Polka Dots are Therapeutic By: Claire Murray

First band concert EVER!!!! (And my friend Caitlyn)

Hi. I am Claire, I am 11 years old now. Turning twelve in a month. Today, at a ceramics painting place called "Hands On'', I found out that dotting ceramics is extremely therapeutic!
I have a lot on my mind these days. I now go to Middle School AND am in the young womans program at my church. To make life more exciting, I play the trumpet in the hardest class of all, 6th grade band (my friend Gracie  Robson is in 6th grade orchestra and she says it is equally as hard.)

In our family right now, James is learning the guitar. Hazel has found her love for my ukulele. I feel bad for my mom having to listen to me play the trumpet and piano, but she says she loves it. I enjoy music. Anyway, at Hands On, my mom and I were working together dotting a ceramic puffer fish and we did not realize how many dots we had done. We both found it fabulously addicting and therapeutic. We couldn't even stop dotting when our common sense said we had enough dots! One more...one more!! I am worried how it will turn out.

 So I was thinking of other things in my life that help me be relaxed and calm down: Here are some other ways to cool down.

1. Writing stories, I am working on a story I call the ''The Mystery Train''
2. Art ( may I recommend dotting ........ahhh stop it.....I can't.... )
3. Go to the temple, I can finally go, it is so relaxing
4. Go running, I did cross country and hated to love it and I want to do track
5. Listen to or play music
6. Laugh
7. Read, I recommend Harry Potter or the Candy Shop Wars book 1 and 2 by  Brandon Mull also The Janitors by Tyler Whiteside
8. Origami or paper airplanes, I love paper air planes 
9. There isn't much that feels better than serving people
10. Make popcorn and eat it all. Muah ah ah ah!!!

Addicted to Dots, Mr Pox

Hazels Deer Cow/ Cow Deer 

Quinn and her super happy money bear

James creating a mug to "Strike fear in the heart of every man"

I can't stop! Someone stop me! Help! 

Why I served a Mormon Mission

I was raised in a good family and I had always gone to church. I had studied the scriptures from a young age and felt that they had been instrumental in saving me from diving off the teenage cliffs of experimentation, rebellion and regret. I wanted to do something to thank my heavenly father for being such a strong influence in my life. I also wanted to explore the world and help others. I could have done a stint as a peace corp volunteer but as I said I wanted to give that time to God and see what happened with it. It turns out if you give your time/life to God, he repays you over and over, opens the windows of heaven and blesses you in your life more than you could have earned on your own. 

I also solidified a testimony of Jesus Christ and repentance. My belief in God and Jesus Christ is one of the single most guiding aspects in my life and it is one of my treasured possessions. I learned that the Joseph Smith story, the word of wisdom and chastity before marriage were just crazy talk to people and I understood their viewpoint, but I didn't share it, because I've been blessed by too many times by living them and believing it. I became fearless knocking on doors and visiting in homes that were unknown, I built social skills and learn discipline that I still use everyday, I learned to care for people the world had forgotten, I brought hope, I served anyone and everyone. SO If you have Mormon Missionaries beating down your door, put them to work, they love it and they work hard. But what they really love, is talking about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation. You will realize that having mormons around is a bit like having a lucky cricket. Things just go better. 

Life Without Provo.

I was forgotten. I mean I had forgotten myself. Fair enough. It's been a busy few years. But before then it was a grief stricken few years, before that we were newlyweds and before that we were friends. I was reading a journal entry from 3 years ago, it went something like this.

Me:You haven't forgotten who I am right?You haven't forgotten how I used to be, before, before we had kids right?
Nate: I dunno
Me: You mean that I used to be fun and laugh all the time and carefree? You don't remember me, do you?
Nate: (nervous chuckle) haha, Ohh Sherry, we'll see. (silence).

Ouch. I am back to report improvement. I resurrect this blog to tell you I figured out that it was high time I got out of Provo. I needed to be shaken up. Oh, I miss it alright and I miss friends and stores there everyday. But it's slower here. People don't speed up when you start to cross the road, if you know what I mean. (Yes, you do.)

