Messages From Emma: Cryptic and Otherwise

Yesterday I found this in the school room.

I'm not sure who it was intended for (because it's in written with Greek letters).

I'm not sure why Emma would write something using the Greek alphabet.   I'm not sure about a lot of things about that girl.

Sometimes she makes things more clear though.

It was her turn this year to set up our little Christmas village.  (You wouldn't believe the negotiations that have to take place over whose turn it is for what.  Oh?  You're a mother?  Then you do believe me.)  Emma proudly configured the houses and people on top of the piano.  She was excited to show it all to Adam when he got home.

"This is my house," she said...

"...here's you and me, Dad..."

"...there's Mark's son with the tree and my daughter and her friend by the snowmen..."

 "...there's Braeden with his son..."

"...there's Mark..."

Am I the only one that feels nervous that Mark is holding an ax?

"...there's Braeden's daughter on the swing and my son..."

Adam asked, "So where's your mom?"

Emma paused.  "Um...I guess she's in the house."

Sometimes I get embarrassed by the effusive love and attention my children shower me with.

Janet and I like to tell each other the following quote at such times:

Motherhood is not for the fainthearted. Frogs, skinned knees and the insults of teenage girls are not meant for the wimpy.

~ Danielle Steel

And she isn't even a teenage girl yet.

Help.

Things Broken

It started with my red chair.  My perfect little red chair that I bought for $35 from a yard sale.  My talented father-in-law had recovered it in a cheery red fabric and I loved that chair.  Well, it broke.  It was old.

Our telephone stopped working too.

Then our camera stopped working.

On Thanksgiving morning, Olivia called me (on my cell phone).  She said, "Where ARE you?"  She'd been trying to reach me on my home phone which wouldn't work.  I told her the sad tale of everything broken.

She told me that Marianne had a broken dryer, dishwasher and her water was a perplexing shade of brown.  ( I should add that Marianne has six children and when you have six children you need a dryer, dishwasher and clear water. )

Our conversation turned to our Thanksgiving preparations and Olivia wowed me with her description of the two different kinds of sweet potatoes she was preparing.  I said, "Well you can make two different types of sweet potatoes because you don't have anything broken.  Those of us that do have to have lower expectations for ourselves."

It started me thinking though. What usually happens is I ruminate about something for a few days then write a blog post to clear my head.

I've been thinking about broken things, broken hearts for example.  A young mother in our extended family passed away the day after Thanksgiving.  She left behind a two year old daughter and loving husband.  The rest of us feel a little broken hearted.

When I was in high school my friend Wyatt drove off the icy road one day and through the neighbor's fence into a field.  The next day he went and repaired the fence.  Broken things need to be mended.

Adam and I read online about our camera.  Evidently the problem it's having is a common one.  Apparently for scores of people, the solution has been to bang the camera against their knee and it works.

(We tried it.  It didn't work.)

Sometimes we can't fix what's broken.  For example, when in high school I drove through a fence after sliding off a slick road, my dad and brothers fixed the fence.  I don't know how to fix fence.  (Wyatt incidentally told me how unfair this was but in the culture where we resided, there were girl jobs and boy jobs and fixing fence was a boy job.)

I've been thinking about how we're all a little broken in various ways.  We all need a little mending.  Some of it we can do ourselves.  Sometimes we can try crazy fixes like banging our camera against our knee which may or may not work.  As my thoughts turn to Christmas, I have been reflecting on the Savior, the mender and fixer of our brokenness. 

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given:  and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6

Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows...

Isaiah 53:4

Indeed good tidings of great joy.

The Race I Don't Want to Win

Last night as we were leaving the movie theater (Harry Potter), I saw over a hundred people lined up outside Toys R Us.  I heard it opened at 10:00 last night.  There is nothing inside any store that would entice me to stand in that kind of line.  I am not a Black Friday shopper.  No, not me.

I'm a Black Friday decorator.  Today's the day I pull out all the boxes from under the stairs and transform this place.  I love it.

