Moments

This weekend, my last baby was blessed, and my first son was baptized.

We were given a paper to write on, to put in books for baptism memories.

All I felt today, seeing my wonderful eight year old son who still impulsively gives me kisses on the cheek, who can't stop talking about MineCraft and electronics kits, who can't keep his hands off his baby sister because he loves her so much, who has theories about the way the world and all its parts work, who says the most hilarious things in all seriousness so I have to stifle chuckles, but who still smiles at me when I accidentally let one go... seeing my son be baptized...

I felt that feeling you get when you know you're experiencing that perfect moment and you wish there was a way to capture it--more than a picture or a movie, but a moment you can immerse yourself in and come back to any time you want.

Moments.

Today little Fern was blessed. The men who blessed her were all people who loved her, who loved the priesthood.

I love the priesthood.

That's what I felt today, seeing my son get baptized and my daughter get blessed.

Babiez

Anyone ever seen that hilarious Madonna/Angelina Jolie SNL skit about Babies? I wanted to embed that here, but couldn't find a link. Just look it up. Madonna. Angelina Jolie. Babies. You won't be sorry.

Some people might call Skywalker and I baby hoarders. We adopted two and a half, and had our own 5 and a half. That makes 8 babiez total. We've completely used up our Standard American Quota, like... thrice. Maybe Four times. Some would argue, eight times.

Well, make that nine times, world. We Dunsters are welcoming our next and last family member into our ranks. That's right, baby number 9. Due at the end of January. And we found out this week that it's.....

A girl.

I hesitated to say anything for a while this time. I feel a bit protective of my business lately because of Stuff. I'm telling people this now because my body is going to start announcing it for me pretty soon and I kinda seriously need to start wearing maternity clothes, and I would rather announce it once than announce it over and over and over again to individuals.
I'd also rather have control over this kind of personal, special news than having people gossip and/or speculate. So.... yeah.

We are so excited to bookend our family with another strong and lovely and sweet little sister. I've had wonderful boys, but I think we've all been missing the sweetness of baby girls. The kids are excited to have a baby sister and I've already got the feeling this one will be spoiled to within an inch of her life... or at least, parented to within an inch of her life.

I'm feeling really tempted to buy some very cute/fancy/girly stuff this time. In the past, I've avoided the baby-clothes buying binges and this is my last chance. I might go ahead and start what will inevitably happen and give this one all sorts of adorable clothing and accessories so that we can get going on the whole, "What! You never did that for me, mom!" thing.

I'm pretty excited, for so many reasons. But I'm also counting "lasts." And that's both happy and sad. I've been reading a lot of posts lately from friends who are starting to send their kids off to college or on missions... that will be me in 4 years. I can't quite believe it. Lasts, and firsts, and lasts. I guess we just enjoy the time as it goes by, and that way we don't feel we've missed anything. Today, I spent a couple hours holding my last little boy. My children are very sweet and beautiful. I'm glad there are several of them kicking around here. I'll be sad when they leave. I guess the only way to make up for it will be having passels and pecks of blond-headed and brown-curly-haired grandbabies one day. One day in the faaaaaar distant future, of course.

Anyway. It's out now... so I can break out all those obviously-maternity shirts and pants I've been avoiding in the name of anonymity :)

Greenhouse update: Bleaching, staining, siding, interruptions and more foundation

We had to take a hiatus on the greenhouse for a month or so as our involvement in the community play (Skywalker and I played one of the couples in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers) ramped up. The play was an amazing experience. We made some good friends :) I'm so glad. Friends are the best. Also I got to spend a lot of time with a sweet person who is an almost-sister who has been on her mission and busy with college for a while. It was a great experience, and I feel no regrets about the projects that needed to be put off (writing, greenhouse, school prep etc).

Skywalker has been bemoaning his lack of tools. But tools are an investment that we have to save up for. Finally, this past weekend, he bought a used radial arm-saw on craigslist. He got it for a pretty good price. It was missing a table, so he very carefully measured and fitted a table to it, using materials from an old treadmill he'd acquired (ironically, from the last play... two treadmills were used for one of the scenes and they were going to be thrown away, and we all know Skywalker and his thriftiness.)

He now has the tool he needs to do a lot of the work. It can now be done quickly and much less tediously. And in the past few evenings after work he has sided an entire panel. He tells me that the rest will go even faster now that he knows what to do and what measurements we need. The wood we are using was acquired from a source we found online a couple years ago. Skywalker has had an eye on this website for quite a while. The funny thing is, the owner of this company happened to move into our ward a year ago. Another not-coincidence in this endeavor. We're supposed to be doing this; Heavenly Father has given us reassurances and signs at every stage of this process. When we were finally ready to buy siding (we used a bit of our income tax return this year for that purpose, instead of devoting the whole of it to paying off principal on our house) we knew exactly what we wanted. And we ended up with a discount that helped, that we were not expecting. Blessings. Anyway, this company has the best prices for siding/tongue and groove etc that we have found anywhere, and they're great to work with, and they have branches all over the Salt Lake/Utah Valley on up through southeast Idaho. Check'em out.

We chose cedar tongue-and-groove siding and cedar-log siding. We got some discount pallets and bundles, so not all of it is utterly perfect, but we want our project to end up looking lovely and natural and whimsical and imperfect so it really was quite perfect. Here is what the wood looks like, after lying in the sun bleaching for about a month.

We will probably just use it like this, sun-bleached with no stain or anything, on the inside. Cedar is meant to be exposed to the elements, and it is lovely as it continues to weather naturally.

For the outside, we kind of wanted a more uniform look to the weathering, though, and we didn't want to wait years while it changed to the silvery color we've got our hearts set on, to match the grey/white/taupe colors of our house. I was planning on using commercial stain and bleaching oil, but following some good advice from the guy who runs this lumber company, we went a different direction. We bought a natural weathering treatment. It's a dry powder that you mix up yourself and paint on the boards and it is really effective. The results were immediate and beautiful, and exactly what we wanted. And it was natural, which we prefer, and much less expensive than what we were planning.

Here is what we've got on the house so far. You can see how the treatment has changed the color of the cedar wood. I think it goes so well with the color of our house. I couldn't be happier. We need to clean up those windows. This is an in-progress picture... you kind of have to have an imagination to know how awesome it looks :)

And from further away, so you can see how it looks with the rest of the house (you kind of have to squint to see where the siding is, and where it's still plywood. The colors are pretty subtle):

So this last schoolyear, Loli had a band trip, and because she is our first, experimental child, Skywalker and I had no idea that this meant she needed to sell 100 dollars worth of band cards. We didn't even know about the trip until two weeks before the money was due, because Loli plays her cards close to her chest. Or something. ANyway, when we found out, we didn't know what to do for a bit. Loli needs to be responsible enough to do the work or at least inform us that work needs to be done to go on this trip she wants to go on.

But she is the first, experimental child. Forging the path. Doing everything new. Not sure how to negotiate things, and she knows how full my plate is with all her siblings. I know how that feels.