As a teenager my friend Lillie and I found a quote we liked and for the life of me I can't find it but it goes like this. I've been draw like a moth to a flame to people that were more interesting and wise than I. I stayed close to them, certain that if I hung around them long enough I too, would become like them. Something like that. I have always been fascinated with good wise people. Met tons in Provo, loved 'em all. Maybe it's because we didn't know Twin Falls at all before moving here, it's all so new and starting over refreshes the palette.

I'm super humbled to be here. I have met so many good people since the move. People that easily outshine any goodness I thought I possessed. So I am here to rub up with some fuzzy moth wings and maybe I can fly too. I laugh more here.

This picture is made all the more gruesome because I am smiling. My face and the floor maybe don't need to come in contact for a while.

Singing Carols by Candlelight every Sunday night in December. A tradition taught to us by the Wardell family.

Embracing Dainty

When I was little, I remember sitting on the school bus, staring out the window waiting for a set of twins to come out of their house for school. Alice and Jonathan (he did gymnastics, that's all I remember about him). Everyday, Alice would come out wearing a skirt.  I remember questioning her about it. You wouldn't catch me dead wearing a skirt and certainly not in Canada, still don't care for Sunday dress but I do it to honor God. I now have two little girls just like Alice.

The other day I was searching for a new birthday shirt for Claire, I asked the sales woman to show me some of the clothes that don't make little girls look like street trash (I didn't really say that but I wanted to). She asked me what her style was. Her style is whatever I buy her, I thought. I reflected as I rummaged, Claire is dainty, feminine, cheery and floral. She loves skirts and dresses, she loves those non-supportive ballet shoes. She has distain for the khakis or black jeans I have bought in the past, in favor of light blue jeans with running horses on them, she drowns in heavy dark clothes and would prefer to wear mostly skirts. Know all that, I still have trouble wrapping my head around it and need to bite the bullet and buy more skirts. When I was little, I was like Hazel in many ways only she is way cuter than I was. She is fierce and fun. She loves the camo, studded and dark rocker colors- the perfect girl for boyfriend style jeans and a pair of converse.

Quinn and Claire are embracing their girly side in a way that I never could have predicted from my offspring. I'm glad they value their femininity, I'm just not a huge fan when Wilson tries it! When I asked Quinn what she wanted for her birthday she simply said, a pink dress. It reached my cold heart and warmed it. I stormed the store and found the froo-frooiest (machine washable, sturdiest- sorry I gotta be practical) pink dress I could find. And I expect it will take a beating everyday this summer.

Tooting Horns

Yesterday, I pressure canned 60lbs of chicken, primed and painted the boys room including molding, cleaned up the canning and painting messes, put it all away, tidied and did the dishes and I was still less tired than I am on a normal day of being a mom day. Just sayin'.

Thanks to my tireless Nathan for taking full charge of the children and doing a good job of it.
Doing something without interruption is really great for my psyche, I smiled all the way through church today and it was a real smile all they way down to my heart.

Hey! Is this the real me? I like myself! I'm fun and happy! Now how not to lose myself again. Here is what I did this week to help myself out of a funk.

I admitted to a friend I was having a hard time. She listened to me and several days later brought me a most thoughtful, unexpected gift.
I made a list of people to serve and started working on it.
I started taking a watercolor painting class.
I made a list of things I wanted to do around the house and got working on them.
Made a list of things I was looking forward to and started planning.
Got outside.
Did yoga.
Nate gave me big breaks from the kids.
I gave up on potty training James. (That might be the most helpful one!)
Prayed and read the scriptures.

Feeing grateful and humble. Over and out.

Mediation or Sleep

Lately, things have been gray. I know I am struggling too hard when I want to feel happy, I am doing everything right but all I feel is nothing. Nothing and bursts of anger when things don't line up like I want them to.
We were at the Temple the other night doing sealings. I wanted to be into it. The spirit was there, the people were friendly but I felt as though I was viewing them from a distance. Like it was a parade passing in front of me. I wanted to wink at Nate across the alter but it felt forced and fake. I am stuck in my head. This is not good. It may not even be anything that can be solved by a good night out with dear friends.

