Because He Lives + Some Nonsensical Traditions

Man! I thought my December Sundays were busy! From the moment I stood up to lead the choir program @ about 11:30 until just over 1/2-way through Senior primary, I didn't actually sit down until 1:43 PM. And then I had to get back up for singing time at 1:45! I guess that's the curse of having two callings that are pretty demanding. I'm TIRED!

However - I just love, love, LOVE Easter!

1) The candy. Come ON! Easter candy trumps all other seasonal candies. One word: Cadbury. Cadbury anything (although, I'm mostly partial to the mini-eggs. Not the yolk-filled things. The hard candy shelled things. YUM!). I gave the girls their Easter baskets on Saturday because we're trying to make sure that Sunday is more about the Savior than the loot. Their teachers at Church still loaded them up with sugar, of course. But at least we know we're trying over here. I've had to learn, the hard way, to settle for my intent even when the result isn't perfection.

The card the Easter Bunny left for my girls.

Finding edible treasures (and a couple of inedible ones) in their baskets.

Playing with the inedible stuff outside. Please understand, my girls had just woken up from their naps, so I ask you to excuse the disheveled nature of their hair and the general lack of trousers.

Sometimes CC likes to just watch Malia play. It's like her own, personal free LIVE show. As for the thumb - any tips on how to begin removal of said digit from mouth???

The loot.

NOTE: A lot of it had already been consumed by this point. This is too much candy for a woman who was trying to "eat less sugar." Meh. *chew, chew, chew*

2) The Hunt. There's a tradition we participated in when we lived in Utah, where we'd go to Dave's grandparents, and everyone had to write 5 things on 5 slips of paper (anything from "The finder of this egg has to do a tap dance" to "You get to steal the egg of your choice from your neighbor" to "Bear your testimony of the Savior"). I love this tradition and have every intention of implementing it when my girls are old enough to care beyond the edible contents in the egg. But for now, it's just as fun hiding and then watching them run from egg to egg. And Cecily, amazingly enough, didn't even stop to eat some of the candy until we were done! We used to go to community events as well, but I decided that a. we don't need the extra candy (see above) and b. the competitive and "every-man-for-himself" nature of the community hunts is not worth the turmoil it has produced for my smaller, slower, less aggressive children. We stay at home and stick to our own little yard. It's much happier for us this way.

3) Dying eggs. We did this on Saturday as well. I wanted to buy some really cool-looking egg dyes, but Malia was pulled in by the advertising mumbo-jumbo of "Look! Tinker Bell eggs!" when all it is, is basic dye with Tinker Bell stickers. Oh well. You just eat 'em anyway, right? I have to admit that CC is at a hard age for this activity. She wanted a lot more independence and power than I was willing to give her. (Thus, reason for lack of picture-taking during the project). Eventually, I gave her one egg that had been colored and was already dry, and then let her go watch TV while Dave, Malia, & I finished the job.

The green, asian-looking egg is "Ho Chi Minh." Dave's been making that guy for as long as I've known him. It's a twisted tradition from his childhood. If you knew Dave's step-dad, you'd understand.

4) The attire. I have two daughters, and so the dresses are a big deal. This year I got them at Costco. The girls actually had about 3 or 4 options to go with (both grandmas love to buy fancy dresses). But I stuck with my initial Costco purchases... just because. I didn't do hats, though. CC wouldn't wear one, and Malia's hair ended up being too complicated for me to be willing to cover it up. (Cecily's hair was going to be complicated, too, but neither she nor I were in the mood for that battle). I wish I had better pictures of their ensembles - but it's difficult when you're desperately trying to get out the door to Church. And we took the dresses off immediately afterwards because it was beYOND naptime.

The only moment I got of CC standing still. Plus you get a wonderful peak into my gross patio and backyard which I hope to someday demolish and redo. You're welcome.

And then, of course, you get my poser. Even with an apple in her hand.

Malia's hair. The lighting in my kitchen didn't really do it justice. Trust me. It was a masterpiece.

Quick! They're standing next to each other! Take a picture! "CC, say cheese!" Close enough.

