On October 28, 2007, our first child was born. A girl. She came unexpectedly 9 days before my due date. I’d known we would have a girl first. Call it Mother’s intuition (or that I had a 50/50 chance of being right), but I did have dreams about a daughter. That she would have a full head of dark hair? That was a surprise. She was born with a furrowed brow. She was predestined to be headstrong and passionate from the womb.
We worried we wouldn’t be able to give our little girl a brother or sister after a year of failed attempts. But our twins were born January 6, 2011 at 34 weeks gestation. I had my theories about which of my two little boys would be the leader based on which one moved the most for those 34 weeks! For the most part my thoughts have proven true, although I think the “little one” has more than caught up to “big brother” in both size and personality.
Baby brother was slightly unexpected so soon, but welcomed completely nonetheless. Our little Lochstar was born on November 25, 2012…two and a half weeks early (per the norm). Coming home to a 5 year old drama queen and two 2 year old monsters all competing for attention, he was sort of thrown into the lion’s den. But he held his own from day one and has absolutely never let anyone walk all over him (as you can see from the gesture in picture 2).
I . LOVE . THESE . CHILDREN. I could use the cliche that I’ve loved them “from the moment I laid eyes on them”. But that’s not entirely true.
I loved Lochlan when, at 20 weeks, I found out I was having a 3rd boy instead of the sister for Jade I’d been hoping for.
I loved Calder when I realized the poor kid was getting pushed out of the way by his brother. And when the doctor told me the reason for his smaller size may be because “Baby A is stealing all the food”.
I loved Everest when I felt his constant kicking against the same spot on my ribs for months as if he was slowly digging a tunnel out of prison. He couldn’t wait to get out of there and take on the world.
I loved Jade the second the ultrasound confirmed that I was going to be a mother. And even more when the next ultrasound confirmed I was right: I was having a daughter.
I loved them more each time I heard their heart beats, felt their hiccups, saw a picture of them sucking their thumb (and realized that it would still be a comfort to them in the “real world”), laid in bed with my husband’s hand on my belly waiting for the wave of a back flip or the press of a tiny foot.
I loved them when I finally got to look into each of their eyes, to kiss their foreheads, to feel their grip on my finger. To tell them I LOVE YOU in person.
I knew my children — I LOVED my children — before they came into this world. As soon as I saw and felt their first movements, I knew they were perfect and miraculous creations with immeasurable potential. I love them more every day as they grow into the people they were sent to Earth to become.
It has been a privilege and a blessing to be able to give them that chance.
While it is an overly ambitious and probably futile dream, I hope that one day we will all — the human race in its entirety — realize how much value each human soul has; that every child that is conceived, planned or not, wanted or not, deserves a chance at life; that an unborn child absolutely does not deserve the pain and torture that is inflicted on them by a woman who chooses not to have the title of Mother; and finally, that we are accountable for our actions, whatever the consequence may be.
“Every single adult now was once 20 weeks old in the womb and we can look at each other and understand that the difference between a child in the womb and any of us now…is time. That’s a human being we’re talking about, and that human being has value.” -Senator James Lanford (watch his incredibly powerful speech below)
The results of the decision to give a child a chance at life are beautiful and miraculous.
These are my miracles.
Jade Ondrea – 7 years old – Loves dancing, singing, reading, creating, learning, and making friends, dreams of being a Popstar, thinks all meat tastes better if you call it chicken, feels all things passionately, lives in the moment.
Aaron Everest and Calder Reed – 4 years old – Love robots, planes, rockets, superheroes, swimming, jumping, falling, make believe, playing dressup, getting attention, birthdays,and each other.
Lochlan Bradley – 2 years old – Loves bikes, baths, running, throwing, cousins, swings, slides, and most of all, his family.
A favorite childhood pastime of mine (and one I would never let my kids do now, along with most of my other “pastimes”) was exploring the woods in my neighborhood with my friends. One friend in particular had a home in a prime exploring spot that ran along a stream. We spent a lot of time back there, and apparently so did her older brother. While it was our favorite place to explore, it was his favorite place to hide his porn. We came across it one day and I brought it home with me and stashed it in my nightstand.