 I was ready for church this morning and I just got so tired of pushing, convincing everyone to let me do their hair, wear tights, matching shoes, eat breakfast, be nice, go out so I could get ready... lately especially today, I have seen the facade of kindness slipping even further off my face. Instead of asking nicely, I am barking orders, short and concise. GET OUT. MOVE or I will kick your bum. Who am I? I'm not that bully mom. The ugly one that growls at her children and they in turn learn to growl at each other. All I can say is that there is nothing left. I am empty. What can recharge me more? Sleep or meditation. Right before we left for church James had an accident, I kicked off my shoes to help him get changed. Kicked a hole in the ceiling. I wasn't gentle enough- maybe I put a little too much pent up energy into it. I sat on the side of the tub and balled.

Nathan came in and gave me a gift, to stay home from church. So here I am desperate to recharge to be the person I know I am. But I have to write these feelings out, this is part of my getting over it. Here is my plan. Tidy the kitchen and read until my wet mascara tears dry. Then rest and dream of who I am, pray for help to recover from the evil that has taken over my heart and my mouth. Reconnect the synaspsis of my brain that are essencially downed electrical wires flying around damaging what is left of my human decency. I think I will go read poetry for a bit. Where is my sense of humor? It has always buoyed me up.

Latest and Greatest, Murray News

Nathan: Remember when you used to write on your blog every Sunday night?

Ahhh, the good ol' days. Back when it was really easy.

Only I didn't know it and I didn't think so at the time. How do you get on top of things so that the good ol' days are the ones you are living in, and not the ones you look back on?

I think my kids need a new car.  The other day my friend Sylvia overheard Claire say to Hazel in all seriousness, 'Can you imagine someone driving to Boise in a car this small?', she drives a Durango. You mean, where you can't just lay out all over the seat and fall asleep Claire? Yah, millions of kids have to endure such a hardship.

So the time has come to sell the limo, it is old enough that it's probably not worth fixing for us anymore, it still runs fine but the little things are starting to add up. So if you know anyone that wants a limo cheapish, say 3 Grand. Lemme know. She has a few good years left in her and could make some high school kid very, very popular.

Whatever we get is gonna feel like a tin can compared to the limo. I will always and forever miss the privacy screen. Goodbye crying child. Goodbye bickering. We will unroll the window when you have fallen asleep or worked it out together.

I didn't much care for dropping my kids off at school with all the tiny cars tearing around me, trying to cut me off, big limo, tight spaces, tons of cars. Ugg.

So what carries 8 people, a minibus? Maybe.

 Ghosty

Vanellope Von Sweetz one of our
 favorite disney characters

Battle zone, overwhelmed, anxiety, constant onslaught, never can sit down, so many to-dos that I find I hide myself in the work, sometimes it's not funny, sometimes nothing is funny, and sometimes the sun shines just right and well, it is. I've come up for air.

Since we started putting everyone on gluten free at our house, and there are tons of gluten free goodies around, I have gained back the hard fought fifteen pounds I lost last spring. Sigh, back to the bottom of the heap again. But I love our new recreation center and I love exercise so I'll figure it out.  Hazel is miserable, she makes no bones about that fact that gf food is not as good as "glutinous" food. Sorry sis. If I only had your discipline in refusing food based on minute scrutiny, subpar texture or slight flavor variations.

Nathan is working on his masters, he will be, for the next few years, taking one class at a time in Community and Economic Development.  He's enjoying this semesters class and I hope he goes on loving it.

Mom and Dad are really moving to Boise, the house they are renting sells on the 14th of December. It is good for them but we will miss them like I can't even say.

I hope your heart can be filled with joy and gratitude this week. I will be focusing on it too. I can say that Heavenly Father does love each of us. He takes an active interest in our lives. I hope you get plenty of time to pray and feel peace. If you don't have the time or presence of mind to pray- pray for just that! I know for myself that it works.