5) The Sacrament Program. Ok. So maybe it's weird that I, as the choir director, am saying I love the music program. On my end, yeah, it's ridiculously stressful. And this time around, we had Stake Conference & General Conference & Ward Conference Season (a lot of my choir members are Stake leaders and were MIA during Ward Conference-time) leading up to here, and so we had FAR too few choir practices. And this was especially problematic because I tend to pick complicated music. BUT - the spirit is still so present in the meetings when we have music programs - and despite my stress levels, and despite the choir flubbing the first a capella piece entirely, and despite the sweat pouring down my neck because I made the mistake of curling my hair and leaving it down even though I know my arm-flailing burns me up, and despite the fact that my accompanist's wife didn't come to Church that day and so his young children sat on the front row making a ruckus the whole time(bless him), and despite making the mistake of asking a speaker to go before us, which made the entire meeting go over 20 MINUTES!!!! - there is just nothing like being reminded in your heart of the meaning of this special time like the communication and comfort one's soul gets through music.

I don't have any pictures of this. How weird and awkward would that have been?

6) The Reason. It sounds cliche', but words really can't express my gratitude to the Savior for His sacrifice and what He overcame. And I fear my words will, undoubtedly, fail me. I had a narrator read some beautiful passages in between each song in our program, and although all of the passages struck me as so inspiring, this particular one I found especially touching. Maybe because it reminded me of an Easter post I'd made a few years ago. I'll finish with this, because I really have nothing to add to it:

The Cost
Melvin J. Ballard

"I ask you, what father and mother could stand by and listen to the cry of their children in distress, in this world, and not render aid and assistance? I have heard of mothers throwing themselves in to raging streams when they could not swim a stroke to save their drowning children, rushing into burning buildings to rescue those whom they loved.

We cannot stand by and listen to those cries without it touching our hearts. The Lord has not given us the power to save our own.. He has given us faith, and we submit to the inevitable, but he had the power to save, and he loved his Son, and he could have saved him...

...In the case of our Father, the knife was not stayed, but it fell, and the life's blood of his Beloved Son went out. His Father looked on with great grief and agony over his Beloved Son, until there seems to have come a moment when even our Savior cried out in despair: 'My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?'

In that hour I think I can see our dear Father behind the veil looking upon these dying struggles until even he could not endure it any longer; and, like the mother who bids farewell to her dying child, has to be taken out of the room, so as not to look upon the last struggles, so he bowed his head, and hid in some part of his universe, his great heart almost breaking for the love that he had for his Son. Oh, in that moment when he might have saved his Son, I thank him and praise him that he did not fail us, for he had not only the love of his Son in mind, but he also had love for us. I rejoice that he did not interfere, and that his love for us made it possible for him to endure to look upon the sufferings of his Son and give him finally to us, our Savior and our Redeemer."

A Mother's Prayer

I'm sorry. I'm not a big fan of people forwarding things or making unoriginal posts, myself. But this is too brilliant to pass-up. (WARNING: there is some PG, possibly PG-13, language - don't judge me. Either read it in spite of, and thank me later, or don't read it). You're Welcome.

A Mother’s Prayer for Its Child By Tina Fey

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.”

-Tina Fey

Mea Culpa

Dear Cecily -

It's been a while since I've written one of these letters to you and your sister. And when I do this, I usually write one to both of you. But today? This one is just for you. Or more importantly, for me.

Two weeks ago we had General Conference - most of which I didn't hear because, at 2 years old, you're not really a fan of sitting in a room as these random men in suits drone on about anything other than Tinker Bell or Sponge Bob. But on Sunday afternoon, just as I had laid you down for a nap, I heard some words that hit very close to home.

"With which child will your patience, long-suffering, and other Christlike virtues most likely be tested, developed, and refined? Could it be possible that you need this child as much as this child needs you?"
(Lynn G. Robbins of the Seventy, April 2011)

I have since read over that talk almost 1/2 a dozen times.

Your Mommy is very blessed. I have two beautiful and healthy daughters who are both very intelligent and full of life and joy. I can't neglect the fact that my cup does, indeed, runneth over. I'm having a hard time, though. And I need to apologize to you....