I was 8.
Another unfortunate pastime of mine was seeking popularity with the wrong crowd. One night a group of us got bored and decided to go rent a movie (remember video stores?). While we were there, someone suggested that we sneak into the “back room”. It’s not really sneaking if there isn’t someone guarding the door and checking your ID, but it was obviously a bad choice if we were being sneaky. We returned home with an inappropriate movie, I probably called my mom to tell her I’d be late for my curfew because I was doing something really important (definitely not watching porn), and I sat there for an hour laughing uncomfortably with everyone else and thinking about whether it would be worth the embarrassment to tell them to turn it off. I knew it was wrong, I had been taught better than that.
As a child I thought pornography was something that only adults could look at. Something to “look forward to”, like driving, or voting. Why was this stuff even on my radar as a child?? As a teen I learned that it was something that was not really appropriate at any age, but still acceptable in most circles. I realize now, as an adult, that it is not only inappropriate and unhealthy, but leads to other more serious damaging and unhealthy behaviors (which I’ve seen firsthand with a close family member).
With the unveiling this weekend of the worldwide, morality-crushing phenomenon that I don’t even need to name, I feel the need to be yet another strong oppositional voice in defense of a return to virtue. This week alone, I have seen far too may phrases used to justify a need for this kind of entertainment:
“It wasn’t abuse; he was upfront about what he wanted and she consented to it.”
“It may have started out dark but in the end it is a love story.”
“You shouldn’t judge BDSM if you’ve never tried it. Some people really enjoy it.”
“It’s not hurting anyone. Just don’t see it if you don’t agree with it.”
“It’s not real life, it’s just fantasy. Stop making such a big deal out of it.”
“We’re sexual beings designed perfectly by God. We can choose to express our sexuality in whatever way we want.”
What?? Don’t blame God for this. And as if that last one wasn’t bad enough, an even more terrifying card is being played:
“I won’t let my kids won’t see this. Certain things are made for certain ages and this is an adult novel.”
I’ve been going over this and over this in my mind. Why does it matter what age you are? Is there an age that morality and decency stop being important, and if so how do we decide what that age is? Once you’re 18 are you not emotionally affected by things like violence, profanity, and indecency? One person admitted that she and her husband planned to see the movie together this weekend without their kids (obviously) but it’s okay because “we have a rule that our kids can’t date until they’re 16.” Yes, that’s a start. But what happens once they turn 16 and suddenly they decide to “express their sexuality in whatever way they want”, because Heaven forbid they be accused of inexperienced judgment?
I have to admit, I am not completely void of guilt in this respect. When Aaron and I watch TV at night we turn the sound way down, and if our kids come into the living room at anytime we pause the show quickly to avoid the scarring that may occur when they see someone getting beaten up or shot or naked pushed up against a wall, or to avoid the embarrassment at the grocery store when one of them repeats a word they heard, or when they call someone that word at school (which did happen last week when my daughter told me a boy called her 6-year-old friend “sexy” on the playground). The conversation that would follow would go something like, “Honey, we don’t use words like that,” “But they were saying it on TV,” “Yes, you’re right, but only adults can use words like that, and only when they’re really angry, or trying to be funny, and only when no one is listening, and only if they’re not Christians.”
Why the double standard? If its not right for kids, why is it all right for us?
A scripture passage from the bible keeps popping up in my head:
…Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven? And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, and said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 18:1-4).
We could all stand to learn from children. Children come to Earth with “believing hearts. They are full of faith…They exemplify humility, obedience, and love. They are often the first to love and the first to forgive (Jean A. Stevens of the LDS Primary General Presidency). With all the time we spend trying to move on and forget the past, maybe there is more to be gained from remembering it than we realize.
Almost daily I get a wave of guilt about neglecting this blog. It’s not that I think anyone is particularly heart broken over the fact that I haven’t written since October, but I have all these thoughts that I want to put on “paper” and every time I let one slip away without recording it, it’s gone forever. Writing truly is therapeutic for me and I think the year I spent writing regularly turned out to be a pretty great year.