Can someone tell me why I bring a stroller? Right, so I can take the pictures

Family Update

In May, my (retired) parents sold their Texas home and decided to come help us. They found a house to rent on our street, really, a few doors down! Boy, going from having no family in town to having parents on our street has been wonderful. Actually, it seems like we traded our good friends the Nemelkas, that lived next door for my parents. Mom and Dad literally moved in the same day the Nemelkas moved out. It cushioned the blow of losing Amanda and Jeff. So did the fact that the Culvers (new neighbors) seem sociable, fun and patient...

So we have these wonderful Mary Poppins grandparents that are here until the wind changes and we are putting them to good use. My dad is building a playhouse/shed in the backyard of his own design. We are adding on a breakfast nook in the kitchen and making the basement a more pleasant place. My mom is fun and crazy useful and can help out in a pinch.

The new recreation center opened in Provo. My life just keeps getting better and better. They have daycare! They also have awesome swimming outdoor/indoor, kids classes and yoga.

We made July our month of travel but not by car, we decided to use our feet (older girls hate it) and take the bus or front runner everywhere. So far we have loved it. I did forget that swim lessons were this month so I am driving a bit for my own sanity. We have taken the bus with the kids and walked most places with them. I enjoy living where we have the flexibility to walk. Our location is amazing, not a ton of space but who's complaining? I love the neighbors.

So we can swim, go to the library, visit friends, take the bus and really get out now. Life is opening up since the babies are getting older, and with my mother here, I'm less trapped than ever.

I still haven't made a swimming pool in the bed of our truck, and I still haven't made a ride thru bike wash out of PVC pipe. I feel like the summer is already gone! Maybe next year kids. And next year on the flower beds too.

Trying to recreate a favorite Norman Rockwell painting of a girl losing her first tooth.  Hazel was pretty gracious about Claire snatching her "first". 

Us on the Bus

Quinn and her dad

Nate and I walk a few blocks to the Hub and get on the train to Salt Lake for a date

Boot Camp

Maybe you would look at me and think I am just a normal gal. But over the last few years I have grown so much-- I'm not taking about when pregnant with triplets,  five feet around and tipping the scales at 250lbs. I mean my heart, on the inside, what I can endure, what I am capable of carrying.

I guess I wonder how tough I am now, compared to how tough I was before. I wonder if I could hack it at boot camp.

Could I handle a drill sergent yelling in my face. Well, the kids do it to me all the time and I love them like crazy. Constant yelling and babbling, crying and screaming. Hands outstretched to be carried, demands real or imagined that need to be met, the pressure that comes with saying yes (now I have to facilitate something, pull out paint, crayons, mix cakes and clean -up afterwards, all the while fighting off babies so the girls can have an activity) and weight on my heart that comes for saying no. Babies dropping things, ruining things, climbing on counters, water spills, food fights, food wasting, constantly tripping over little people, little people scrums where they all fall over and cry. My heart could be torn in a thousand pieces if I let it.

Exhaustion. I have been wearied to the very core of my soul. So I wonder, if boot camp might not be a little bit of a break.

Swimming

The pool is 8 blocks away. Only 8 blocks! I require myself to walk it. So, I load the babies, the sunscreen, the puddle jumpers, towels, a change of clothes and diapers, snacks and sippy cups.

I get the bikes out for the girls, sometimes my friend Hannah Lee comes with me or Lucy the neighbor girl or sometimes I go alone.

By the time I have everything loaded into the stroller, there is no room for anything for me. Not even a towel. So, I wear my swimming suit to to walk the 8 blocks to the pool and I wear it home, wet legs slapping together as I cross the road. I'm only mentioning this in case you have seen me, now you know that I am not trying to look like a wanton woman running around in my nothins'.

However, even if I did have room to bring a towel or change of clothes, I probably wouldn't. If I took the time to change, someone would be playing in the toilet of the family changing room, and someone else would be testing the pool/pee wet floor with their tongue.  Get into the pool and get home. That's my motto.