I have spent the last year of your life saying to myself and, unfortunately, to others, that you're "a handful" and "stubborn" and "strong-willed." And today was NO exception. But these are all things I grew up hearing about myself by multiple people. And when they were said, I didn't feel like I was being complimented. And when I say them about you, I haven't been praising you.

And I apologize. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

You are a beautiful and amazing little girl. Your older sister is less of a .... challenge... for me. And aside from the colic, she always has been. But your Mommy was the 4th child out of 5 kids (can we say middle-child syndrome?) and I was very aggressive and constantly trying to assert my independence, and I was.... a challenge. And, to this day, it still hurts my heart that I've always viewed myself as less than I am just because I was a "challenge."


Your Grandma Renee came for a visit last weekend, and she witnessed first-hand how much of a fight you are often willing to put up when things are not the way you want them. And, unfortunately for you (or fortunately) you were given to a mother (me) who is a disciplinarian. That time-out spot of yours is always still warm from the last sitting by the time you have to visit it again. Grandma called me a few days after visiting and left me a voicemail. She talked about how she and a friend were talking about the need for stubborn spirits in these last days. And this friend of hers mentioned that she'd once heard an Apostle in Conference saying it was very important not to "break the spirit" of children like that.

I don't want to break your spirit. I'm doing my best to help you learn to use your amazing, strong little spirit for phenomenal good. But at the same time, I see that I am stifling that progress by throwing up my hands every time you scream, tantrum, and retaliate and saying that this is "just who you are."

Because it's not WHO you are. "Who" you are is amazing. And intelligent. And full of passion and fire. And strength. And just because your little body is struggling with how exactly to use those traits doesn't mean you're difficult and a "challenge." It means I'm weak and need to work harder at honing my character and humility to best help you become an amazing contribution to the Lord's Army in these last days.

"We have all heard the advice to condemn the sin and not the sinner. Likewise, when our children misbehave, we must be careful not to say things that would cause them to believe that what they did wrong is who they are. 'Never let failure progress from an action to an identity,' with its attendant labels like 'stupid,' 'slow,' 'lazy,' or 'clumsy.' Our children are God’s children. That is their true identity and potential. His very plan is to help His children overcome mistakes and misdeeds and to progress to become as He is. Disappointing behavior, therefore, should be considered as something temporary, not permanent—an act, not an identity."

I am making a vow to you now, CCLemon, in front of the, um... 10 to 12 people.... reading this - sorry I don't have a more public forum - that I am going to work much harder at giving you the direction you need to feel as if your spirit and character are geared for greatness and for accomplishment, and not as obstacles of my happiness and peace of mind. You'll still get time-outs. Don't kid yourself. But I am taking accountability for my part in our daily emotional (and some, physical) tug-of wars.

I've got my work cut out with you. But that's not your fault - it's mine. And I promise to work harder with you and the Lord to be more aware of your potential and less aware of, what I've made, your foibles. Most of all, I hope that, as often as I will mess up and have to 'fess up when it comes to my rearing of you and your sister, that your ability to forgive will only be getting good practice and become infinite. Because, I really do love you equally as infinitely. And I'm, already, so very proud of you.

P.S. If you could maybe stop doing that screaming-in-public thing and throwing-food-you-don't-want-on-the-floor game...? That might help a little.

Just sayin'.

P.P.S. You just woke up from your nap in the foulest mood possible. Nothing wrong with a little irony, eh?

Adieu, Combi. Adieu.

I love how I have this big ol' rant about the diminishing of blog comments, and then I go through a slew of answering questions I solicited, and then I vanish from it for a couple WEEKS.

I'm bipolar like that.

So, yesterday I said goodbye to a friend that I didn't know was a friend until I said goodbye. This friend came into my life when I was about two months pregnant with CC and struggling with some pretty gnarly morning sickness. Jaunts to Disneyland with Malia were getting hot and exhausting - but the umbrella stroller just wasn't cuttin' it for storage reasons and my other stroller was too heavy and cumbersome. So when I stumbled upon this lightweight, but durable, little baby at Burlington Coat Factory one afternoon, I was sold:



We've been through a lot, this guy and I. When CC was born, I bought a car seat that was compatible with it because I loved it so much, and my mother-in-law bought me the doubles version of it. Before CC was able to sit up on her own, however, I would carry her in the Bjorn and Malia would sit in the trusty green single pictured above. And whenever we'd travel and knew that lugging around the double would just be.... well, stupid... we brought the single. It has seen the world (well, technically - it's only seen Utah, Washington, California, and very little of Nevada). But still.