Another thing I used to do a lot of that I let slip through the cracks is reading. I’ve read 1.5 books in the last 2 years. I should clarify: 1 whole book (Insurgent), and a quarter of 2 other books (Allegiant and Midnight in Austenland). They now sit on my bedside table, unfinished, staring at me with judgmental eyes.
Well I have great news. Not only did I just finish a book (a GREAT book I might add) in only 3 days, but I am going to WRITE ABOUT IT! This weekend, my conscience will be clear.
While dancing with my college contemporary dance company many years ago (13 years?? ugh), I met a girl named Sarah. She was confident and fun and hilarious…and so intimidating to me. Luckily for me, I got a crush on the same boy that she had a crush on and in the process of vying for the affection of this soon-to-be-out-of-the-closet male dance partner of ours, we formed a close bond.
The next year, her younger sister Holly started college and also joined our dance company. The three of us, along with our other amazing friend Donna, proclaimed ourselves “The Fab Four” and had all sorts of adventures together. Among these adventures was story time with Holly, who was not only a beautiful dancer and as funny as her sister, but an amazing writer. One night while we were waiting to leave for the airport at four in the morning, we stayed up to listen to Holly narrate her latest Horror novel. We couldn’t wait to find out what happened and continued the story on long bus rides in place of sleeping. These are memories I will never ever forget.
We also have really great fashion sense. You can see where we got our name from…
So this year when Holly had her very first novel officially published, I couldn’t wait to start it. And now that I have finished it I can’t believe I have to wait months for the next one! I almost want to call Holly and just have her tell me what happens. I loved the book so much in fact that I called Barnes and Noble yesterday to ask them how one becomes a featured author in their store. You know, like the front-and-center displays that jump out at you as soon as you walk in the store. I was told that typically the author works with a professional PR person who contacts the store headquarters and arranges for things like that. I ensured them that no one put me up to this, and I said “Well can’t I just tell you it was really good and ask you to display it in the front?”. He was nice and he laughed at my “joke” and apologized that that’s not the way it works.
The book, entitled Foreshadowed, is “a well-plotted story of suspense and potential murder, hinging on the unique and endearing relationship of two darkly gifted teens…Left me guessing until the end…and still has me speculating.” (Brief plot synopsis and review written by the book’s cover artist, Lyndsay Johnson, who said it as well as I ever could). The characters in this story are so well developed. They’re the sort of characters that you care about because they care about each other. And because who doesn’t have something weird about themselves that they think makes them a freak? The book may not jump out at you when you walk into the book store. But it most definitely deserves to be best seller.
I feel honored to call Holly a friend and to have “known her when”. I have all my fingers, toes, and anything else crossable, crossed that she becomes a huge success. Go get your copy for Foreshadowed!
I read a wonderful article recently entitled The Mormonizing of America. It talks about the increase in media attention and the rise to positions of influence and power by members of the LDS faith during the last few generations despite the fact that they are such a small percentage of the global population.
I saw this article shared by Mayim Bialik (of Blossom, Beaches, and Big Bang Theory fame) that discusses modesty in Mormon culture and how it effects athletes. Bialik stated in her description of the article “I’m not Mormon, but my in-laws are”. She praises the young lady featured in the article for being well spoken and states that her decisions are “admirable”.
On October 10th, the documentary motion picture “Meet the Mormons” was released nationwide in select theaters. The film features 6 diverse members of the church from across the world while “challenging the stereotypes that surround the Mormon faith”.
The first thing that I saw the other day in my news feed when Facebook came up on my screen was a friend commenting, “Today is just one of those Sunday’s that I want to stand on the tallest mountain and yell I KNOW THE CHURCH IS TRUE!!”
My 18-year-old nephew, who is currently serving as a missionary for the church in Ecuador for TWO YEARS, just wrote our family a letter in which he stated excitedly, “MIRACLES HAPPEN.” What sacrifices he is making as a young man to bring families he has never met to the knowledge of the gospel!
It is remarkable to me, as a member of the Mormon church, the strength of our small numbers (less than 2 percent of the World’s population) in reaching the World on a global scale. And the news is almost always positive despite the tendency that we as a nation have to make a mockery of all things good and praiseworthy.