So we cut her a break. We paid the band stuff ourselves out of the greenhouse budget, and she became our little laborer for the summer to earn the money. She's been helping Skywalker put in ceiling paneling, holding stuff for him, and a couple saturdays ago, she dug a pretty nice ditch under the north wall so we can lay down a concrete footer. That is the only area where a footer is missing. We're going to lay the concrete before the ground starts freezing again.

She did a pretty good job, didn't she?

The siding should progress fast at this point. And once we've got the new piece of footer poured, we'll move the wall there out slightly so it matches the edge of the house, and we'll side that too.

It feels so wonderful to almost be done with the outside! I've been stressing over that for a long time, because we want our lot and house to look nice. Once we get the siding off the grass, we'll be able to mow that stretch of lawn again, too.

California Adventures day 3&4: The Captain and the Cowboy and random graveyard stalking

California Adventures, day 1

So yesterday I left my home and half my family behind in Idaho, to travel to the mysterious and magical place of my childhood. I have my four youngest with me, while the four older stayed behind with Jeff. I'm here to watch my two little sisters while my parents journey to China for the last time to adopt a daughter. I'm also here to introduce my children to the fairtyales of my childhood:


the grocery store of yore, at the edge of the ponderosa groves

Where milk is twice as delicious, so it has to be twice as expensive.

The garden full of mystical asian pines and small, quiet pools where there are no goldfish because Herons feel right at home coming to steal them

And parks have three-story slides that adults are hesitant to utilize, even with the goading of their offspring

And creeks are populated with squirrels which are likely to be capable of speech

and there are gremlins

and giant things.

I'm also here to do some family history. My mother's the first convert, and so a lot of the history is oral, or in jumbled piles in boxes. I brought my scanner and my laptop. I'm transcribing and scanning.

I'm also planning on visiting a few places--a graveyard an hour away in Wheatland where my grandmother and grandfather are buried and one three hours away in Sonora, where some of my ancestors are buried.

My mother has never been there to see them. I don't even know if they're there for sure.


There are some family history mysteries to solve. I don't know the name of my great, great, great, great grandmother Silveira-Pereira. She and her husband perished in a shipwreck off the coast of Maine in 1839, a year where there were lots of terrible storms during the early winter months, and many ships wrecked and many people died. I am going to the county library in the place where the Silvers settled a hundred and fifty years ago. I've heard there's a lot of information there on the family. Nobody's gone there to investigate. That I know about, at least. It's possible that a name is written somewhere on a stray piece of paper, or on a record. That is my goal this trip--find the name of my four-greats grandmother. THey were the generation that immigrated from Portugal... the next step after finding her, would be to go over there, to the Azores Islands. A job for my brother, probably-- he served a Portuguese-speaking mission in Brazil.

While I was writing this, my four year old daughter went outside to play. For some unknown reason (mostly because she is my daughter) she decided to remove her shoes. She just stepped on a digger pine cone and cut her foot. Can I claim her as the ninth generation of californians, now that the red dirt of my childhood is literally in her veins?

Moving On to the Next Great Thing

I have been having babies for a while, let's face it. I had a brief respite between marriages--Loli was four when Jaws was born. Jeff and I filled in that gap pretty thoroughly by bringing home two girls meant to be in our family that were born in another country when I couldn't have them myself. Yeah, some would object to my describing it that way, but that's how I feel things happened. Bella and MayMay are most certainly my daughters. The first time I saw their picture, I knew they were my daughters, and the sisters of the girls I had given birth to biologically.

Heavenly Father has a way of blessing you doubly when things have to come about through a veil of pain. These two girls ended up in my family where they belong, but along the way they collected another family who loves them dearly, and a rich, unique culture, which flavors and spices and blesses our family as well.

Since Jaws, though, I really haven't had a break. I've had a child under age two for the last solid eight years. And I haven't started realizing until recently, exactly how difficult it is to have children so young. They take all your attention. All of it. When they're infants, it's because you are holding and feeding them constantly. When they're a little older it's because you are making sure they don't die by rolling off stuff or falling down stairs or choking on things or drowning or being taken by people or gashing themselves with knives (several of my toddlers have had a fascination with knives.)

I'm realizing all this because we're sort of coming to the end of our planned family, Jeff and I. We talked, at the beginning, of having six children together. We're there. Another baby would make six for us since we married in 2005. (Nine total, of course.) And right now, I'm getting to that point of thinking of starting that process again--another kid. Possibly the last kid. Pending prayer and answers to prayer, of course.

In my religion, we believe that there are spirits up in heaven waiting for bodies. That to raise children right, with values, and love and covenants and saving ordinances inherent in our gospel, is the most important job we do. So for me, and others with my theology, the decision to *stop* having children is a very serious one. Perhaps stressful. Some are comfortable stopping when they feel their family is complete--they just feel good about it and don't question that. For others, it's an agonizing decision. And some feel that "stopping" isn't an option... they need to allow as many children to come as Heavenly Father will bring them.

Thus, Mormons and large families. (btw. I'm being honest and vulnerable here... no judgy comments about birth control or population control, please. I will delete them all!)

For me, the decision to be done has a bit more of an edge and urgency. My mother and i share a genetic condition that renders pregnancy dangerous. Because I knew about it before I started having children, I have been able to take preventative action and not suffer from the sorts of things my mother did having her children. But it is still dangerous. And the danger kind of multiplies with age. My mother had her last biological child at age 35, and nearly didn't make it. Her stake president, who was also her obstetrician, told her she needed to think seriously about permanent preventative action, because she needed to be around to raise her family.

I am grateful for my stake president.

I have had a strong feeling, from the time I was thinking of such things, that I also need to be done at thirty five. I turn thirty four this year. Do the math--one more kid. It works out nicely with the feelings Jeff and I have had on the issue.

But it makes my heart break a little, too. I was the two-year-old who would nurse her dolls, who though often about having babies, about motherhood. I couldn't wait to be a mom. And I have enjoyed my babies so much. If anyone is going to suffer from residual baby-hunger, it's me. I tell myself it won't be so long and I'll have grandbabies to enjoy, but it's not quite the same. It's not that symbiotic relationship--just a small, helpless, trusting creature and me. A piece of my heart, smiling whenever I smile at them, whose favorite thing in the world is to be close, to lie for long hours on my chest. Little hands. Little feet.

It came across to me really strongly this last week. I have been feeling, for a while, that I needed to put DavyJones on formula. And he has taken to it well, and it has made important things possible--I have needed some time in the temple, for instance. I have needed to spend a bit longer at my calling than an exclusively-nursing baby would allow.

And I needed to go to girl's camp this year.

It was a good experience, but my milk is now dry. My baby boy is no longer nursing. It breaks. My. Heart.

What if, I think to myself, this is the last baby boy. What if I never nurse another baby boy for the rest of my life. What if this precious experience is now over. There is something about my baby boys--they have the most "mushy" part of my heart, as I was explaining it to Loli the other day. (She responded with, Mom, I'd much rather have the strong part of your heart.) (Anyway.)

