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?)