I loved this quote in the article I mentioned above:
Plant Mormonism in any country on earth and pretty much the same results will occur. If successful, it will produce deeply moral individuals who serve a religious vision centered upon achievement in this life. They will aggressively pursue the most advanced education possible, understand their lives in terms of overcoming obstacles, and eagerly serve the surrounding society. The family will be of supernatural importance to them, as will planning and investing for future generations. They will be devoted to community, store and save as a hedge against future hardship, and they will esteem work as a religious calling. They will submit to civil government and hope to take positions within it. They will have advantages in this. Their beliefs and their lives in all-encompassing community will condition them to thrive in administrative systems and hierarchies–a critical key to success in the modern world. Ever oriented to a corporate life and destiny, they will prize belonging and unity over individuality and conflict every time.
It’s all true. The Mormon church as a whole achieves success because it is based on deeply moral and selfless principles, with its individuals striving to be more like their Savior in every action. How can you go wrong?
This fall we made the decision to enroll the twins in a pretty pricey all-day preschool. Two of the days they are at school I take the “baby” to a wonderful day care and I spend my [suddenly very short] day running errands, cleaning house, making plans, and generally just being productive.
Recently I spent this free day at the temple. This is a place I usually go with my husband. We were married here and when we were first married we went at least every month. When we started a family it became a lot more sporadic.
It’s important to me for one because, in a worldly sense, its a lot like renewing your vows. When we’re there together I am reminded of why it’s important to protect our relationship and why being organized into families is so special. It is also one of the only places we can go where we force ourselves to sit quietly, distraction and device free. No one gets offended. No one casts judgment. The cares and stress of the world fall away and Heaven is close.
This time was a little different because in the times when normally I would look to Aaron’s side of the room, meet his gaze, and smile, or find an opportunity to hold his hand, I realized I was alone. This was the first time I have been to the temple by myself. I sat in the temple for two hours and something hit me very hard.
Heaven would be a very lonely place without the ones you love there beside you.
As I reflected on my experience that day, I realized that with all the positive sharing of religious views and experiences it should be easy for me to consistently be a shining light to the world of how the Gospel can change your life.
Instead I am terrified of how sharing the deepest parts of my faith could change my relationships with the people I care about most. I’ve had enough religious discussions that ended (or started) with “Let’s not turn this into a religious discussion” to know my boundaries. What are people afraid to hear? Is it that they’re afraid that it is true? What would that mean for them?
But there is proof in all things pointing to the existence of a Heavenly Father and His love for us. He has His hand in the moving forward of His work on the Earth. At some point every single soul will have an opportunity to hear His truth and accept it or deny it. The choice I have to make is whether or not I, as all those I mentioned before, want to be involved in sharing that I know this.
I choose to be involved.
So if you’re ready, listen. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is the true church on the Earth today because within its teachings is the fullness of the Gospel, even if there is truth in all religion.
Our Heavenly Father has a perfect plan, one that we usually do not fully understand, and if we follow it and trust in it we will be able to live with him and with our families again when our mortal life ends. Part of this plan was choosing his son Jesus Christ to atone for us as imperfect beings. Another important part of his plans was restoring his true gospel to the Earth in this dispensation through a young and humble disciple of Christ, Joseph Smith. Joseph’s courageous example to follow the Gospel even through trials and persecution is second only to the Savior’s.
I know that if I keep the covenants that I made when I was baptized and when I entered the temple, and that if I keep the commandments that were set for us many generations ago, that I will be able to more clearly see the path that God has set for me. And the truth is, even if it weren’t true, there is no better way to choose to live our one and only chance at life.
I live in a small concrete room. It has one narrow window with bars across it. The soundproof glass is dusty and finger-printed but from the outside so there’s nothing I can do to clean it.
Inside the room there is a thermostat on the ceiling. The temperature reads 50 degrees but I can’t reach it to control it. Once in a while the temperature will readjust itself to 67, or 95, and back to 50. I just angrily watch it shift without my permission.
Every once in a while someone enters the room. They seem not to notice I am there. I speak to them but when they finally speak back, its in a different language. I repeat the same sentence over and over to them, getting more and more frustrated at their baffled expression. It makes perfect sense to me. As they conclude that we will never understand one another, they leave the room from where they came. I wish I knew how to unlock the door.