What if this is done.

Well, it will be done, soon. I'm into my "lasts," last time trying for a baby. And it will turn into, last time experiencing morning sickness. Last time getting that middle-trimester burst of energy, last time with a growing stomach, last time with those crazy, overwrought emotions that make me cry during cheesy commercials but have actually been welcome because often, I struggle to feel my real feelings. Last time waiting for labor, for a baby to be born. Last time holding a soft, damp, newly-born person close to me, seeing them look up into my face for the first time.

I plan on savoring it--all these "lasts." It's the only way I'll be able to move on; if I savor every single moment.

But there are also other sorts of thoughts I've been having. Like... Gee. It will be nice to be able to work outside for an hour and mow the lawn. It will be nice to go out and pick up the trash that blows across from the high school. To plan a garden, work on it every day, weed it, pay attention to it and have a chance at real vegetables. To take a bike ride when I need one... and to be able to bring all the kids with me. To be able to go on hiking trips and camping trips and to be able to take my kids swimming (projecting a few years into the future here) without having to keep an anxious, uninterrupted watch over at least two of them.

To be able to take time to have talks with my teenagers.

To not be so exhausted in the morning I can't function..... or at least, to be exhausted for different reasons. Staying up to talk with teenagers who come home, rather than being constantly interrupted to nurse.

Instead of being confined to the house with a baby who isn't going to be happy outside for long,to be able to go out and find Jeff, and whatever project he's working on, and work alongside him. And to have our children join us.

I'm leaving behind something very special... but moving on to something else Great, and equally special. This, I think, is the time we figure out who we are as a family. Develop our traditions, our way of relating to each other, the activities we enjoy doing together, getting big projects done together, being silly together... this is really, in a way, where some other things I have always looked forward to, begin.

Loli came into the Young Women's program this year. And as it always is with our family, once started, things happen fast... Bella next year. MayMay the next. Two years later, Jaws. We're moving on.

And it will be great.

Adoption and emotional integration.

So, I haven't done any adoption posts lately. Mostly that is because, as adjustment continues, the issues are less and less salient, and less noticeably adoption-related. Meaning, everything has filtered down and melded and become "the things my kids and my family work on together," and it is not often something we think about anymore, "this is because of the adoption. These are struggles related to that."

I have been thinking about adoption lately, however. Because of some things in my personal life, and also this clip posted recently on Facebook.



Helen Doss--the story she wrote of her family and their experiences. I read it over and over again as a child. My mother did, as well. I am certain it is a major influence in my decision to adopt--I grew up thinking of adoption as not only normal, but delightful and wonderful. Her family--all happy, so big and colorful and wonderful. I wanted that.

My mother did too. And now, however many years later, I have two Ethiopian daughters and two (soon to be three) Chinese sisters. I wonder how many families have come to be because of Helen Doss.

Adoption is hard. It's interesting, looking back on all the posts I have written over the last five years, remembering various stages, struggles, frustrations and heartaches.

First we went through teaching kids not to hurt each other, health concerns that were difficult and sometimes nasty (Lice, Ringworm, Giardia which I caught from MayMay while pregnant with Hazel, aftereffects of severe malnutrition and other things).

After that, though, it was all emotional. And I'd argue, much harder than the physical. Our adoption was wonderful--we didn't have any of the issues adoptive parents worry so much about, like sexual abuse or attachment disorders. And our girls are good, good girls.

But I am an introvert. New people are hard.

I love kids. A lot. Honestly. And I don't mind babysitting other peoples' kids. Before the adoption, however, watching others' kids was always a very stressful experience. It was painful. It's like, having someone in my house who wasn't my own kid, I was on eggshells all the time. I didn't feel like I could be me, have my time, do the things i'd normally do... I felt like I had to be a "perfect mom" or "perfect babysitter" for the sake of another person's child.

that's sort of how it felt for me for the first.... oh. Two years. Like I was babysitting. It was very stressful. The introvert in me shrunk away from interaction with these girls for quite a while. I forced myself to overcompensate... so they ended up getting even more attention than my biological kids for a while. In the effort to counter my own tendencies, I ended up becoming...

well. A better mom. More attentive. Paying more attention to detail. Not just falling into the ruts of my own past experiences, parenting and being parented. (Not saying I didn't have good parents, I did. I just am glad I have a fresh canvas to paint on, if that makes sense... I can make different kinds of mistakes and have different strengths, and not just feel compelled out of habit to do it a certain way.)

But let's just say. It has taken a really, really long time... that last stage of adjustment, so that everybody feels like they belong. So that I feel nothing but gladness that all my kids are around me and nobody's missing. So that I don't automatically react, emotionally, with more harshness when it's one of my adopted kids being unkind to one of my bio kids.

I think everybody is different. There are people who immediately mesh with new people...who can become best friends right away. There are also people who are natural adopters. You know them--the people who have a satellite of those who call them "mom" or "dad" because they fill that role for a lot of people. There's this lady who was on a billboard in Utah for several years--she fostered 112 children.

I'm not like that. I'm an introvert. My relationships form slowly, solidify slowly, and because of some of my experiences, trust and security is something that comes with agonizing slowness.

I think these last two years have been the final stage for me, for Jeff, emotionally. I was so glad when school got out this year. I feel so much peace when I'm in my living room, sitting on the couch, looking at all of my kids gathered around me. We are a family. Irrevocably. Emotionally, everybody is mine and I am theirs.

I think that, looking back on the process, I am very glad to Have MayMay and Bella in my life. I'm not sure, if I'd been able to look at it from the other side, knowing how hard it would be emotionally, that I would have been brave enough to go forward. Thinking about adopting again, my insides kinda twist up into knots.

But I am so glad I have Bella and MayMay. I am so grateful I have them. The thought of not having them is incomprehensible, and heartbreaking. I love all my children.

I know that adoption is never an issue you leave behind--for the rest of their lives, I will be talking my girls through the reality of their adoption. And reassuring them of my love for them.

And there will always be times I want to run away and go camping for a week. But that's just life, as a mother of lots of small children. It's not because of adoption.

Yesterday I went on a bike ride. Bella asked to come. I thought for a minute--my bike rides are solitary. My time. But I realized, suddenly.... I don't feel threatened at the idea of her coming. My time is her time, too, because she is mine. WE rode out to the canal and sat there for a while, completely silent, throwing stuff in and watching it float. And we rode silently back home. It was just the being together--us. And it was OK. Knowing myself, it amazes me that that was even possible.

Big Families: Teaching Teamwork But Keeping Things Fair

This is a big one.

I have thought a lot about this, in fact. I have wanted to have a very large family from the time I was very small. When I was about two or three, my mother caught me trying to nurse my baby dolls. As late as eighth grade, when they handed out "flour babies" as a school project, I was thrilled for the opportunity to pretend I had a newborn to carry around and nurture. I have wanted to be a mother for my entire life.