Triplets are the orange puddle jumpers. Sitting by Wilson is our buddy Hannah Lee. Hannah, sorry I didn't ask your permission to be photographed or posted. How do you feel about being posted on my blog pregnant in your swim suit? I didn't think so.

Snap Judgement

It is common for us seeing ones attempts at parenting, wow, she is a good mother, or wow bad mommy. I had this experience the other day.

One of the perks of living downtown is that we are a stones throw from lots of wild entertainment. I woke the babies and Hazel up early for such an occasion Nathan was running a race that started around six am. We walked down to cheer him at this finish line, then walk home with him.

While we waited for him near the finish line of a half marathon the crowd was asked by the police to cross to other side of the street. I had the babies in the triplet stroller, Hazel and Claire on bikes. We waited for a break in the racers and I ran across. The girls weren't as quick at gauging their timing as I and they got in the way of a runner. He didn't fall but I saw he was visibly upset with the girls. I felt really bad about my judgement in crossing when I did. In reacting to those feelings, I grabbed Claire while she was still on her bike, picked her up, none too gentle and pulled her bike out of the way of the racers. I did the same with Hazel. I didn't make it look nice, it was clumsy, I was frustrated, embarrassed and sorry. When I dropped Claire back on her bike, I heard a guy yell at me from behind, Hey lady! and Whoa lady! Geez, lady! (I'm not sure I like being called lady even on a good day.)
I felt even worse, but I rallied and in the end, all the cheering the children and I did, made up for any downward dip my emotions experienced about the race crossing.

I sort of wish that instead of saying in our minds a quick judgement, bad mom, or good mom. We could say something that is exactly as we see it, not just a judgement for all time.  Wow, that mom seems more worried about the racers feelings than her own childrens' feelings. Or, that mom is acting out of guilt and concern over what just happened with that racer. See, no bad mom here, just a mom that is trying. Like we all are.

Darn The French

I recently read a sample of a book called, French Children Eat Everything. I was so inspired by their eating habits, I decided to put some of them into play that very night. I made a really delicious Ratatouille with zucchini and cauliflower, mushrooms, peppers, onions and loads of tomatoes and garlic.

In the french opinion, if your children don't like something, it is because they haven't tried it enough, americans don't let their children try healthy food enough before they give up serving it. We sat down to eat, well some of us did. Hazel was bouncing up and down in panic mode, 'I'm not gonna eat that!' Flapping her hands and grabbing her mouth. Because that behavior is her usual custom for anything without sugar in it, I was undeterred. I turned to the babies, Wilson was lapping it up. Quinn was tentative, James was smearing it all over his tray, he wouldn't even try it. Claire was tolerant.

Kindly, I held James' hands so he couldn't refuse and started feeding him. His reply was gagging and intermittent sharp cries. Quinn started to cry, fearing for James. I plied James with a few more bites.

By the end of the meal, it had escalated to this, Quinn threw up because she was upset for James, James and Hazel were crying because they didn't want to eat it, Claire wet her pants out of some sympathetic reaction to our family crisis and Wilson asked for another bowl.

For right now, just eating around the table without anyone crawling on it or throwing their food is a major victory for us. I chose to be happy with that.

A Donut to Defend

Quinn eats really slow. She keeps her fingers clean and uses the right utensil for the job. The boys are still holding a fork in one hand while scooping breakfast into their mouths with their hands.

One busy day the triplets were eating donuts in their highchairs. James and Wilson scarfed theirs down. I washed them and set them to play. In a stroke of genius, I handed Quinn a spatula to defend herself against the circling shark brothers eager to cash in on a quick duck and grab. I will not make excuses for myself!

This Is Our House

This is the new City Center Provo Temple, it is well under construction. Once it was a historical community hall,  then severely damaged in a fire, the church decided to restore it as a holy temple. We walk by it every few days to check out the diggers and see any new progress. This is our temple. It is built with our love for God and our faith. It is a few blocks from our house. When it opens, before it is dedicated, people can walk thru and visit it. You are welcome to come and stay at our house, we will walk over and tour it together!  Neither Nate or I want to move until we can walk to our temple!