Later, the same person returns but with a train of people following. Each looks at me sympathetically but does nothing to help me and then exits the room as a group. I’m confused about their purpose as I’m left standing in this room alone.
Outside the window there is a stage. Throughout the day people enter the stage. I can see people on the outside watching them happily, clapping occasionally, and then moving on. I wish I could be on that stage.
Without warning, someone will appear and announce to me plainly, in my own language, that they need something from me. My mind becomes clear and I feel a breeze coming through the window that is usually sealed shut. I have a purpose. I ask them what they need, and they lead me out of the room and to the stage. While I’m on that stage I forget where I came from or who led me there. People are watching me. Really seeing me. This is where I belong.
It ends as quickly as it began and I find myself looking out the barred window at someone who looks just like me, only she’s smiling and there are people surrounding her. I think maybe that person is the real me, and the person in this room is only dreaming. I wish she would look at me so I can give her some kind of sign that I need her help.
I watch the smiling girl and take note of her mannerisms, wondering if they’re real or if she came from a room just like mine. I try not to judge and just enjoy watching “myself” be happy. The thought comes to me that maybe one day I can be just like her all the time. If that is the truth, can I handle this small concrete room with the dirty, barred window for a while longer knowing what I have to look forward to?
Yes, I think, I can.
But what happens when the sun goes down and I can’t see the stage, or the girl?
After what seems like an eternity of silence and darkness the door opens, letting in a flood of light, and someone comes in. They look familiar. They’re smiling and greet me warmly. I should be as happy to see them as they are to see me. I bury my face in my hands as they embrace me. When I look up and scan my surroundings, the person is gone, but I’m standing outside. I can hear birds and laughter. I’m not alone, in fact I’m holding the hand of a young child who is gazing up at me. She tells me that she loves me. I take a deep breath.
Even if you know me well, you may still not know that I struggle with depression and anxiety. The anxiety part is a little more obvious. The depression part is much better concealed.
I couldn’t tell you exactly when it started, but what I do know is that until I had children I had many more things to distract me from how I really felt deep down. I was rarely alone; I had great friends and a supportive family, lots of activities and goals that consumed every waking (and non-waking) thought.
For the first year Aaron and I were married, I worked as part-time faculty in the dance department of the college I graduated from, followed by a short stint as a secretary in the hospital ER. Both jobs were somewhat fulfilling, but as I only worked part-time I spent a lot of time home alone while Aaron was at work. I had no roommates, and now that we had moved to a new town I had no friends.
When my daughter was born, I decided not to go back to work. And I have been not working ever since. For 7 years, I have been in my house. Alone. I still have difficulty making friends as close as the ones I had in college. The decision to go back to work is always there, but this is where the anxiety kicks in. Where do I take my kids? What qualifications do I have? Is there actually a job I would enjoy enough to make up for the guilt I feel about not being a stay-at-home mom?
I wrote the above short-story last week — I was having a very bad day — to try to put into words how it feels to be depressed and anxious. It was the over-analyzer in me trying to make sense of my brain. It was therapeutic to write it, but I worried about how people I care about would take it. So I had my sister and my husband read it for me.
I don’t think they got it. At least not Aaron, bless his Mr. Rogers heart. And as I tried to explain myself I felt less and less validated that my feelings were real and uncontrollable.
But it is real. I have spent many years feeling trapped and alone. My prayers (when I have the energy and courage to say them) consist of anything from begging for a miracle to admitting that I give up. I feel forgotten and usually angry when I think that my prayers don’t change anything.
Today I saw this video.
When I got to the part in my story about what would happen when the sun goes down, I felt very hopeless and had no idea what to write from there. Suddenly, as if someone was putting thoughts in my head, I started typing and what came out was that someone who cares about me, who knows me, entered into my lonely room and gave me peace when I least expected it. I didn’t know what to think of that. A part of me thought of Aaron and his support for me even during my most difficult times.
But as I watched this video today, the very strong realization came over me that no matter how lost I feel and that no one is listening or understanding, my Heavenly Father is watching over me and has his hand in my life. But his timing is different from mine and he knows best when to interfere and when to let things play their course. In the mean time, he needs me on his side. Today.