WHen my friends asked me when I was in high school, I used to say I wanted twelve children--enough to have two basketball teams or baseball teams that could play each other. I was not really joking. I have loved the idea of a large family. I loved visiting houses where large families lived. I wanted to have lots and lots of kids. I looked forward to developing traditions and a family culture and friendships and a support group that would just be tight and close and friends. I envied my friends who came from larger families than mine (and, OK. I came from a family of six. That's still pretty big.)

I wasn't aware, when I was young (or when I started having my family) that being in a large family might have its downsides. I was amazed to realize that some people who came from large families didn't like it--they felt exploited, or shortchanged, or something. And they then made the decision to have only a few or one or no children.

It has made me ponder a little bit. Is it exploitation, to have a family so large that you cannot get by without the kids pitching in? Older kids helping younger kids out, all kids over a certain age doing a share of the housework? And my poor oldest kids. They won't know the benefit of lots of different lessons because I can't afford them yet, with so many kids down the pipeline absorbing expenses. They spend some time babysitting instead of going on playdates with neighbors several times a week. I may only have a small amount of one-on-one time for each kid on busy days. I may have no time at all for some, if some are having meltdowns/have to go to the dr/need lots of help with a school project on a certain day.

I was feeling all guilty and worried until I had an opportunity to be around someone (an adult) who surprised me with their lack of willingness. I'm not sure of any other way to put it than that: lack-of-willingness. A lack of willingness to be inconvenienced, to do a job that is mundane or grinding, to pay attention to kids when they would rather be doing something else. This person was sort of a part of our family for a while and it surprised me to see up close what they struggled with; not just helping others, but being able to help themselves. I realized that this is not a trait to be desired at all. If you aren't used to being inconvenienced, to doing things you'd rather not be doing when there are more fun things to do, If you aren't used to stretching yourself to do a task you are not used to, you can end up in a world of hurt as an adult.

And that's when my thoughts about this whole big-family thing turned around. If you grow up without having to do things to create the comfort you're a part of, you just expect it to happen to you. Case in point: a boy whose mother does all their dishes, laundry, and cleans their room for them. They go off to college without knowing how to go about these things, and also unused to the tasks. They're going to be pretty messy roommates for a while, and it will be a real burden for them to suddenly assume it all at once, instead of learning, year by year, how to do it for themselves.

So a big family, done right, can teach some really great and important life skills. It can teach hard work. It can teach teamwork, because there's a very real need for it--my house would never, ever be acceptably clean if my kids did not help out. One person cannot keep up with nine peoples' messes. It can also teach compassion and nurturing. I cannot be holding the crying four year old WHILE I am nursing the needy newborn AND bouncing the irritable toddler on my knee--an older kid gets that opportunity, to help her sister feel better. To put herself in someone else's shoes. To get used to being needed, and be OK with being needed.

I think that's a problem in today's society. I think a lot of people shy away from obligations. They don't want to feel obligated or needed. I'm not saying this is the case with all people who come from smaller families--that's not it at all. And I'm not saying it's the case with all people who don't want kids, either; I have childless friends who, for instance, adopt needy rescue animals. That's not what I'm talking about here. You'll know what I'm talking about when you see it: people who are used to playing all the time, not working. People who are used to getting what they want, not waiting. People who get bored really, really fast because they are used to spending much of their time being entertained.

That may sound harsh. And I know a few people's feathers will be ruffled, reading this. Sorry about that.

I want my kids to learn something different. And my hope is that having a large family, if you do it right, can teach these skills without overwhelming the kids so much that they look back on their experience with pain and frustration. I've been thinking about ways to do this--strategies for balance. Here's what I have come up with so far.


WAYS TO NOT EXPLOIT KIDS WHILE HELPING THEM TO LEARN WILLINGNESS:


1) Make sure you praise them and say thank you. Even if it is something they know they have to do, people like to be thanked and appreciated for their hard work. Kids are people.

2) Rewards. As an example, Jeff and I go out on a date each week. If my kids complain I don't say "tough, it's part of being part of this family": instead, I remind them that mom and dad go on dates to keep this family healthy; that maintaining our relationship is something that benefits them as well. And I give treats: incentives for older kids to do a good job and for younger kids to be easy to babysit. I was the oldest in my family, usually the babysitter, and struggled with my siblings. They were not very motivated to be good and easy kids to babysit, and a lot of the fallback ended up on me. I really couldn't win. I had to stay home and watch the kids and I got chewed out and lectured afterward because the experience was always contentious and destructive. Kids went crazy and disobeyed rules (it seemed sometimes, on purpose to get me in trouble.) Ugh. Bad memories. I want babysitting in my home to be a time for the kids to bond and have fun away from parents... and to test the waters a bit. Be given a chance to obey rules on their own. The reward seems to help with this.

3) Related to the above: power struggles. I try hard to stay out of them. Not just between myself and my children, but between the kids, too. I do that by not allowing kids to "tell" on each other unless a) someone is being hurt or b) something is being destroyed. And I will only step in if it sounds like some real contention is stirring up. I think it's healthy for kids to learn conflict resolution. I think it's unhealthy, most of the time, for a parent to step in and start handing out punishments unless a rule is being broken (eg hurting or destroying). I will, however, process conflicts with my kids after they've been resolved, and try to help them figure out better ways to deal with conflict.

4) Burdens. I try very hard to be aware of the burdens each of my kids have. For instance, my sixth grader is currently managing the workload of 6 different teachers, she has play practice for a couple hours after school, and she has mutual activities to attend (which I want her to attend.) She often stays up until 10:30 at night doing homework. On occasion,I decide that she doesn't need to do the dishes, even when it's her night. Sometimes I need to do them for her, and that's OK if she understands I'm doing it *for* her, because I want to make sure she's healthy and able to balance her load of responsibilities.

5) Fairness. I know that's a word a lot of people put down nowadays, but I think it is very important to *try* to be fair. It won't always be fair, and kids need to know that. One child's needs sometimes outweighs another's, and sometimes one kid needs a different approach than another. Sometimes one kid gets a special treat because they had to have their tooth pulled even if, yes, it was their fault for not brushing their teeth. Sometimes the overburdened adolescent needs some time to herself with mom and no other kids just to talk. And of course, it's absolutely unfair that the tiny baby gets every waking minute of mom's undivided attention for months after he is born. That's life. But... a parent should try very hard to be as fair as he or she can be. We adults still like to be treated fairly. Give kids equal opportunities to be good and earn rewards. Don't blame one kid for things more than another. Some kids do test the waters and push boundaries more than others, but watch that. Make sure you don't scapegoat. And Don't favor one kid's brand of brilliance over another's. Loli is a briliant writer and singer, and my natural feeling is to be amazed and grateful for that. But MayMay is brilliant with people, and engaging, and a ray of sunshine and she is always thinking of others. That deserves just as much time and attention and recognition. Try to do things that will help your kids to not compare themselves to each other and compete for your affection.

