Lucky's First Birthday

Dear Alexis,

I've been saying "Third time's the charm!" for a year now.  YOU are the charm.  You came to us with your curly hair and your daddy's dimple and the mildest disposition. You charm us all with your sweet, happy spirit. We are so lucky to have you in our family.

Somehow you're jolly and snuggly and fearless at the same time.  You never care about getting hurt.  You'll climb all over things, fall and smack your head, cry for a second and try it again. Rinse, repeat. That's why you walked early. It drives me totally crazy.

Your brother and sister LOVE you, and you want to be like them so badly.  You chase them up and down the hall (and stairs!), reach into their bathtub, grab their toys, and give them multiple kisses before going to bed.  They laugh and kiss you back, tickling to hear you giggle and begging for more hugs.  Your favorite thing in the world is eating.  And it shows.

We didn't have the easiest start, you know.  For the first months of your life I was stressed beyond anything I'd experienced before.  My milk wasn't fatty enough, you didn't gain weight, and you didn't (couldn't?) take naps in our tiny house with two noisy toddlers.  We were trying to move.  I fixed and painted and cleaned and nursed and stressed and cried, feeling all alone with your dad gone as much as he was.  It was HARD.  And I was so grateful for the help I got from my parents, siblings and friends, without whom I surely would have landed in a mental hospital.

Things got better!  You took bottles and slept better, we sold the house and Daddy finished his fire training.  You got your own room.  We spread out in our new house and it made a huge difference.  We are in a good place as a family.  We've been so blessed.

When I look back at the last year, I can see the wonder of God's timing.  He knew when to send you to us, so all the other things we didn't know we needed could work themselves out.  I'm grateful for you and the sheer joy that you bring to my life every single day. I hope you keep your curiosity and love for life always. I adore you.
Mom

J

Two days after the car accident, my sister and her husband came back to Roosevelt.  Sunday evening our favorite Dr. offered to do an ultrasound, just to make sure everything was okay with Ki's 17-week pregnancy.
It wasn't.

The ultrasound showed no heartbeat, and after some other tests, they decided to admit her into labor & delivery the next day.  Ang and I stayed up late trying to put together a baby quilt like my mom has made for all of her grandbabies.  It wasn't perfect, but it was something to take to the hospital.

She delivered a broken baby boy, and they buried him in the local cemetery.

We all kind of sat around for a week, visiting and grieving and being with each other.  Brent & Megan came from Missouri (to attend another funeral, actually).  We talked about the most important things.  We remembered that the most important thing is being together.

Eventually, Ki and Sheldon still had to go home, to heal and get back to their "normal" lives.  The new normal.

the UBOC

There's a new thing in the Basin, an audition-only orchestra and choir that is under the great umbrella of the USU-UB extension.  They've put on a few concerts over the last year and a half; in December my Mom, Aunt Lana and I decided to try to join.

The last time I auditioned was for BYU's Concert Choir (didn't make it - it was a strange and terrible audition), so I was expecting to be nervous. Glory be! I wasn't.  I made it in, even with a less-than-perfect sightreading performance, and my family members did too.  We geared up for the first 4-hour rehearsal in Vernal on Saturday, January 10th.

Friday night we gathered to talk carpool. Then Mom got a text from Kiana saying she and Sheldon were in a serious car accident and in the hospital.  My parents left almost immediately for the 1 1/2 hr trip over the mountains to Price.

The next day during rehearsal, I sang as my phone buzzed over and over in my lap. Texts from Mom and Dad and Ki, showing damage to their car and detailing injuries, marveling that they were even still alive.  I muddled through Cindy while Dr. Craig Jessop stood four feet from me (shorter than he looks on TV. conducts with a weird wrist flick). (Completely delightful to sing for.)

I cried through Thou Gracious God, Whose Mercy Lends.

Thou gracious God, whose mercy lends
the light of home, the smile of friends,
our gathered flock thine arms enfold
as in the peaceful days of old.

Wilt thou not hear us while we raise
in sweet accord of solemn praise
the voices that have mingled long
in joyous flow of mirth and song?

For all the blessings life has brought,
for all its sorrowing hours have taught,
for all we mourn, for all we keep,
the hands we clasp, the loved that sleep.

The noontide sunshine of the past,
these brief, bright moments fading fast,
the stars that gild our darkening years,
the twilight ray from holier spheres.

We thank thee, Father; let thy grace
our loving circle still embrace,
thy mercy shed its heavenly store,
thy peace be with us evermore.

---

 Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., 1869

Gathering Speed

Sometimes, it's hard to write.  Sometimes it's harder to not write.  And sometimes I've been not writing for so long that it seems impossible to start writing again.