I loved the end of this video: It is part of our condition as Mortals to sometimes feel as though we are surrounded by darkness. But even though we may feel lost, God promises to illuminate the way before us…no matter how long it takes.
Spiritual light rarely comes to those who merely sit in darkness, waiting for someone to flip a switch. It takes an act of faith to open our eyes to the light of Christ.
Twenty years later, I still don’t know everything, but I now know who I am. And I know who God is.
I have a feeling that there will be no Mary Poppins that shows up on my door step to take care of my kids, clean my house, get me my dream job, all the while singing happy songs. But there will be a day when a feeling of peace comes over me. When I feel as if someone is hugging me. When I feel as if I am home.
The sun was shining, the water was perfectly cool, the kids were happy and ready for their first day of swimming lessons! I was obviously cool and collected, smiling happily at the kids as I said “Say ‘First day of swimming!'” They did so willingly, and then they jumped in the pool as I lay back on a beach chair, my infant napping peacefully in his stroller beside me.
The Truth:
In order to get to swimming lessons, I had to load 4 kids into the car, remembering to bring suits, towels, sunscreen, new diapers, a double stroller, water bottles, and car snacks, although the car snacks were obsolete as the kids refused to eat them and begged (I mean begged, like it was so loud that things sound like you’ve just left a concert for an hour after) for McDonald’s.
Lessons were an hour away IF I got lucky and didn’t have to stop at the road construction.
Oh, and Calder only got in the water 2 out of 8 days that were already paid for. Basically my head felt like it was going to explode every.single.day.
What this picture says about my life:I potty trained my twins! Yay for me!
The Truth:
My twins are not potty trained. Not even a little.
What this picture says about my life:
Ohh the wonderful summer memories my children will have some day as they sit around Grandma’s house (that’s me) talking about their days of climbing trees and swimming in lakes, catching frogs, and eating choke cherries.
The Truth:
Where did this picture come from?? I sure didn’t take it. I would never let my kids climb a tree.
What this picture says about my life:Our summers are filled with exciting adventures like this one, followed by putting our exhausted kids down to bed so the grown ups can sit around playing cards and laughing.
The Truth:
Adventures like this one are extremely few and far between. And when they do happen, they mostly consist of me standing at the shore, panic stricken, because one of the boys just stood up in the canoe. I probably had just yelled at them to all sit their butts down, but then said “smile for a picture”, which is why Aaron is the only one smiling. Soon after this I motioned for them to come back to shore because it was getting late and no one had eaten dinner yet.
What this picture says about my life:My wonderfully supportive husband gives me many opportunities to escape the rigors of everyday parenting to get together with best friends and remember the good old days.
The Truth:
Well, that is actually very true. But this particular day something dreadful happened that was out of both of our control, which is why my memory of this day has been spoiled.
It rained on and off all day and as these wonderful girls and I tried to catch up I couldn’t help but think maybe I should cut the visit short and head home (it was over an hour drive). But I didn’t listen to my intuition, and shortly after this picture was taken I was on my way home in a torrential downpour that ended up doubling my driving time. About halfway home, I pulled over into a parking lot and just cried and prayed that I wouldn’t die. This was a very real concern of mine. I thought seriously about spending the night in the car, but decided to just forge ahead. I was sore for several days due to my tight grip on the steering wheel.
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I have to admit, about a month ago I found myself logging back into my Facebook account with every intention of only using it for the “important stuff”. After 6 months FB free I was sure I could handle it.
I was so so wrong.
I have been more unhappy in this last month than I remember being for such a long time. Why? Because every single picture I see of a life glamorized by social media makes me wish MY life was different, or worse, over. No matter how many times I remind myself that pictures don’t always represent the reality of someone’s current situation, I find myself being dragged into the pictures as if they were laughing at me and telling me my life isn’t good enough.
I do love pictures — I have a gazillion of them and keep getting pop ups that my storage space is almost gone — and its not always the way I describe above. Many times I am taking pictures to try to capture a very special memory that I hope will still feel as special when I look at it some day down the road. But my point is that just like I shouldn’t judge someone else’s situation by the pictures they post online, my pictures don’t always show truth either.