6) Be always available. It's important. If you have eight kids you have approximately no free time. If stuff takes you away from them, it better be important stuff. (Stuff like a cultivated hobby or talent is important stuff--we need those sorts of things. Yes, I am talking about writing. But you maybe only have time for one. I cannot do writing AND sewing AND be a gourmet cook AND become a super couponer.) Stuff that takes you away needs to be important and there can't be that much of it; you have to choose between better and best. Because they all need some time with you. My mother had a saying: if your house is clean, that's nice. But as a mom, your most important job is to be a lap. If the dishes are dirty in the sink and the room is strewn with objects and the counters are sticky and the laundry in a giant messy pile all over your living room floor, your most important job is *still* to be a lap. And a good friend of mine added to this: as they get older, it changes from lap to ear. The most important job you have with older kids, is to be an ear. That means you need to be there and available to listen when they want to talk.

7) Don't exploit them. There is a point, I think, where help and family teamwork can become exploitation, and I think that line is crossed when parents forget to think of their children as humans with needs equal to theirs. For instance, don't make your older kids babysit everyday. Or every other day. Your kids want you around, and your teenage girls are not ready to take on the burden of full-time or even part-time parenthood. Be respectful of their wants, too, as they age. When they get old enough to start to go out and play with mixed groups or go on dates, plan a weekend *with* them. Don't just say "Bye, too bad, Friday night's ours." Maybe you can switch up date night so they can go out and have fun when fun stuff is going on. And don't make them watch kids when church or major school activities are going on, or burden their hours so much that they can't participate in something that will give them enrichment, such as music or sports.

So important.

I think that's all I have for now. If you guys have stuff to add, I'd love your advice. My brood of eight will thank you, too.

BRT (Bunch of Random Things)

This is just going to be a bunch-of-random-things post.


So this is day eight of my 2000 word experiment. So far, I have done just fine. My writing has ranged from 2000 to 2500 words daily and I'm still able to get other stuff done. Not much other stuff, because I'm pretty much stuck nursing this incredibly cute infant around the clock, and I can't get much done anyway.

Speaking of incredibly cute infant:

I think his blog name might have to be DavyJones.

Anyway, he loves the nursing. Loves it just about every half our. This baby came out clusterfeeding and hasn't stopped for one day. Except for one day when I think he was feeling sick, and I got very worried about him. But he's doing just fine and is happy, and his brothers and sisters love him a lot.

I have realized that writing, for me, is at this point a part-time job. I have enough stuff going on (drafting fiction, networking, poetry, marketing) that we're talking a few hours a day minimum. So I need to make myself a good plan, how to do this and still be an acceptable mother. I think it will be much easier when this baby is no longer quite so needy and can go a couple hours between feedings, but it is still important for me to figure out how to do the writing thing while also keeping house clean, kids schooled, laundry done, etc. I love my kids, but lately feel so much like i miss them. Because if I go where they are, they maul the baby. Like, hang all over him, lean on him, climb on top of him (in Chumba's case) so I have to go somewhere away from them to feed him... which he wants to do, as I said, all the time.

... our greenhouse is now completely enclosed. We still need to caulk up the little holes, and next spring, put the cement board and insulation on, and mortar the cinderblocks. BUt ideas are brewing, and I'm excited, and it is beautiful. Seriously. I love seeing the outside, and from the inside, it's such a restful place.

Well, that's all for now. Thanks for reading.

The Selfishness of Recovery

I worked for a while at a residential treatment facility that housed women with serious eating disorders. A lot of those experiences really impacted my life, and I find myself thinking about those women, the things I saw, the things I heard, often. I think one of the most ironic things about that (working there) was, I was watching (hundreds, by the end) of women go through recovery. And yet I hadn't even touched on my own. I was a good employee, and for some a great tech, but I didn't reach probably 70 percent of those women emotionally. And I know it's because I was struggling myself. I wasn't even to "stage one," (awareness) myself. I couldn't be vulnerable and be sensitive sometimes because some of what I saw & heard overloaded my emotions and threatened me to the point where I couldn't handle it. I sat behind the desk and volunteered to chart rather than go out and talk to the girls/women about what they might be struggling with. At the time I thought it was my introvert-nature & fear of rejection that held me back, but now I know it's not that. Honestly, I'm not sure if I really am an introvert by nature. I've just been unable to face my own feelings and feel good about them, and let others see them.

I remember one case in particular. This woman, newly married. She was really put-together. Like, General-Young-Women president-like. She was strong, intelligent, gracious, driven, mature. All the time. She reached out to others and was so great with the other patients, though she didn't talk much at all about her own struggles. I remember kind of looking at her and wondering what the heck she was doing on this inpatient unit.

And then I remember when she started to come apart. She turned into someone clingy, demanding, self-destructive, weak, childish. (See how judgmental I was, thinking these words.) Watching her I felt like, this isn't good. This is wrong. We've broken her. This treatment is bad--it's making her into something bad. It's undermining her testimony and strength. I wondered at the time if it was selfishness--her selfishness, breeded by a system that makes recovery into something self-obsessed and self-focused. I felt very, very conflicted feelings about the treatment program, watching her.

I remember feeling some outrage at how she was hurting her husband. He'd married this kind, strong, others-centered person and now she was cutting, and threatening suicide, and rejecting him, and just, petulant almost.

Now that I'm looking at things from the other side, though, I understand a lot that I didn't back then. She was already hurting inside. Why else would someone come to an inpatient facility and spend thousands of dollars to be locked up in a small set of rooms and eat cafeteria food? She had been hurting from the very beginning. That petulant, selfish, emotional, childish person--that was always inside her. She just hadn't ever allowed herself to take off the mask she wore. And it was killing her. It was distancing her from those who she should be able to trust. She was trapped--not feeling, except when she was feeling too much and harming herself in feeling.

This child inside her? That was her hurt self that needed healing. And you can't heal something you and others cannot see.

This last year has been a hard one for my spouse. I think often of this other patient and feel so bad for judging her. I also think often (in my petulant moments) of those things that have hurt me, and I feel angry that I even have this hurt being inside of me that needs healing.

This last year has been the most difficult of my marriage. For Jeff, it has been really worrying, and at times hearbreaking, I think. We still haven't had many conflicts, but he's seen me be completely dysfunctional, and unpredictable emotionally. He's had to pick up a lot of slack with the kids. He's had to put up with some reactions that are not his fault, where he suddenly turns into something in my head that he is not. I think that's the most painful for him.

And yet, Jeff has said that this last year has also been the most wonderful of our marriage. These last few months, especially, we have been far closer--kind of comfortable and gleeful and best-friend-y and just real, and appreciative of each other. I have felt so much more capable of being his best friend, as well as his wife, because I've been able to actually reach out. If you've got a mask on, people are at arm's length. You've got to peel that sucker off if you really want to be close to someone.

I think back on my very weakest moments of this last year with a lot of sadness. And yet, I wouldn't change it, because it has ended in much deeper, "real-er" happiness.

