Project time

You see, these niches have been taunting me since the day we moved in. Daring me to find something original, clever and stylish to do with them. I pass them every day, threatening to put an end to their incessant mocking. But those were empty threats. And my niches knew it. They knew I planned poorly and usually had a preschooler next to me all day long. Those contemptuous niches also were very aware that I have zero skill in decorating.

I decided to shut them up. Seal them to be exact. I figured if I painted them, it would buy me time to figure out how to properly dress them up. It would get them off my back.

I know better. Really I do.

It should have been a quick job. Two hours tops. It should have gone smoothly. But, despite lessons I supposedly learned, I decided to conquer my wall niches with my 3 year old companion by my side.

And my niches heckled me. The whole time.

All taped up and ready to go, I began to smudge my caulking along the tape line and naturally, B had to help. (now for those of you who don’t know the caulking trick for painting smudge- free lines, email me, I’ll fill you in) B actually was quite helpful, smudging the lower parts while I did the top parts. I was pretty impressed we made it through the caulking without a major mishap and began to clean up the caulking mess.

My niches scoffed at my arrogance while I stepped to the sink to wash my hands. Just as I turned to scoop up B to wash her up, she says, “Mommy, I got it in my hair.” (that would be CAULKING -- EVERYWHERE in her hair)

I could practically hear the sarcastic laughter of my niches as I hauled B off to her first shower of the day.

Cleaned up and ready to paint, B was eager to make sure I let her paint the “down low parts”.

Which I did. For a while.

After a couple smudges outside the safety of the blue tape, it was time for her to stop “helping” and go paint her own things. I set her up at the table… covered her in an old shirt and left the happy toddler to her imagination, while I painted only a few feet away.

I should have known something was up when it was quiet. I found this.

I dodged the sharp jeers from my niches as I marched B to the bathroom for her second shower.

Thankfully, all the excitement wore her out, leaving her content to cuddle up with her “bear” and watch Sleeping Beauty. I was able to finish my painting my niches and temporarily quiet their taunts – nevermind the project had taken the whole day.

Here's the (semi) finished project

Close up of the line -- just super proud of it. NO SMUDGES! Take that you infernal niche!

 

Now, if only I can figure out what to put into them!! Any ideas?

Go ahead. Just take a guess...

Tell me what these two pictures have in common. Can you guess?

Take a look at the first picture a little closer -- see the collender?

Well, Saturday this lovely collender had been used for cleaning out our beautiful, but slimey, fish bowl. Then, carelessly set aside to be sterilized later. I know, its pretty gross, but I didn't have a lot of options for cleaning the mess, so I justified that I would personally sterilize it later.

Sunday night came and the collender still sat on the counter -- looking clean, but riddled with fish excrement and other germs. J, being the sweet, helpful boy he is, made some Mac -N- Cheese for dinner last night. And, when it came time to drain the noodles? Well, of course he would use the one on the counter -- close to him. And it did look clean afterall.

When did our family find out about it? This morning. AFTER, we had eaten (and probably digested) fish leftovers.

Slimey, nasty, disgusting fish leftovers. Yup, we ate it.

Now I know in some countries, that may be considered a delicacy. But in this house, it is pretty much considered NASTY! Bleggghhh!

We just don't have a lot of luck with fish. Maybe we should stop keeping them in the kitchen.

Before the sun...

All my children have taken turns waking early in the morning. Early as in "thedeadarestillsleepingandsoshouldyoube" kind of early. R has been found before dawn in the neighbors yard, petting a kitty. J has awakened us (and the neighbors) before light to see if he could play -- or eat. S would wander the house, and T would wake up to play with trains. But I have to say, B wins the prize for creativity.

We have found her singing to the puppy several mornings abour 3 or 4. She will sometimes play in her bed with her princesses, making up stories for them. But last night, or should I say this morning, was the best reason for being awake I have ever heard from a three year old.

At 4:00 AM B wakes me up, wearing her Cinderella dress and holding a box of cereal. She was so wide awake and so innocent looking, I couldn't help smiling inside when I saw her. But firmly (or at least my best effort) I told her it was still sleeping time. Her face contorted a little as she tried not to cry. Her lip quivered, just barely, and she said in her most sincere, heartfelt, non-whining voice, "But Cinderella would like some cereal from her mother (aka: step-mother)"

Really, what's a mom to do?

Home

It seems I am constantly learning new lessons from this recent move we made and I truly don’t mean to belabor the issue. It is just that, in many ways, I feel like it has been one of the hardest things I have had to do. I have focused on how difficult it has been for the children (and it has been hard on the whole family), but in truth, it has been SO hard for me. Everything familiar is gone. And even though we have had a roof overhead, it has been hard for me to find “home” in our new location.


Similar to our Heavenly Home, our earthly home is a place where things are familiar and comfortable. A place where a person feel safe. Home is the place I always long to be, no matter what kind of excitement lies around the corner. Home is where the world stops at the door and comfort, only, enters. And even in all the chaos of life, that comfort seems to pulsate from my walls.