I do appreciate having beautiful pictures of the difficult times though because usually the experience seems much sweeter when I look at it through refreshed lenses.
In the late 90’s, I was nearing the end of my secondary education. I had precisely 3 interests: Boys, dance, and a social life…with boys. Reading was definitely not on my to-do list. So it wasn’t even on my radar that suddenly every person of every age in every country became enamored with a book called Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.
I don’t recall even being aware that this was a book until 2001 during my first year of college. This was the year that this first book in the series became a movie. A good [21 year old] friend of mine, Traci, was obsessed with this series. We were in the dance company together, and at the end of the year we had an assignment called musical mapping. The assignment required us to choose a song, “map” the dynamics of the song out using the medium of our choosing (pipe cleaner, macaroni noodles, string, etc…you know, college student stuff), and choreograph a dance to go along with our 3-dimensional music map. We then presented the entire project to our class. Traci chose the Harry Potter movie’s theme song, which at the time was unrecognizable. She incorporated a magic wand into her choreography with which she led us through her map. If that wasn’t enough to get me to read this book, I don’t know what is.
Over the years I received a lot of criticism for having never read this series. About 7 years ago, I rode along with Aaron when he went to dig a grave (yes, this actually happened). I had some time to kill while I sat in the car, and the Sorcerer’s Stone happened to be sitting on the bench seat next to me. Aaron really loved the series and has read/listened to each book at least twice. I picked it up, thrilled that I was finally about to jump on the HP band wagon. I got to about the part where (spoiler alert, if you haven’t read it) Harry makes the glass disappear at the zoo and releases the snake. That was where the wagon stopped for me.
Since that time I’ve been the epitome of a crazed YA fantasy fiction fan over all the big-time supernatural, dystopian, sci-fi, love-triangle type books and their movie adaptations (you should see my “I’d rather be in Forks” t-shirt). All except Harry Potter.
Last fall, Jade started kindergarten. I’ve been reading to Jade almost every night since she could sit up on her own, so it didn’t come as a surprise to me that she picked up the ability to read very quickly. In October at her last birthday, she was given her first set of chapter books about fairies. We devoured them and went back for more when the school book fair came along. Suddenly books didn’t need pictures to be interesting. This was my cue.
“Jade how about we read Harry Potter together? I’ve never read it before.” I fully expected her answer to be, “You haven’t read Harry Potter??? Even I’ve read Harry Potter mom!” But instead she answered yes, and our journey began.
Last night, we finished the first book. I almost cried! Literally. And for more reasons than one. I just finished a very long book with my first child and she sat still and listened and comprehended just about every word! But I was also sad to close the book after that last page. What incredible writing, and what a fun story! We do own all 8 movies, but to be honest I don’t think I’ve sat through most of them and the ones I did I either fell asleep or didn’t have a clue what was happening.
But the best part about the whole thing is that I’m experiencing these books for the first time with my daughter. How many parents of my generation get to say that? I kept thinking what if I’d given in and read the series a long time ago? I get to do this 6 more times!
Do you have any movies or books you wish you could experience again for the first time? And its sad because you never will be able to! You’ll keep re-watching Titanic hoping it will be as good as that first time, but it never will be. Okay maybe that’s just me.
In this season of my life, there is very little that is more satisfying than a stocked fridge or pantry. It gives me a sense of control. A sense of accomplishment. It means I’m prepared for the potential disasters that may lie ahead. It is the picture of time well spent. A bright future. I went shopping today. It is going to be a good day.
Don’t judge the contents of the picture. Sometimes, when you go shopping with a 1 year old, two 3 year olds, and a 6 year old, its about quantity…not quality. Today I’ve got quantity. And like I said, today is a good day.
Some days are not so. The harder days look something like this:
I wake up (much too early) to the smell of pancakes cooking on the griddle, the sound of chairs screeching along the wood floor as the kids pull them out. Pancakes are Aaron’s favorite breakfast, so they are our kids’ favorite too. To them, pancakes are worth getting out of bed at 6 for. I drag my zombie-self out of bed and enter the fog that is my family in the morning. I don’t feel like pancakes on most days. I think to myself a green smoothie sounds like a good pick-me-up and I open the fridge to search for ingredients.