It's hard to think about it that way, because we've been taught in the gospel that faith can heal everything. Sometimes people draw from that the conclusion that it will be a painless, struggle-less, graceful healing. But the thing is, healing never is. Wounds are ugly. They aren't pretty to look at even when they're half-healed. They hurt.

The labor of healing from significant trauma is, I think, a lot like the labor of childbirth. You know it's God's will. He, in fact, rejoices in it. And you know it will end with something precious. But you also know you're going to do silly things. You're going to groan and complain and maybe get a little whiny. You might, in the moment, feel angry and blame people, simply because you're so overwhelmed with pain. If you can focus, you can relax to a certain degree and let it happen, but it will still be and feel messy, and ugly, and overwhelming and in moments you'll think, "how can this be from God?"

My husband gave me a blessing before delivery. He said it'd all be allright. Doesn't than mean I should be able to labor in a cross-legged position, hands outstretched, chanting in soothing tones and looking absolutely serene until it's time to lie down and bring forth a baby?

well, no, that's ludicrous. And yet we know, Labor is a godly thing.

The labor of recovery is also a godly thing. I need to continue to remind myself of this, and not feel guilty for having feelings, having needs, even for having people judge me, or having people I love get worn out at times.

One thing that has been indelibly apparent to me, driving me through this process--I am a better wife. I am a better mother. My husband and my kids are my first priority. Therefore, I *must* continue to recover. It doesn't matter what others think; if they judge me the way I judged that patient, if they feel that my difficulties are born of selfishness or immaturity or not communing with the Spirit. They don't know. They don't know how I've prayed, and the way I feel so very close to my heavenly father even in those moments when I've done things that have been petulant. I feel His love and comfort surround me even in those moments I've had that have been ugly to myself and those around me.

I think if I were truly being selfish, I would have allowed fear of judgment, or self-judgment, overwhelm my desire to heal, and just continued to go through motions--be a mess inside but mostly functional on the outside. I'd do the safe thing and just slap a lot of bandaids on those wounds. But I feel Heavenly Father bending my knees to recovery. I feel Him opening my lips to ask, to express, to allow people to see my weakness and reach out. And as this year has worn on, I have felt some truly happy, truly peaceful times. Perhaps the first in my life.

I find myself wanting to hug my kids, and my husband, all the time. Wanting to be around them. I find joy in being around people, in listening to them and even opening up to them. I think that joy has always been there, just buried under layers of fear and pain.

My heart has clicked into place over the last few months, especially. I'm feeling stuff. Oh, lots of stuff. Not all fun. But I'm also feeling the good stuff-- delight in my kids, happiness with friends, peace instead of fear of rejection when I find an opportunity to help someone else.

So I guess my conclusion is, recovery, while self-focused, is in no way selfish. Because it has made the people I love very most on this planet much, much happier to have a mom whose heart is fully turned on finally. It has made Jeffrey, who is the best friend anyone could have, really and truly my best friend. This last labor, he climbed into the hospital bed with me. He labored with me. That's what a best friend and a spouse does--labor with the other. I can finally allow Jeffrey into that place and it feels so incredibly wonderful.

When you've had bad stuff happen to you--stuff you didn't choose, or stuff you brought on yourself-- and you are trying to heal, it's good to keep in mind that there will be some pain an petulance to get through for a while, and people around you might be sad simply because they love you, and seeing you sad will make them sad. But remember--you're doing it for them. For yourself, so you can be there for them.

Birth is, in the end, a beautiful process in spite of any messes it causes, and in spite of how sore your husband's arms might be from counter-pressing your back and lifting you off the edge of the bed and hugging you tight when nothing else really helps, he wouldn't change anything-- you woudln't change anything. The end result is obviously worth every moment.

Greenhouse, part 3--miracles

So, I feel pretty overwhelmed with gratefulness right now. It's not just the Thanksgiving season. I just feel like, lately especially, Jeff and I have had a lot of prayers answered. In some ways that have been surprising. Jeff's parents, sister & boyfriend, sister, brother & wife came over for Thanksgiving. The boyfriend informally sort of asked for permission to ask sister-in-law to marry him, and that was special. Grandma and Grandpa got to see Roo and Loli perform in Sound of Music, and that was special. The dinner was special. There was very little tension. We went to see the Teton Flood museum and the dam, and it was fun to watch Grandma, especially, enjoy all the kids. By the way, I have great kids. (I've mentioned that).

But there's so much more. We have a friend who we connected with and agreed to have him bring his horses to eat down our pasture. And he fenced off the corner of the property that wasn't fenced--just because he's a nice guy, but probably also because it meant more feed for his horses. But it's a huge blessing. My goal: next year, no notes from the city about our weeds. None. I think we can make it happen this year.

Also, the greenhouse.

In our initial post about the greenhouse, I mentioned how glass suddenly became available for an insane price, and that prompted us to start on this project much sooner than we ever thought we could. We thought it was ten years out. But I prayed, and said, you know, Heavenly Father. This would really make us happy. And guess what. Glass.

It's been like that all the way through this project. We found discounted cinderblocks. We found two perfect-sized doors on craigslist that were within our budget, but should have not been. They match our house perfectly, too. So they'll look nice--which I want. Because I want to be a credit to the neighborhood and not a pieced-together not-too-nice looking place.

And most recently, something kind of overwhelming and miraculous happened. All along, I've felt driven by time... deadlines. We knew, for instance, that we could not pour concrete for our footer after the ground started freezing. But plans were taking longer to complete than anticipated, and going to the city meant Jeff needed to find time off work, which could only happen on days where he didn't have very important meetings all day. By the time we finally got everything approved so we could start, the ground was freezing half the days out of the week. Problem is, cement needs time to cure. If we pour it on a good day, we could have two bad days after that & ice crystals form in the drying cement and render it crumbly and unusable.

Jeff was all for not finishing the digging. He had started on the ditch--about a foot deep-- all around our porch, and it was intense work especially on icy days, and I think he was getting discouraged. He suggested we don't finish digging, we either haphazardly do something for a temporary measure this winter, or leave it alone and continue next Spring.

But inside me I felt this urge, or drive, that we needed, and Heavenly Father wanted, us to finish this before this winter. So many things have happened so quickly. It just didn't make sense that Heavenly Father would then want us to wait six months. Plus, we'd have a tiny baby--that's really a stressful thing to deal with. I kind of knew that, if we set the project aside, it wouldn't get done anytime soon.

So I basically told Jeff... please. Keep digging. Finish the ditch. I think Heavenly Father will provide, and we just need to have faith, and I think we'll have some good days next week to pour, if we only finish the ditch and put in the forms. Which we know we need to do anyway, so even if we don't move on until next spring we'll have that step taken care of.

I went off to a book signing after that.

Halfway through my book signing I got a text.

Jeffrey had continued to dig, squaring out what he'd already done, and digging further along the house.