Lately, in my mind I've been picturing life as a huge hill.  A mountain, maybe.  But I'm not trudging up it, I'm rolling down it on wheels, gathering speed.  It's exhilarating and terrifying and I don't know how long the ride will last, or what will happen along the way, or how I'll do everything that I need to do. I'm clinging to my loved ones in the hopes that we all make it through in one piece.

Over the last few months I was "officially" diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder.  My thyroid is fighting itself, and as far as anyone can tell, it's slowly dying.  The main effect I have is exhaustion.  I get easily overwhelmed, occasionally dizzy, my hair falls out, and I can't stand anything touching my neck. But mostly it's the exhaustion.  I can't do everything I want (and need) to do, and that bothers me.

The oilfield is suffering now too, and although Slice's job seems secure, we know the industry is unstable.  We've been saving for many months but feel like we can tighten our belts a little more, in case things don't get better in the near future.  Thank you Dave Ramsey for motivating us to have a 6 month emergency fund. The peace of mind it gives is incredible.

In other news, we had a delightful Christmas break at home with family.  After a miserable Thanksgiving holiday, it was just what we needed.  I sang in the annual Messiah performance, and had a few solos, and I was pleased with them until I watched the recording on our camera. (Me to Slice: "Don't ever record me singing ever again. Ever.")
Emma had a super-fantastic birthday and then she potty-trained in about 3 days.  Hallelujah!

Emma;s birthday cake.  I'm a slacker ok?

the singing crew

On Christmas Eve we continued our tradition of a progressive dinner, including a musical program at the assisted living center nearby.  Slice didn't even get yelled at by any of the residents this year.

There's always more of us than there are of them.  It's awesome.

Nativity at Lana's this year.  None of my kids were naked or violent!  We're making progress!

 Christmas Day we got to Skype sweet Em, who was giggling at everything and crying at the rest.  Her Spanish sounded great to me!

Now, let us not forget my Lex, my precious chubby snuggly baby girl.  All she got for Christmas were bath toys and socks. She didn't even care.

This girl was crawling at 7 months and walking at 10.  She is now growing out of her 18-month clothes.  Girl can eat.  I love that about her.

MG is 3

Emma girl,

Today's your third birthday.  Three years ago I marveled at the difference I felt between giving birth to a boy and a girl.  I still marvel at that difference, nearly every day.

If there was ever a girl who was made of sugar and spice, it was - and is - you.  You are feisty and sassy and silly and sensitive.  You are downright hilarious when I least expect it.  You mimic your older brother, dote on your baby sister, happily share your toys (most of the time), and talk about your best friend Gracie if you haven't seen her for a day.

We call you our dancer girl.  You dance your way through life, twirling in church and swinging your hips, shaking your limbs without caring who's watching. I love that about you. You ask me constantly for ballet lessons, and I really better get on that.

You're the early riser of the family.  I see your face by the side of the bed and if Dad's already gone, you ask, "Is Daddy at work?" hoping you can climb onto his pillow next to me.  You love makeup and nail polish and dresses and "girl colors." You sing all the time. You'll eat almost anything I give you, which I'm VERY grateful for on days when Will is especially stubborn about food.

You want to grow up fast, and it seems that you are. When you tell me you want to be a mom, I'm pretty sure that just means you want to be a grownup. Still, I don't mind saying that a mom is the best thing to be. Motherhood makes you something greater than yourself.  

I love you fiercely, my Emma.  I think that's the only way to love you.

Mom

seasons

"Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, at mid-day on two, and in the evening upon three, and the more legs it has, the weaker it be?" asked the Sphinx.
"Man - who crawls on all fours as a baby, then walks on two feet as an adult, and then walks with a cane in old age," answered Oedipus.

Last week I attended a Relief Society meeting where a young mother asked the rhetorical question "what are my hobbies and interests? can I have any hobbies with kids??" and the rest of us smiled and shook our heads.  I don't even read books anymore, hon, and that makes me wonder sometimes who I've become.

But this season of my life has brought some pleasantries.  Aside from the joy of conversing with 2- and 4-year-olds constantly, there's the benefit of being "established." For the first time in my life I'm wondering which to buy first: kitchen furniture or bedroom furniture?  What would I like to put in my house?  Where shall I spend the money that I actually have?  
So really.  I can't complain.  I guess I'll read books when the kids are grown.