This Quinny is one pleasant grampa loving kind of girl. (Honestly, it is like Hazel, Claire and Quinn are the triplets and my two boys are just... yahoos.) 

Helping with strawberry jam

Least you think it's all tulips and strawberries over here, this is something to ponder on... since the weather is warm and we are not wearing onesies anymore, this duct taping is the pre-nap ritual to assure that no one has to clean up anything nasty after naps and yes, the duct tape goes all around

Raiding Dads closet again. These girls are trouble

Why does everyone have a thing for Quinns pink boots?

Girl

Somehow, over the last few weeks a teenage girl fell into our life and began living with us. I don't know how long she will stay. That depends on a judge and a court case and her father in jail. I wouldn't willingly take just anyone into my home. Heather fits us. I have a soft spot for her and I always have.

She is most recently from Oklahoma and has been to 4 different schools in the last year. I enrolled her in her fifth school of the year, as I made appointments with counselors and teachers to get her caught up, her response was, "Sherry, don't worry about it. I'm always like this." Like what? Behind? "Yah."

I found myself wondering what do thirteen year old girls like? What do we even have to interest her? We have no TV, toys or books for her age group. I didn't have to worry long. She now follows me around the house regaling me with tales of her crush at school.

I took her to the library. We loaded up on books. I believe she is proud of her current accomplishments in book reading.

Heather has always lived with cousins and extended family. Ever since I have known her (when she was a little girl living on our street), she was the babysitter at her house, she was in charge of the siblings and cousins while parents worked or drank. She even potty trained them. She often had to stay home from school to tend young ones.

She is a bit of a misunderstood godless misfit. A girl that looks like she belongs with the other gangster kids but only because that what Walmart's selling for clothes, and that's where cheap clothes are bought. But that isn't who she is one the inside. I see her tough guarded facade when she looks at facebook, I hear her calling people names and smirking about her friends. But that isn't who she is. In our home, she is kind, funny, pensive and playful when she wants to be.

She was overwhelmed with some gifts of body lotion and clothes a neighbor gave her. Others have offered to buy her necessities but she wouldn't even know what to do with all the newness.

Hazel and Claire have gathered her right in as a big sister and loved her. We all do. From what she has told me, she is too defiant to live with relatives anymore. I haven't seen it yet, but I may someday. I offer her my trust and love, hoping she will see a better way of life. It has opened my eyes to my own hypocrisies and wastefulness.

Bless her, she helps me with the babies, does what she is asked and reinforces things I am teaching the girls. I am impressed by her. She is a friend to me.

She sleeps on our couch. There isn't a bedroom for her. I wish there was. Nate and I even talked about buying a new house with more rooms if she was to be here long term. We really don't know her future.

Coping with Threats

Disclaimer: You may, dear reader, read my thoughts on anxiety and think, this lady knows nothing of real life of real anxiety. All I know is, if something is hard, it is hard. Difficulties are custom to each of us, whether I have no children, or I'm dealing with death in the family, illness, money concerns or three babies at the same time. Trauma is trauma. If it is hard for you, than it is a trial, and that's okay.

So many times I have wanted God to take the anxiety problem away from me, maybe I could have taken a pill and made it all go away (I haven't ruled out this option, but it is back burner right now, as I've gotten this far) but as I look back He has made me strong instead of taking it away. And I see the progress I have made over time and I am glad for it. How often I have taken a quiet moment in my room praying for a miracle, that I can calm down, feel peace or patience. I never felt like the miracles came all at once. But instead I was just taught how to manage it. I have learned so much in the fight to stay calm, and just by using the word "fight" I have betrayed myself again!

Anxiety is just a word, maybe it's not even the right word for explaining myself but this is how it is for me. Anxiety is the multitudinous threatening thoughts that go through my head in the milliseconds after an event. An event could be anything- people talking over each other, babies crying, witnessing unkindnesses, something I can't control. When I feel threatened, my adrenaline starts to increase. The increase in adrenaline sends extra oxygen into my bloodstream. I suddenly have a kick of energy and I go into fight mode. I must be some kind of crazy warrior. Brain people call it the fight or flight instinct. I fight. Fight myself, try not to fight my kids and friends! Never fight my husband.