IN the process, he hit cement. He found a footer. Already there. 18 inches down. Perfect for what we needed, already set, already built. All ready for us.

He became emotional about it. I'm grateful, because I think things like this help us see that we're doing what we're supposed to be. I feel emotional about it because I know it means Heavenly Father listens to me, and loves me and answers my prayers. I love to see my husband feel that, too. It is wonderful to share an experience as a couple, something we both feel special about, and build our faith together. Kind of bind our testimonies together over shared efforts and faith.

So, Jeff's family was over. And while they were here, they stacked cinderblocks for us (we're not mortaring them until Spring, when the mortar can set, but that is Ok because the design of the greenhouse makes it possible to do this easily even when the rest is complete).

We also got wood. Yesterday, Jeff spent hours going over the building materials we'd need, then comparing all the prices offered in our area. Then he found a source on Craigslist for some of what we needed, for an even better price. We headed over to Lowes to get the leftover stuff he didn't have online, and found it was more expensive there than Jeff had anticipated. He called the guy, and found out he happened to also have everything else we needed, for a better price than Jeff had anticipated. Another small miracle.

And now, this is happening.

I'm getting pretty excited. Something about seeing that first window (actually it's a door) go up is suddenly making it all real for me. We're doing it. We're doing the thing we've both, Jeff and I, dreamed about and talked about since before we married--a greenhouse attached to our house where we can grow our vegetables and herbs year round. A place where we can grow what we want, and have a uniquely beautiful place to be, warm and lush and beautiful during winter, spring, summer or fall.

And with that, the blessing of knowing we're where we're supposed to be, doing what we're supposed to be doing. That's the best blessing of all.

Apples to Apples

My Kids Are Awesome

When people compliment my kids, I always agree with them. "She's pretty amazing, isn't she," I'll say when someone tells me something great one of my kids has done. Or I'll just simply remark, "my kids are pretty awesome."

I think it takes people "aback" at times. Like... you just bragged about your kids.

Yes. Yes I did.

The thing is, I'm pretty tough on my kids, in the sense that I make them work hard, I work with each of them carefully on behavior stuff they are struggling with or need to change, and sometimes this is quite challenging. My kids are all highly intelligent (see, there's the brag again) and very strongwilled. And this can present lots of challenge. It is difficult to parent strongwilled children. But my thought is, strong willed people, who know right from wrong, who've learned compassion and the importance of obedience, who've developed good habits, can be the most amazing people. So I'm parenting the greatest set of kids. Nothing that turns out really great is usually easy. SO I'm optomistic.

And to the world around me, my message is always, "my children are awesome."

Because they are.

I have a few people I trust and talk to when I'm worried about how to handle something, or worry over a kid's tendency, or feel at a loss for parenting tools. Those are people who I know will understand--who've parented multiple kids of their own and know kids go through stuff and turn out wonderfully in the end, and who I know won't talk about my kids to others. Also Jeffrey and I often (of course) discuss the various challenges in our family and strategize about how to handle them in such a way that our kids feel loved but also understand how they need to act and what they need to change, at times.

But outside of that small clutch of people I trust, I don't say that kind of stuff. I don't talk about my kids' struggles. I figure, kids deserve privacy just as much as an adult does. Would I talk to the entire world about an adult friend's struggles, an adult that I happen to know inside and out because am around them enough to observe & know all their deepest darkest secrets, worries, bad habits? Would i just go spill about all that stuff to anyone who'll listen? No way in heck. Those things are my friend's things. I have no right to talk about them to anyone else. That's called gossip.

I don't "gossip" about my kids to anyone. They are my friends, and I care about them deeply and believe in their right to privacy about deep struggles and difficulties.

When I talk about my kids, my words are: My Kids Are Awesome. Because they are.
And it's not wrong for a parent to say wonderful things about their children. TO accept and agree with compliments. My kids aren't "mine." When I accept a compliment and agree with it, I'm not complimenting myself, I'm agreeing that somebody I love a lot is Awesome.

So, with that as background, I feel like I need to take some time, right now, to talk about why each one of my kids is Awesome. This is part of my job as their mother. They need to hear it from me directly sometimes, not just random people who see their awesomeness from afar. I want my kids to know that I--their mother who sees every tiny little thing, who makes them work hard and learn hard and who corrects them and knows all their difficulties and struggles--know that they are awesome, too.

This is Loli.

That picture is from the Les Miserables play my community put on this summer. As you can see, she played Cosette. Loli has a beautiful voice, and is intuitive about music. She learns it fast and easily. She also has a great memory--she memorized those lines almost the first time she heard them. The director of the play thought I must have been going over lines with her and making her practice... not so. Loli just loves to sing, and loved being in the play. She acted the part perfectly. She is very talented.

She is also very intelligent. She's good at school... she's a little bookworm... she enjoys being challenged. She asks probing questions about the universe. She writes brilliantly--some of her stuff reads better than essays I corrected as a TA in college. She also is a fun person to be around. She has good friends. She's funny. She raises an eyebrow at me when I'm joking... she can tell even when I'm not smiling. She is pretty confident about her opinions. She is obedient and trustworthy. She is, all in all, a pretty amazing kid.

This is Bella.

Obviously, Bella is beautiful. But there's more to it than that. She's graceful, and dignified, and hilarious. She makes her sisters and brothers laugh and brings the boisterous fun. When you first get to know her, she might seem very quiet and very careful and calm, but don't let her fool you. Bella is a hard worker. She is very motivated to achieve well. She does all her jobs well--meticulously, and in school, she went from being somewhat behind because English is not her first language, to being one of the more advanced students in a matter of months. She loves to read. She loves to write me sweet, honest notes and draw pictures. She is very compassionate and responsible with babies and small children. I know when I leave my babies with Bella, they are safe. She is also a good leader. She knows what needs to happen and doesn't rest until it does. She works diligently, practices diligently, and is a good and loyal friend and daughter. She asks all the questions that are hard to answer, and is patient when they can't be answered immediately. She always wants to do what's right.

This is MayMay.

As you can see, MayMay's entire face is taken up by her smile. She has an amazing smile. MayMay came to our family with a lot of challenges to overcome--physical and mental and emotional, because of what she'd gone through before. She has grown fast into a wonderful, smart, bright, energetic, strong, capable girl. I'm indescribably proud of her for what she did in school last year--went from a K+ reading level to just a little above a 2nd grade reading level. She continues to improve, because of hard, diligent work. MayMay is all heart. She loves everybody, even people who aren't nice all the time. She thinks about others feelings a lot. SHe gets sad when others are sad. She gets happy when others are happy. She is often a peacemaker and intercessor in our family; when a kid is sad, she's the one who's there first. If they might be getting in trouble, she rushes to explain for them. At school, she's the one who sits by the alone kid or talks to the sad kid and is brave enough to tell kids who aren't being nice that they aren't being nice, and she even lets not-nice kids have a chance at redemption, in the sense that she forgives and will be a friend and rejoice when someone has gotten better at being nice. Meaza has a lot of friends, but it's not for the surface reasons of designer clothes or cool hair (though her hair is very cool) or owning lots of stuff. She has friends because she is a great friend. The best you could ever ask for.