Baby Lucky is growing like a bamboo shoot, crawling (at seven months - two months earlier than her older siblings!) and weaning herself and snuggling more than any other babies. (WHICH I LOVE.)
MG is making waves in nursery, prompting other adults to ask me where she gets her personality.  Also prompting me to wonder when/where I should put her in a dance class.
Liam is writing funky letters and pretending to be a Rescue Bot, and giving me multiple hugs and kisses at night because he "loves me so much."

I'm squeaking by with my three side jobs, wasting time when I should be knocking things off my to-do list ..... and forgetting half of the things that needed to go ON my to-do list.  It's getting out of hand, actually.  Any volunteers for a personal life coach?

Bear Lake 2014, or, the first EVER Edd Reunion

My parents and siblings and I, we do this monthly meeting where we conference-call over Skype and catch up on everyone's lives, get a spiritual thought, and brainstorm all the things we will do one day with the futuristically massive Family Fund.

(Family Fund: each Edd family member voluntarily, when they are able, contributes 1% of income to an account that can then be loaned to family members on an as-needed basis. Has saved the bacon of several of us at one point or another. Can also pay for emergency things like plane flights and family vacays.)

This year during our meetings, we planned a reunion. The first one ever! And we booked a big house in Garden City by Bear Lake. We left Roosevelt on Monday morning, July 28th.  I had been roasting in my home for weeks, so I didn't even pack a jacket.

(See what I did there? Foreshadowing.)

THEN IT RAINED THE WHOLE TIME.

My truffles melted in the truck on the way there, despite the cold drive.

Two days later, I had this conversation with Matt, who was stuck in Seattle for this lame Amazon internship.

We rescheduled the boat rental from Tuesday to Thursday, but braved the waverunners in the Wednesday rain.  We had a family lip sync that will now become tradition.  (Right guys? Right??)
We ate Bear Lake raspberry shakes every day.  We stayed up ALLLLLLLL NIGHHHHHHHT LONNNNNNNG with a crying Lucky baby.  We militarized the sleep zone upstairs, so the little ones would get some sleep.

And on Thursday ... the sun came out. For a little bit. Behold, it was fun.

Thursday night Slice and I went to Pickleville Playhouse, to watch the outrageously clever and delightfully funny Who Shot Juanito Bandito? on a rare date.

and ate a huge pickle!

We took silly selfies.

And silly not-selfies.

We played a round of "The Not-so Newlywed Game" after the kids were in bed, and laughed until we cried.

Friday, we packed up and left.  Not without grabbing two more shakes to compare.  (The consensus: LaBeaus really IS the best, even if you can only get one size.)

We drove to Ogden, and spent the night, and went to Wicked the next day with dear Bonnie and Adam, after a lunch at good ol' Siegfried's next door.

We survived.

just checking in

I realized today that I haven't even checked my Feed-Reader for over a month.  As in, I FORGOT to check it.  I guess blogging is officially dead, and it happened at the same time as my Instagram initiation.

It's 9:30 on a Friday night and Slice is still at work, so my house is quiet except for the 4-year-old's intermittent hallway trips, the dripping bathtub faucet, and the screaming kids in the neighboring circle.  We were planning on making a trip to Cedar City this weekend but plans changed when we all got sick.  It's an achy, feverish sickness that I am sincerely hoping to be rid of by tomorrow.

Baby Lucky turned six months old this week, and I turned 27! What a day. I got a little irritated when someone at church said, "in a few more years you'll be lying about your age!" because, when did this society decide it was unacceptable for women to age? And WHY are women still buying into the stupid notion?? I hope I never lie about my age, and I wish others would stop doing the "I'm still 29" thing.  It makes me disgruntled.
(But of course I find something to be disgruntled about!)

Life goes on.
My kids get a little educational experience from Ms. Frizzle,

Lucky misses naps sometimes, but we love her anyway,

We have yard sales that take weeks to prepare and execute (and then get rained out),

 And the children bathe all together for the first time.  Rub a dub dub.

This summer came and went much too quickly for my liking, as usual.  I never get enough s'mores or firework shows or pool days or boating trips, especially with these little ones who make it very difficult.

(Not to mention Slice, who usually crashes when he walks in the door.)

We had one big trip to Bear Lake for a reunion - blog post coming - and that's it. We haven't left the Basin for anything else in months.

So .... that's my life right now.

For the First Time in Forever ...

I've been exercising regularly.

Can you imagine? Me?

bum shot courtesy of MG

About a month ago I started doing T25 in the mornings with my aunt and cousin and sister. Turns out, that's the trick!  When I have a set time and people expecting me to show up, I actually do!  And it's fun!
(It also helps that I can have my baby sleeping next door with a monitor so I can work around naps.)