Home is the place where my heart beats a little stronger.

It occurred to me today that I have resisted those feelings of home. Our family has been showered with the goodness of new friends and new ward members. And yet, I have failed to see the hand of God in their actions. I have failed to recognize the true source of that feeling of “home” and resisted that feeling of comfort it provides.

As I sat in church today, I looked around me at our new ward family and realized that the Dear Lord has been sending people into our life to help us. And these wonderful people, whom I barely know, are His servants and our new family. My mind raced through the VERY brief history we have had in this ward and played images of outstretched hands of many people. From goodie drop-offs to tender notes of love, our home has been blessed and touched.

I was overwhelmed with the feeling that Heavenly Father is very aware of who I am. He knows exactly what I need and He knows my heart. I was reminded that He has tenderly guided every footstep in my life. He gently brought me into the arms of a loving, caring man who would take care of me. He thoughtfully sent me children who would make me stretch as an individual and teach me things I never knew I needed to know. He carefully planned where he wanted me, so that I could do the most growing. So I could become the person He needs me to be. He has affectionately placed me where I need to be.

I watched the faces of those around me and felt warmth overwhelm me as I realized I am home. And even though I did not know everyone, I felt a warm connection between each one. I realized that the true source of that feeling of “being home” is Heavenly Father. And, if I allow it to burn within me, I will feel at home no matter where I am.

Today, my heart beats a little stronger because I know I am home.

Getting around that track

I remember in school, we ran track for one of the units in PE. I was awesome at the 100 yard dash. In fact, if it had the word “dash” in it, I could do it. I would have a burst of adrenaline and my feet felt like they flew over the red surface. (I didn’t need to know at the time that I was really one of the slowest runners, the point is, I FELT like I was running fast.) And I kept it up for the whole 100 yards. About the time my energy drained, the race was over. It was easy for me to finish.


Now, if you were to put me into a long distance race – say even one lap around the track – I flopped. I dragged behind everyone. Not just a little, sometimes, in the longer races, I lagged a whole lap behind. I was slowwwwww. And my enthusiasm for the race burned out by the first 100 yards. I would drag my sorry little self step after excruciating step over that track. Panting, gulping for air, gripping my side as I poked along. It was NOT easy for me to finish.

I have plans.

Big plans. Big, grandiose, wonderful, fabulous plans.

Whether I envision putting on a community carnival to foster love between neighbors or developing the ultimate job chart, I have plans.

Big visions. Big Dreams. Big plans.

Sometimes (only sometimes) I follow through. (Usually when those plans are more like a 100 yard dash and not the 2 mile run.)

Consistency and follow through have always been a struggle for me. I start so many things, so excited to finish. But after a couple of laps around the “track”, I am weary. If it is hard to finish, I tire out.

A story was told by our Stake President the other day at stake conference. He told us of a friend of his in high school that started out on the track team his freshman year of school. He was slow and would come in last every race. But he kept running. He ran over the summer. His sophomore year, he didn’t come in last every time, but was still slow and still wasn’t a good runner. But he kept running. He kept practicing. His junior year, he did better, actually finishing near the top, but not first place still. This boy KEPT practicing. He didn’t give up. By the end of his Senior year, this young man, who started as one of the worst runners, became a state champion in track.

The coolest thing, to me, about this story isn’t that the boy became a state champion but that he kept trying. He kept practicing. He kept pushing himself to do better and be better – until he was.

So, maybe I am not the most consistent girl on the blog block. Maybe I sometimes finish a project or discipline my children appropriately. Maybe I cook meals from scratch for a couple weeks or keep the laundry up for a day. But most of the time, I flop. Tire out.

My big huge plans of being a perfect mom (and everything else) don’t seem to be obtainable within that 100 yard dash.

However, I keep trying. And I like that. I might try 50 different job charts or 97 different ways of getting healthy meals on the table. And I might do a good job for a while. And then I might flop. i may flop everyday for a long time. But, if I keep trying, then eventually, I will be like that young man. I will eventually succeed.

Of course, my kids might all be grown by then. But the point is to keep trying.

And I think that is what is important.

Proof that there are smiles around my house...

T being silly and laughing out of control...

J being silly and making me laugh out of control!

B playing the part of Princess -- again

We haven't seen R since Saturday --
when we set up our Lego Room.

I had to track him down for this photo!

Hubby and S at the piano -- this photo speaks for itself!

Schooch over, Mommy.

I sat in church today, a few rows behind a young family. I smiled inside as I watch the children cuddle and climb on their mother. Each wanted to be by her. Balancing from one side of her lap to another, switching arms back and forth between the four children, she showered them with love. It was obvious she loved them, and they adored her.


It’s been said that mom’s don’t receive enough praise. Enough acknowledgement, appreciation or admiration. Its been said that being a mom is all guts and no glory. Toiling for the unseen rewards.

