in a minute.

Well, suddenly, he learned how to say the word "tractor."  Then suddenly, everything was "a tractor."  Pronounced a trA--ck--ter (emphasis high on the "A" with a little cute pause as if it takes a lot of effort to coordinate those sylables, which I'm sure it does!). 

Now he has turned his one truck mind into a well-trained one, if you know what I'm hinting at!  Now everything is "a train."  He calls corn "train."  He calls drinks "train."  Yesterday, he pointed at his drink and said "Trrr---ain." (same pause in the middle, trying to reach the second half of the word with care).  Then he paused.  And he said, concentrating, "trrrrrack."  Ha ha.  He called his drink a "train track."  Do you think he loves trains and trucks and tractors?  I think it is the cutest thing.

Enjoy these random pictures I took of him when in the mountains with family last week.

 

 

Room for Baby

My little baby is growing up too fast!  I was looking around his room the other day, just wanting to freeze that little nursery and that little boy forever.  I love this sweet little age.  I'm so sad I won't have a baby ever again!

 

Since we didn't know what we were having, I had to put his room together in bits and pieces after he was born.  My mom sewed the curtains for me and helped me cut out the vinyl, I found the growth chart (none of this is too fancy, I know) at Michael's on clearance, and I made the pics with scrapbook paper before he was born (I made one for boy and one in case it was a girl).  I know none of this would be considered to be a fancy nursery, but it has nonetheless been fun.  The quotes are from a song my dad used to sing to me when I was a child, which coincides with the title to my blog.  It is the "House at Pooh Corner" by Kenny Loggins.

 

Who knows how quickly this room will have to change, as E just escaped from his crib two nights ago.  I'm not ready for this.  In several senses.  :)

 

 

 

 

 

This had the words of "You'll Be in My Heart," by Phil Collins (lyrics here-- aren't they beautiful?).

I made this little "quote board" and printed off quotes to inspire me while we rocked (I wish I could say it worked).  The one I left on the longest was "Song for a Fifth Child" by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton-- see end of post.  One of my favorite motherhood poems of all time.

Notice the cute little handprint at top!  Oh!~

Song for A Fifth Child

by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

Hang out the washing and butter the bread,

Sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew

And out in the yard there's hullabaloo

But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

Church in New York and a Mormon Moment

One thing I like about being a Mormon is that the church is the same wherever you go.  People in Brazil sing out of the same hymnbooks (in their own language of course) that people use in Minnesota.  You would get the same lesson in China as in Kentucky. 

We went to church in Pamplona when on our honeymoon.  It was over a bar.  That was a little different for me, but once we got inside, the people were warm and welcoming.  I even bore my testimony to the muffled snickers of all the children (which told me the adults had been very polite about my Spanish).  While there are minor differences, the same thread weaves through all.  The same songs, the sacrament torn by young white-shirt clad teens, the same feeling, the same togetherness.  It makes even a new, foreign place feel like home.

So I was curious about church in New York.  My sis walked me to the building, which we found on Mormon.org.  One of the differences I could see at first was that there were other families arriving in taxis.  That was new for me.   Never been to church in a taxi or seen anyone arrive in a taxi.  The building was a small high-rise with an elevator and classes on different floors.  We had Sacrament Meeting on the uppermost floor. 

Demographically it was a little different for me-- not many kids or teens.  It was more diverse than where we live in the West (I wish there were more diversity where we live!), with one man bearing testimony in Spanish (it was really touching-- he was so sincere and humble... and I actually understood bits and pieces, which surprised me because I'm so rusty).  The leader of the congregation was African American.  Not that I care one bit what his race is, it's just, people don't always see Mormons as being a diverse people.  And one little boy, cute little Asian boy, bore a long and cute testimony about how many times he wants to punch his brother (complete with balled up fist for demonstration) and how the Spirit stops him from punching his brother (other hand comes up to stop the enthusiastically punching fist).  I was impressed with his endearingly sweet and innocent and childlike testimony and thought that his parents had taught him well.

To see a beautiful rendition of a Mormon tradition, pioneer trek, see here.

To read about an experience that changed my life, and not just in religious ways, see here.

Infographic on Mormons here.

This video about Mormon missionaries trying a new tactic on a busy New York street made me happy and sad all at once. It brought back so many memories! See the looks on the people's faces? I got very familiar with that look when I was a missionary in Dallas.  Yet being a missionary still helped me love people in a deeper way, a way I never had before. I love how the missionaries in the video take it all in stride with a good sense of humor.

I know I don't talk about my faith very much, but it means the world to me.  I feel like everything good in my life has come from that direction.  I know we (Mormons) can be viewed as weird, or that we seem brainwashed, or restrictive, or secretive (I may cover more of this later).  But if you just step inside our world for a moment, it is beautiful.   It makes sense, undistorted by all the misconceptions and misconstructions out there.  All of the crazy media coverage lately has exposed some of the awful things people think about Mormons, but I hope it will also expose the truth-- that most of us are just trying to live good lives, be like Christ, forgiving, loving, kind.   Even if you don't believe the way we do, come walk in our shoes for a minute.  It feels good.  I promise they don't have horns or extra wives. :)  But they might have blisters, worn for God and others.  :)

New York Day 4 1/2

First part of day four in New York here.  After a wonderful trip to the Immigration Museum and a ferry ride with one of the cutest baby boys that ever lived :), I thought I'd hoof it to the Tenement Museum.  (I love to use Frommer's when we travel, example here...because it rates "attractions" with a zero to three star rating) 

I figured walking there would be no sweat.  But I don't get data on my phone, and I miscalculated how big Manhattan really is (ha ha, oh well).   So after gettting slightly lost in this cute district just north of the financial district, I took my second of two Satan taxi cab rides while in NYC (my sister took us on the first one, she said the guy was tame, but I thought he was going to kill us and a few bikers/peds along the way). 

When I got to the Tenement Museum, it looked really classy (funny, because it is about understanding the poor living conditions of immigrants in the early 20th century), but wouldn't allow children under 5.  Ouch.  I did get to watch a free movie inside while I nursed baby away from the heat.

(I saw this quote on the wall of a Salvation Army building toward the end of being lost.  LOVE it.)

Then I got lost.   Then I got on a bus.  Then I walked a lot because I miscalculated how far my sister's apartment was.  Then I got sort of lost again.  But it was fun!  (mostly)  I finally broke down and got more pizza when I saw what looked like a bunch of locals enjoying a corner pizzeria.  It was enjoyable.  And I tried it New York style, folded in half, and shared with cute Emerson.  YUM.

After a brief moment in Tia's apartment, where it was clear that Emerson was bored after being so entertained outside, we went back out.  We went to the New York Public Libary (beautiful building, closed, but baby loved running around), Grand Central Station (wow-- gorgeous...), and the Chrysler Building (Art Deco lobby with mural on the ceiling).  Then I met my sister and we walked some more, had more pizza, and laughed that we miscalculated the closing time of the library and some other attractions.  What a great day.