Okay, well I guess oatmeal will do. I’ll have a bowl of oatmeal.
I sigh, and reheat the single pancake that is left on the plate. As I wait for the toaster to ding, the kids have finished their breakfast and are asking for juice.
“We don’t have any juice kids, sorry,” I slur my words together.
“But mom, pleeeease! I want some juice!”
I repeat that we don’t have any, “Would you like some water?” Of course not. Water? Puh-leeeze. The thought occurs to me that we should probably go to the store today, but a vision flashes through my my mind:
Everyone dressed, shoes on, in the car (“I have to go potty!”), back in the house (“Mom, I don’t want to stay in the car by myself!”), back in the car, to the store, find the ONLY cart that will fit my whole family + groceries (“Mom, I want to ride in the car part!”), fill the cart with three times as much as was on my list and none of it is healthy (“I have to go potty again!”), get to check out (“Don’t let them take our food!”), “Do you need some help out miss…?”, “No thanks, I got this”, out to the car, load up one kid, two, three (“Get back in your seats boys!”), four, return cart, get in the car…
…breathe…
“Mom, it’s hot in here!!!” I think we can last a couple more days without food…I fill their sippy-cups with water.
I realize the toaster was done a while ago, and retrieve the pancake. Upon seeing the last, lone pancake, the kids descend on me like sharks. I cut it into quarters and tell them to go back to the table.
A few hours and many frantic petitions for snacks later, I submit to their pleas and load everyone up in the car. It goes just as my vision foretold, with one exception. The car-cart is not available. Which means I can fit Lochlan in the front seat and the twins in the basket. Jade will walk along side. There is no room for anything else. We decide to go to the deli for chicken fingers and potato wedges.
Later that evening, Aaron comes home. “What did you have in mind for dinner tonight?” He asks. I look again in the pantry. Maybe it will look different this time.
“How about pancakes?” Pancakes sound pretty good right about now.
There is much more in a days work than this, but somehow I really do feel like with a kitchen full of food I can take on anything. You never know what new kid-cravings (or aversions) the day will bring, and to be prepared is everything. Having peanut butter on hand on an I-hate-ham-sandwiches kind of day could be the difference between tears and laughter — mine and the children’s.
At times like this, I think a lot of the parable of the 10 virgins. If you know this story, you know that the 10 women who have been chosen to light the way for the bridegroom to enter his wedding celebration all start out with oil in their lamps. However, half of them have the good sense to bring along extra oil in case they have to wait longer than expected. The others run out of oil, their lights go out, and in the chaos of trying to find more oil they miss the celebration.
I think of this story almost every time we’re running low on food or any time I face a challenge that could have been avoided if I’d anticipated the possibilities. This was a lesson I remember my dad teaching me in middle school. Anticipate the possibilities. It may be a lesson I need to learn many times. It would be wise to learn this lesson sooner rather than later.
I read a quote recently. “Sometimes we grow complacent, thinking we have enough to get by…Being wise means being prepared for the unexpected with an extra measure of faith, testimony, and Spirit in our lives.” -Anonymous
The 10 wise virgins didn’t just attend the wedding ceremony with a lamp. These women also carried with them a vessel for the purpose of storing backup oil. I imagine that the foolish or unprepared women could have thought it’s inconvenient to carry something extra with me, or possibly my vessel doesn’t go with my outfit. Either way they thought it was excessive to pack along something that couldn’t possibly be necessary or it just didn’t cross their minds in the first place.
Most of the time preparation is inconvenient or undesirable for one reason or another — Taking all of my children to the grocery store is anything but desirable — but the effort is worth the peace that comes with being ready when the unexpected occurs. It is never foolish to be too prepared.
Of all the weeks to be sick. Jade has a little bit of a cold as you may be able to see in these pictures. But that didn’t stop her.
Student of the Month
Jade’s teacher says she has worked really hard this year on being a good friend to others and that she has progressed a lot since the beginning of the year. I’m so proud of my little almost-first-grader!
The Girl I Mean To Be 