Lately a friend of mine and I have been walking/jogging together every other morning after dropping our daughters off at pre-school. This friend has a jogging stroller, and maneuverability was something she seemed to handle with ease, while I struggled over every pothole, crack, and rock. And then, two weeks ago, my stroller started breaking in strange places. It's life expectancy was waning, to say the least. So, I started investigating strollers, and after a facebook conversation (as well as a "discussion"/debate/etc. with the hubby), I decided to invest in a ridiculously expensive, albeit "worth it," replacement.

This post is not to tell you about my investment history, however. It's about the fact that when I took that little lime green single Combi out to the dumpster to toss it, I decided to leave it NEXT to the garbage bin in case someone felt they were desperate enough to need it. And as I walked away, glancing one last time at it over my shoulder....

... I got emotional! How embarrassing is that?! I mean, "Who cries over a stroller?!" (those were my husband's exact words when I came into the house with a frown on my face, saying, "that was strangely bittersweet").

I'll tell you who! Someone who has seen a lot of memories with that thing! I'm no packrat. Trust me. But I could see, for the first time, why some people horde crap for emotional reasons. I had just tossed 2 1/2 years of memories and milestones!

I went back outside about 5 minutes later - not to bronze the thing and put it on a plaque, mind you - but to take a picture of my "friend" out there, all by it's lonesome by the dumpster, for the purposes of this blog.

And it was already gone.

Farewell, my friend. Enjoy your new memories. And who knows? Maybe your new companions will spill far less juice onto your face.....

TMI much???

WARNING: This post will be a little.... "PG."

Dave says I have a "gift." And you will see he doesn't mean it as a compliment when I tell you what he's referring to. I think he means to say it's actually a "curse."

People tell me stuff. Intimate stuff. TMI stuff. We haven't come to a totally valid conclusion as to why this is, yet. But we think it's because I am really open and honest, even when people have known me for a very brief time. I would like to think it makes them feel comfortable around me. Maybe they feel they can share things because they think I won't judge them....? That, and I seem to lack some sort of censor.

I'm working on that. I swear.

Part of it is because I'm a woman. And we are chatty and nosy and meddlesome. But I don't just come home with information re: who's dating who, etc. I come home with information about people's medical history or dysfunctional families or their criminal records.

I'm not kidding.

The reason I am sharing this today, though, is because I had to take Malia to the ER and I had a conversation with a woman in the waiting room that just boggled my mind. (P.S. Malia is totally fine). The thing is, this woman doesn't know me from Adam. And I really don't feel like I left her the opening I usually seem to unintentionally leave for people when they decide to regurgitate their life stories or confess their sins to me. I was shocked at how quickly the conversation with this complete stranger went from casual to... well, you'll see.

The discourse went as follows:

Lady: Oh, poor baby. What happened?

Me: We were at the grocery store. She slipped and fell and hit her head on some boxes. Normally it'd be no big deal, but it bled a lot, and I could see it was split. It might not be anything, really, but I don't have any boys, so I haven't had a lot of practice with these things. The wound was just really deep. We went to Urgent Care, but I told them I'd like to avoid stitches so she doesn't scar, and they didn't have any of that glue, so they sent me here.

Lady: I have three boys and a daughter. I was in the ER monthly.

Me: Oh, I'm sure! And they probably played sports, too, which must've made it worse.

Lady: No. Actually, my 2nd son, who was the least athletic, was the most accident prone.

Me: Isn't that funny?

Lady: Yeah. One time he totally ripped open his balls.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!!!!!!!! Not to mention she said this to me without batting an eyelash as my innocent 5-year-old sits on my lap! She then continued to tell me how it happened - of which I will spare you the details - but PLEASE tell me that this is not normal. And please tell me how to avoid having people think I want that kind of information for next time....