My children love it too.  Mark has been counting down the days 'til Black Friday.  Last night Adam explained to him why it is called Black Friday.  He shrugged.  I think he always thought it had something to do with decorating.

I've been thinking about it and really wondering why my kids love this day so much.

Because I'm not that much fun.

This morning I read this by President Dieter Uchtdorf who is remarkable in my sight.

...it's rather easy to be busy.  We all can think up a list of tasks that will overwhelm our schedules.  Some might even think that their self-worth depends on the length of their to-do list...Because they unnecessarily complicate their lives, they often feel increased frustration, diminished joy, and too little sense of meaning in their lives.

He was talking to me.

There is nothing I like more than a to-do list.  And if my to-do list is ever short enough that it's doable, I feel mildly uncomfortable and start adding things to the list.  Aren't I an important person if I accomplish superhuman feats?

No, not really.  I'm just unpleasant to be around.

Sometimes my days feel like a race.  In order to win the race (which means crossing off everything on my list), I have to squash the happiness of everyone around me.

This isn't a race I want to win.

So here are my goals for today:

1-I'm not going to make a list* (that physically pains me but I'm not going to).
2-I'm going to be patient with dawdling children.
3-I'm going to blare Christmas music and burn a cinnamon candle.
4-I may or may not get everything done.

 *besides this list--baby steps, OK?

I Am Glad For Many Things: Nearest and Dearest

It’s easy to complain about our children. But when we want to express our joy, our love, the words elude us. The feelings are almost so sacred they defy speech.

- Joan McIntosh

If you have children you know what I mean.  Nothing tests the limits of your physical stamina, patience, flexibility and unselfishness like children.

But there's nothing like children. 

There's nothing like the way they make everything (except trips to Costco) better.  They bring a delight and fresh energy to everything they touch.  I am thankful for my children, for how they entertain me, instruct me, challenge me and make everything I do worth it.

It's amazing the lengths you'll go to in the name of helping your child.  And that stretching is good for me.

(If you'd ever seen me do yoga, you'd know I need all the help stretching I can get.)



I am grateful Adam is my husband.

I can be sitting next to him at church and poke my elbow into him when something makes me want to laugh and he'll whisper back, "I know."

And he does.

I can give him a "get me out of here" look in a crowded room and he will.  Sometimes when I don't even realize I've given him a "get me out of here" look.  We can carry on a whole silent conversation over our children's heads with eyebrows and head nods.

He's the piece that makes me whole and the superhero of our family.  He's the driver in snow storms, the calmer of nerves and the one with an idea for dinner when I'm out of inspiration.

And he always makes me laugh.

Chains do not hold a marriage together.  It is threads, hundreds of tiny threads which sew people together through the years. 

~Simone Signore

I Am Glad for Many Things: Family

I have been blessed both by the family I've been given and the family I joined when I married Adam.

I'm grateful for my dear parents and for Adam's.  My children have spectacular grandparents.  I hope I can grandparent in a similar way.  The older I get, the more I can understand the important influence good parents can be.  And mine are good.

I'm grateful for my siblings (including their spouses).  They are the most entertaining group of people I know.  We tease each other and meddle and even compete a little, but when the chips are down, we are a force to be reckoned with.  My brothers and sisters can be warriors when they are needed and there's no one I'd rather have on my side.

I'm indebted to my grandparents.  I appreciate what they taught my parents but I also appreciate the off limits food that was available only at Grandma's and the merry outings and holidays and birthdays spent.  I'm thankful for the mediocre basketball games they watched me play in and the school plays they diligently attended.  I'm thankful for birthday cards with money slipped in and their dear handwriting telling me that they loved me and they were proud of me.  

What more could I want?