What I like about T25 is that it's a good overall workout, but still short and no-nonsense. One day we tried another Beachbody aerobic workout and the lady just about killed me with her annoying chatter. "I'm so excited for you to go shopping!" (Because that's why I'm doing this? Gag me.)  So, anyway, thanks Shaun T.

But of course I have more to say about this.  I'm getting excited about how good I'm looking - pretty good, BTW - and I'm thinking I can keep this up, maybe for a really long time.  That's good, right?

Then I come across this article and am reminded of everything I believe about my body right now. Because the short little article says it all in six-ish paragraphs: my body is not my masterpiece. I didn't create it, first of all. It was given to me with very specific instructions, all of which concern WHAT I DO with this precious gift.

It's been said before, but I'll say it again: my body made and housed and nourished and birthed three babies (without a single stretch mark! Knock on wood!).  It has nursed and carried and rocked little bodies through sleepless nights and long, wearying days.
Way before that, this body danced on stage and hiked in the dark and swam in disgusting golf course ponds.  It walked countless miles through the streets in countries across the globe.  It dug sprinkler trenches with a shovel (thanks Mom and Dad), weeded gardens, pushed a loaded handcart up a sandy hill, sledded and tumbled and roller-bladed.  It stayed up late, late nights in high school and college, and still managed to pull pretty good grades while working at least one regular job.

What I'm saying is, I don't want to obsess over my body, ever.  I don't want to cross that line between "health and fitness" and "gotta post a shirtless picture online!"  I don't want to see a piece of cheesecake and think only about what it will do to my waistline.  I don't want to spend my life wishing I looked different (or using enough makeup/procedures to make that happen).  I don't want to hate what life and time have done to me. I don't want to become that self-absorbed.

I want my life to be about what I've done and with whom.  I want to be healthy so I can enjoy everything there is to enjoy.  I want to teach my kids, like my parents did, to spend more time working on the "inside" than the "outside" of them.  I want to accept myself and help them to do the same.  I want to use this paintbrush to create a masterpiece.

Staying Sane

So, I left a few things out of my last post, but of course there were the daily battles going on in the midst of the Major Madness War.  My sanity was sometimes often teetering on the edge.  No one ever asked, but in case you're wondering how I stay sane (or if you're the only one struggling - YOU'RE NOT) let me first point you toward two articles I really resonated with.  Both HuffPost, sorry.

When You Are Tightly Wound - especially this part:

It happens every night. Twelve hours of parenting have passed, the kids are finally in bed, and I feel the weight of it all on my chest.

Austin will suggest we go to bed. We need more rest! But I cannot go to bed. I am too tightly wound.

Anyone who has parented a human for more than five minutes has felt the coils of the day wrapping around their insides, making the chest tight and the stomach hungry for nachos. By 9 p.m., I have no words left. I just want to sit in the dark, watch Michael Scott, and not have to think any intelligent thoughts.

And, I Miss the Village - YES YES YES. I think about this all the time, how mothers were not meant to raise their children alone. I'm less "alone" than most (I mean, my mom, sister, and aunt all live within 1000 feet of me) and still I feel very "alone" sometimes.  It's a solitary thing, being confined to a house or nursing baby or mother's lounge in the church building. I don't think it has to be that way, but I don't have any logical solutions except to move to my fantasy hand-picked community where Laurel is my next-door neighbor and the rest of you are down the street.  I do, however, nurse without leaving the room whenever possible.  That's a post for a different day.

AND NOW for the things I actually, actively do to keep myself from wallowing in the despair of sleep-deprivation (hint: not exercise. Although I've heard good things about it).

Play dates. We all know these are for moms, not kids.  I prefer to surround myself with the low drama type of women who have similar parenting styles to my own.  Then I don't have the pressure of feeling judged on a weekly basis.  Weekly or even thrice-weekly playdates! Gets me dressed and out of the house for a couple hours.  Also occasionally serves as a vent session.

Ladies Night. Like a playdate, but without kids.  I play bunco once a month and have also attended many a "Ladies' Night" at our local ice cream place.  We sit and laugh and eat ice cream and leave our children home for a few. But we don't husband-bash or talk about other women. (Low-drama friends. Key.)

Date Night. This is like the cream of the crop, and I SO WISH I could say we do this on a regular basis. Alas, my nursing baby and projects up to my eyes have kept the couple time to a bare minimum.  But even a dinner together with a babysitter at home gives me a better perspective and renewed commitment.

Finally, chocolate. Lindt dark chocolate isn't going to make my problems go away (or do the dishes), but I'll be darned if it doesn't make me feel a little better.

(What do you do to stay sane?)