This is Roo. (formerly known on this blog as "Jaws.")

Roo is just pure sweetness. She's smart, and funny, and thinks about things a lot and comes to some great conclusions. She is the best hugger in the family. Her hugs are heartfelt and tender. Roo inherrited her dad's giant, compassionate heart and tendency to reach out to others in love, even when it's a risk. She is also very musical. She surprises people with her sweet, true voice. She is also very smart. She remembers stuff quickly and learns quickly. And she is patient with the learning process--she trusts that she'll be able to figure something out if she keeps trying. Roo is very imaginative. She makes up all kinds of complex games with layered themes, not shying away from the grittiness of life. Her younger siblings and her older sister MayMay love to play with her. Roo is easily cajoled out of sadness or upset-ness. All you have to do is smile at her, and she'll smile back. That is a talent I would love to have. She really loves people. When her friends are away, she misses them deeply and thinks about them a lot. Roo is very inclusive. She doesn't want to leave people out. She has an infectious smile and laugh, and she's just an adorable, sweet, smart person. I feel grateful to have her in my home.

This is Squirt.

Squirt is very smart. Scary smart. He's learning first grade math right now and he can read almost at a first grade level, and he's only five. And he'd be further along than that if I pushed him, but I want him to enjoy school and feel like it's a fun experience, and he does. He loves school. He'll ask to do sight words and math facts flashcards and to read from science books with me about things like reptiles and amphibians and dinosaurs. He asks a lot of questions. Questions that I often cannot answer in their complexity. We have discussions together and come to some possible conclusions instead in those circumstances. Squirt is a very energetic boy, but he has a big heart as well. He loves his little brother deeply. He enjoys his siblings a lot--especially the ones younger than him, and likes to laugh when they do cute things and tell me about them. Squirt is also a leader. His friends really enjoy playing with him. He brings the fun. Squirt loves his mom and dad and his sunday school teachers. He loves to dress up like his Dad for church. Last Sunday, when we came down from singing a number in the ward choir, Squirt crossed the room of his own accord to go sit next to his primary teacher and he beamed the whole time. He really loves his teachers. Squirt has a sense of humor--he laughs a lot at jokes and when he's being tickled. Squirt loves hugs. Sometimes he needs to cuddle for a while with his mom, who finds this incredibly sweet. Squirt loves tools, and mechanical things, and his favorite thing to do is be with his Dad, fixing or building something. Squirt has an amazing memory-- he retains information others miss, and remembers and makes connections that often surprise. Squirt will do amazing things as he grows and learns more.

This is Baby Rose.

Perhaps the most beautiful baby ever. Rose is sweet and funny and enthusiastic. She loves playing with her siblings. She also has a great imagination, sometimes with hilarious results. Rose loves hugs. She loves her older and younger siblings, who cherish her. She was the first baby born after the adoption so she is "all of ours" in a way that seemed to emotionally seal our family together after all the changes. Loli, Bella, MayMay, Roo, and Squirt all have a soft spot for her. Rose loves her friends. She'll reach over to hold someone's hand or hug them without a second thought. She's got a great smile. She's energetic and plays any game you want to play, and makes a really cute pirate. Roo is articulate and surprising, with some of the things she comes up with--a little three year old girl talking so articulately, like an adult. She sings beautifully--surprisingly strong, clear, and in tune for a three-year-old. And in a way, she is a little adult. She takes matters into her own hands. She is sure of herself and intelligent and expects people to take her seriously, and also love her. And if something doesn't make sense, she'll either call you on it (you're teasing me, that's not true) or ask questions until she understands. Which I think is a great thing. She looks after her baby brother with a level of care and attention that I love to see.

This is Chumba.

Chumba is impossible not to love. He's sweet, he talks all the time (though most of it is still hard to understand) with great emphasis and feeling. He loves to play with his siblings, and willingly joins in all the pretending, playacting, and other games. He needs "cuddle breaks" every once in a while-- he'll come sit on my lap or lay next to me on the bed and just be quiet, while I hug him. He loves to be cuddled by his siblings, too (except when he doesn't) and when anybody's hurt or upset, he'll go over to them, lean over them and stare at them with his large blue eyes and usually, plant a kiss somewhere. He's very intensely interested in everything. From the time he was born, he was reaching for stuff. Honestly, right out of the womb, laying on my chest, he was reaching out and trying to grab things--my hair, my face. He likes to take things apart and then try to put them back together, like his Dad. He loves to have books read to him, especially Ten Little Tadpoles and Olivia's Opposites, where he likes to open his mouth really wide on the page about "Open," and he likes to growl really loud on the page that says "loud," and has a lion growling. Sometimes you can just tell he's thinking very hard, figuring things out... he gets quiet, and intent, and moves two pieces of something together in different ways to try to figure out if they go together or not. He's a sweet baby. I'm a little sad that he won't be the baby of the family for much longer.

I guess while I'm at it, I should write a little bit about this guy:

Jeff is my best friend. At the time I met him, I was amazed that so much awesome could exist in one human being. He is compassionate, handsome, intelligent, artistic, open-minded, talented... holy cow, where did this guy come from? I have a very strong belief that the only reason he didn't marry until age 30 was because Heavenly Father was saving him for me, and I've wondered ever since what I did to deserve him. He plays Chopin and Debussy with so much feeling and artistry. Less, lately, because we're so busy... I miss it. He is a graceful, confident, dashing ballroom dancer. He is coordinated and capable and brilliant at figuring out how to fix things--we've never taken our (20-year-old) vehicles to the mechanic. He figures out what's wrong, goes to a junkyard for a part, and fixes it. And it's fixed. He can walk by things and sometimes they'll fix themselves. (I'm not kidding.) I know that if he's trying to figure out how to do something, particularly if it's something to make our family's life easier or better, he'll end up finding a solution that works well. And he'll continually try to refine solutions so they're easier and easier for me, (less competent at these things) to implement. He cares deeply about politics, about the gospel, and about family and relationships. He loves everyone, but makes friends carefully. I feel very privileged to be one of the handful of people he lets into the innermost places of his heart. He is passionate about certain topics, but not evangelical or pushy like some passionate people can be--he loves people into listening to him. And he is capable of compromise. He is a peacemaker, but he isn't threatened by resolving conflict. He's patient, and loving, and open, and if he's disturbed about something he goes quiet and contemplative, not angry or upset. He does almost everything he does for *me* and for our kids. He is a great husband and father, and it hasn't been an easy road, coming into a family with a kid already there, and blending a family once again through adoption. We've been through things that would test anyone's patience to the utmost, and he's come through each time, supporting me, supporting our kids. He cares for his Sisters and brothers. He's given blessings to them, and to me. What a great guy. No wonder my kids are awesome.


OK, I challenge you moms and dads, now. Tell me why all your kids are awesome.