It occurred to me today that idea just might not be entirely true.I would suggest that maybe, just maybe, we haven’t opened our eyes to see it.

The adoration and appreciation mom’s seek and crave is in the arms of their little children. No, its nothing tangible. And, if we aren’t careful, we will miss seeing it. But it is there - in the most sincere, honest form praise or appreciation can ever be given.

My children will probably never thank me for washing their underwear, but today, I realized, they thank me in other ways.

And as I watch this mom attempt to balance four children I smiled and shifted in my seat, gaining more insight into my children’s love language. As one child cuddled on my left, another on my right and one in my lap, I forgot that my aging hindquarters were going numb and enjoyed the positive reinforcement my little children were giving me.

Happiness comes in small packages

I don’t share very well sometimes. Especially when it comes to sweets. Friends may drop some cookies by and my first thought is, “how do I make sure I can get my share?”


I know. It’s ugly. Horrible. But guilt seems to melt away with each little taste of chocolate – or whatever the yumminess might be.

I guess it isn’t that I don’t WANT to share. Just more that I want to enjoy my portion with my good buddies Peace and Quiet. And while I wait for Peace & Quiet to grace me with their presence, I squirrel away my goodies.

The problem is that sometimes it takes a while for my long lost friends to appear. And I forget all about my stash of paradise tucked safely in my secret hiding place.

Imagine how completely delighted I was when I accidently stumbled upon these little babies today.

Oh yeah, wipe the corners of your drooling mouth. That is Hazelnut and Ghirardelli Chocolate Heaven, sweetie. MMMMMmmmmm.

It was like Christmas. And I love Christmas.

No, I can’t tell you where they are hidden. Because my children read this blog and I intend on eating this whole bag MYSELF!!!!

Things on my mind...

I used to be awesome at blogging; checking in with blogging buddies, posting regularly, feeling the virtual love of a blogging world.


And then we hit crisis mode, where the daily goal was to survive. It became a daily attempt to keep our family from sinking into the sludge that seemed to want to swallow us whole.

“Just keep swimming” as a dear friend once said to me. So we did. I did.

And now, dare I say, the crisis’s are fewer and fewer, due to nothing but Divine Intervention. Children are (barely) beginning, to adjust; calm down. There is a very small, flicker of light at the end of this dark, muddy tunnel we have been trudging through as a family. We still find ourselves knee deep in muck every now and again, but those times grow further and further apart.

I eventually hope to reignite my blogging fire that all this figurative sludge seemed to extinguish. But, until then, I will catch you up on some of the recent events.

Halloween was the best one we have had in a long time. I usually hate don’t care for the “holiday”. I have my reasons. Let’s just say it’s another blog post for another day. Still, this Halloween was awesome! Why??? Several reasons. (None of which include pictures because, hey, still trying to survive here.)

First, all my children were happy for the whole weekend. This is a first since the move. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Second, We also got to meet some more neighbors in our neighborhood and had a great Halloween party. This is an awesome place for my children on Halloween. We got way to much candy, but it was wonderful to see the whole neighborhood out and about (and I am pretty sure more people are waving to me since then as they drive by in their cars)

Third, and probably the most important, was Stake Conference. The adults met together Friday night, the youth met on Saturday night (yes, kids age 12 to 18 went to a FIRESIDE on HALLOWEEN! How cool is that???) Then we were able to go to another meeting on Sunday. It was wonderful to hear counsel and direction from our local leaders. I was going to blog about one of the stories told at Stake Conference but my good friend, THAT GIRL, already did. And I have to say, she did a much better job than I would have done. So take a second and stop by her blog to read this great message we received. (yes, THAT GIRL is totally in my stake – you can be jealous)

Of course in the midst of scraping symbolic mud from our family’s symbolic coat hem, we had to have at least one broken bone… R of course. Just goofing around, being a 10 year old boy with more energy than anybody knows what to do with. He broke his thumb, right at the growth plate. We only have the cast for 3 weeks – thank goodness. I have come to the conclusion that the cast is worse for the parents than the child with the cast. We have three weeks of not trying to get sand inside, not getting it wet, itching, sweating, hitting themselves in the head and my personal favorite, “ I am going to die if this thing doesn’t get off my arm right now!” All I can say, is I am spoiled. If my kids had to be in casts for huge long periods of time, I would have to get an Rx for Xanex… seriously.

I do have a lot more to blog about, but for now I will leave with one short comment by B the other day. For those of you who are on my Facebook, I apologize for the repeat… but this was too good not to blog.

B and I were just hanging around the house one day, doing typical stuff we do around the house, and she stopped for a minute, got a very inquisitive look on her face and asked why her brothers” have "belly buttons and those squirty deals” Yup. I laughed much harder than I should have. I guess this little girl is very aware of her surroundings.

And that sums everything up… in a nutshell.

Speechless!!!!!

Hubby shared this with me... unbelieveable.