Quinn has the habit of finding crayons or markers and sneaking off to a quiet place to practice her artistry, unfortunately not on paper.  A week ago, I caught Quinn coloring and again,  I couldn't get the marker stains out so I had been on guard, watching out for any spare writing tools in her reach.

Within a few days, I caught her again. I also caught myself on the verge...
These are a few of the multitudinous thoughts that snaked and exaggerated their way through my head.

1. Great! Now we look like trashy people. Markers all over the couch. I'm never going to get that out and as soon as someone comes in here these scribbles are all they are going to see!
2. I don't want to look ghetto, maybe we could buy a new couch. How can I reallocate funds to buy a new couch? How much do they cost?
3. Mad. Who left this out? Who was so carelessly coloring that they let Quinn wander away with this?
4. Mad at myself. Why should I even care what other people think? We are raising a family under God the outcome is the goal not how it looks. I love my children more than I want to wreck them for coloring on the couch.
5. Mad at people that judge that was going to walk in my home a condemn me for having marker on the couch. Who does that anyway?
6. What else is going to get ruined?
7. This kid is going to be a felon. Am I ruining my kids? I must not be a good mom.

Those thoughts hit me all within milliseconds, so it wasn't just that Quinn colored where she wasn't supposed to, it was that my standard of living in society and my standing as a valuable daughter of God was challenged all in those few seconds. I had condemned my family and myself for one scribbly act. I'm really not doing myself any favors telling anyone about this, and I'm not sure I am explaining myself as a wish but I am learning how to manage my fears, I joke that there is a bubble of serenity around my head that I now know how to retreat into it when times get too loud. I am safe, I am at peace!

I spent the first few years of Hazel and Claire's life in guilt, berating myself for being in fight mode, running on adrenaline and not being good at controlling my instincts-- not knowing that I was letting anxiety control me, not even know what it was! (Never mind that motherhood is just really hard sometimes, let's add some more guilt and anger to it.) We had prayed for years to have children, and when Hazel finally came, I guess I thought I would have it all together and never lose my sweet temper. When I did, I thought maybe I hadn't prepared myself well enough and that I really was a terrible person. (People like me for some reason have enough guilt on their plate, would you like some?) It wasn't because Hazel was a tough baby but because I didn't understand what was going on inside my head. I had always had lots of exercise or had some some type of creative outlet before children. I didn't know at the time but exercise manages anxiety. I had this little newborn in front of me to care for, and Claire growing inside of me, it was new water and I didn't know how to paddle so well.

Once the adrenaline builds up, it takes hours to come down. Hours that I still need to manage my family and home in a loving way. Hours that if I feel threatened again, I may react unkindly and slip-up, then I would break my children or husbands trust and if I do that... oh sorry there it goes again, that circle of worrying myself into a blow-up. Here I am raising my little group of felons again! They sure are cute though.

Fast Sunday is NOT Fast

In our church, we have something called Fast Sunday. It is the first Sunday of every month. We voluntarily abstain from food and drink for two consecutive meals. We combine fasting with prayer and ask God for help with special blessings. We take the money we would have spent on food and donate it to our Bishop. He carefully accounts for and manages our charitable donations to helps those in need.

To me, there is something peaceful about fasting. My body enjoys the reprieve that comes for abstaining from food. Since I have had a stomachache since the day I was born, I enjoy the placid peace of eating nothing and wonder why I don't have the stamina to starve myself more often?

Because we try to cook simple meals on fast Sunday, I spend less time in the kitchen and I feel as though there is more time for reflection and meditation. (It has taken years of study but I finally know how to meditate, hmm..maybe I will do a blog post about it someday.)

When I fast to be strong enough to overcome something, or to never let my thoughts go down certain dark roads, it is galvanizing to my soul to be actively working on overcoming weakness. I feel it bring me closer to God. When I fast for blessings to be given to loved ones, my love grows and I become more humble. The byproducts of fasting are well worth the discomfort.
Yes, I want to eat! Yes, I'm starving! But there will be time for that later. I just enjoy tuning my feelings to things that I can't usually feel when I have my mind on food.