I'm glad I have cousins.  I have a lot of cousins and don't see them very often.  There are a few of them that I cherish though.  I don't remember ever not loving and adoring my beautiful cousin Leslie.  (Come to think of it, maybe that's why Mark melts me a little...he has the same red curly hair as Leslie...)  My cousin Hannah is one of my heroes.  She is likely one of the busiest mothers in America but also one of the most talented.  I recently asked her for some advice on a craft idea I was hatching and she promptly sent me back a whole passel of (really good) ideas and help and tutorials.  She's amazing.

I learn from my family. I learn how I want to be.  (And sometimes how I don't want to be.)  Families are flawed and unpolished and not always ideal but I agree with this:

Family life is a bit like a runny peach pie - not perfect but who's complaining? 

~Robert Brault

Do you remember the song, "I Am Glad for Many Things?"  We used to sing it EVERY week for Family Home Evening.  I'm not sure how that happened.  I also don't know who started singing it in an off-key round but my money is on either Olivia or Tabor, the two cheekiest members of the family.

I Am Glad for Many Things: My Favorite Hymn

For the beauty of the earth,

For the beauty of the skies,
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies,
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our grateful hymn of praise.

I remember once when I was growing up, I woke up in a square of moonlight that was streaming in my bedroom window.  (I didn't have bedroom curtains until I moved away from home...we didn't need them.)  I was delighted.  It felt magical.

When we were waitresses, sometimes Marianne and I would drive home on full moonlit summer nights.  We would be exhausted from our jobs but giddy from the moon and the long shadows cast from its brightness in our world of no light pollution.  We'd swing on the swing set and glory in the moonlight.

For the beauty of each hour
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and vale, and tree and flower,
Sun and moon and stars of light,
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our grateful hymn of praise.

Years later, Marianne was leaving for a mission in South Carolina.  I would be going back to BYU and Olivia would be staying in Nevada.  Tragedy to our secure little sisterhood.  It was one of those amazing full moons the night before Marianne left.  We climbed into Sorrelly, our pink '69 Chevy Impala (did we tell our parents?) and drove down the valley to Starr Creek.  We leaned against the dusty car and talked.  Marianne reminded us that wherever we were, the moon would be the same.  She said she'd think of us whenever there was a full moon.  Olivia and I promised the same.

For the joy of human love,
Brother, sister, parent, child,
Friends on earth, and friends above,
For all gentle thoughts and mild,
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our grateful hymn of praise.

On Saturday Adam and I bought his Christmas present, a bicycle.  Since it's too big to hide in any of my normal present hiding spots, I guess he gets it early.  Saturday evening, at Braeden's bidding, we rode our bikes in the light of a full moon to the park.  We have a helmet rule around here but not one of us wore a helmet.  Maybe it was too beautiful to be bothered with helmets...and several of us were wearing stocking caps.  That's almost as good right?

We swung on the swings and Mark and Emma climbed a tree.  We watched the moon and clouds and listened to the night.

Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our grateful hymn of praise.

Tis the Season

This morning I was encouraging Mark to hurry with his shoes and socks.  We were on our way to pick up Braeden.  I think we were late every day all week to pick up Braeden and especially yesterday when I was so late that I was speeding and got a ticket and am now $154 poorer...

Anyway.  I was hurrying Mark along.  In his slowest chattiest way he told me that it's Crunchy Season again.  I didn't know what he meant.  Leaves?  Ice?  I distractedly asked him what he was talking about.

He said, "My socks."

Ohhhhhhhhh.

Mark wears his sandals exclusively until I throw them away.  (Do you think I'm kidding?) He is back to wearing his socks and shoes and he stuffs his socks into his shoes when he takes them off at the door and apparently...doesn't change the socks so they get crunchy.


Get a new pair of socks Mark!!!!

I'm just doing my part so you will be reassured that you are a very good mother.  A mother whose son does not mark the season with crunchy socks.

You're welcome.


Also, I was late picking up Braeden again because this time I drove the speed limit and that (as it turns out) takes longer.  My mom is reading this and thinking, you need to leave earlier, Thelma.  I know.  I know.