Picture This

Hazel and Claire enjoying the company of sisters Tori and Macy

Wilson fulfills his lifelong ambition to drive and now has nothing more to live for

It's winter, I am always on to lookout for places out of the home to play. So it ends up that James is in heaven on the crock pot/rice cooker/popcorn aisle at the thrift store. Interestingly, the items named are the things he carries around our house all day and has subsequently broken. Lid on, lid off, lid on, lid off. Oops, sorry mom.

I'm trying to decide which of the two girls (Quinn or Hazel) loves playing in the snow more, Quinn who eats snow like candy and fights not to have to go inside when her wimpy brothers get cold...

Or Hazel, who wanders around our backyard playing for hours, shoveling in snowdrifts, swinging on frozen swings and knocking down icicles

Sophie and Claire build a snowman. (Does this snowman look a little like a Calvin and Hobbs snowman?)

Christmas Review

Christmas was spend with Nathan's family at a cabin his grandfather built in McCall, Idaho. They call it The Ranch. It has a large open plan house, a hot springs swimming pool and sleeps several families. What a sweet legacy to leave your family, a place to gather and enjoy each others company, usually...

Had I known how sick my sweet little family was before we left we would have never been there. Wilson threw up the Monday before we left. That was it. Two days later, we left for Boise. Fevers, barking coughs, hacking up lungs, lethargy, ear infections and stomach flu are all gifts we gave for Christmas. Now, can you see why I am not that eager to go back? Ever.

I held sick kids, wished I was closer to a pharmacy, watched them get worse and worse. By the time we got home, Wilson had double ear infections, James had one too and everyone received a diagnosis of Bronchiolitis. A deep chest cold for the big girls but darn near killed my babies, not to mention all the cousin babies that were up at the Ranch. 

All total, we were down for about three weeks again! I keep wondering, we are healthy people with decent immune systems, how did this happen again? It came out of the blue and wiped the floor with us, including me. If we were living in the 1800s, I would have lost half my children. 

I am still recovering and feel extremely humbled by the whole thing. At the Ranch, every cough from my children, grated on me and was like a hangman's noose around my neck, getting tighter and tighter. I wasn't my cheerful usual self. I'm sorry. If you got sick because you shared your Christmas with us, I am so sorry, I was sick with worry for you and your family. Grammy, you never get sick, and you got sick. Thank you for holding fevering children and sharing our load. Grumpy, thank you for taking special care of Quinny, she healed the quickest.

We are not big spenders for Christmas, the babies received two little gifts, not that they will remember and Hazel and Claire collectively, got one gift from us but it was a good one. In the summer, my friend Mary Kate was getting ready to go to college and decided to sell her dollhouse. I bought it from her, and a rubbermaid tub that held accessories. I didn't look too much into it, I shoved it in the basement and put a grimy dust cover over it. I didn't know what a treasure I had. For years, Mary Kate had meticulously gathered every dollhouse piece known to man, sewn tiny blankets for beds and pillowcases, collected animals, tea service, cupcake tins, dolls and dolls for dolls. That dollhouse is one of the best purchases I have ever made (besides the limo) and the only gift Haz and Claire got from us ahem, Santa. Thanks to Mary Kate. Long live the dollhouse!

In No Particular Order...

Hazel, New Years party at the Mall, one determined little climber. She didn't make it to the top but she swears next year she will. Chill out kid, you're five. I'm not sure I could make it. Although next year, I promise to try and climb with Hazel and I will sing karaoke -just to get myself scared stupid. Actually, I'm torn between going to Idaho and participating in the polar bear swim or going back to the beloved mall New Years party.

My finest kitchen help. These two, James and Wilson are always lurking around in the kitchen trying to get up on a stool and wash dishes or help mom cook

Legendary Dollhouse

Merry Christmas Kids.

Happy New Years

Found princesses, must stare. Lost blue balloon dog, can you see it?