growth

My little Gabriel learned to read this week and I had nothing to do with it.

Books are the sustenance of life in our household. My boys eat, drink and breathe the printed page. Erik always has a wish list on Amazon.com and we read, discuss and fight over copies of the latest and greatest. Despite all the library posters urging children to "JUST READ" our family obsession is not something I'm necessarily proud of. Stefan's 6th grade teacher often challenged him to "reduce his book dependence" and Erik loves to chasten the boys to "stop reading and go watch TV like a normal kid."

Still, it has been a point of shame for the older boys that Gabe hadn't developed a passionate relationship with books. They are always worried that I'm slacking off with the two younger ones and that they will grow up spoiled, choreless and unschooled.

And to some extent their worries are valid. I'm just worn out in so many ways. Why put a little kid in music lessons when it's so much easier to start later? Why fight a six year to wash the dishes when his four older siblings are perfectly capable? Why go through the tedium of flashcards when they're going to learn to read anyway? Yeah, yeah. I'll get around to that later.

Gabe's progress has been my job and I've been a slacker. The deal: he reads to me and then I read to him. But I'm lazy and let him recite his little preschool readers before moving on to the joys of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Bedtime stories have been happy, snuggly, kissy, but not exactly academic.

But this week Erik took over.

After family prayers, Erik sent me off to tuck Mary in bed while he assumed the education of Gabriel. Gabe cried and clung to my leg while Mary complained that I don't do the voices as well as daddy. And while I love Miss Mary, I get plenty of hours with her during the day. My heart ached at losing my time with Gabriel.

But within minutes I heard laughter from Gabe's room. There they sat, happily reading books I would have never pulled off the shelf for little Gabe. Ironically, he read Are You My Mother? (Ben's first book) just to make me cry. Erik waits patiently and makes Gabriel sound out every word without simply filling in the blanks for him (my bad habit).

then Mary joined the party

"I can read Mom!" he cried, "I can really read." And there I stood feeling completely useless.

I read a study years ago where they'd measured children every day for a year. And they found that kids did indeed grow overnight. Not in 1/16s or 1/8s of inches like you'd suspect but in 1/4 , 1/2 and quite often full inches. That seems so symbolic of parenthood and children in general-- changes happen literally overnight and life is never quite the same again.

With 6 children I work to interact with them in little ways every day-- driving to a lesson, practicing the violin, the 15 minutes before the elementary kids come home-- but life is constantly changing and I have to find new ways to connect. They are each so incredibly important to me.

Gabe read Green Eggs and Ham next-- easy as pie!-- and Erik reached over to switch off the light.

"But I need Mom! I need Harry Potter!"

And although it was way too late, I snuggled in his bed, collected my hugs and kisses and read a full chapter of good old Harry. Because my days are numbered.....

Nanette

I met darling 5-week-old Nanette through her Aunt Emily who stalks my blog. Goodness, is there anything more fun than meeting someone who reads your blog and LIKES it? It's this strange sort of validation that maybe I am really an OK person. Emily set up this photoshoot for her sister who was visiting from California and the whole thing was so comfortable because Emily gives off this old friend, happy sort of vibe. Still, she is in trouble for two reasons:

1. She never says 'hello' when she visits my blog.
2. She doesn't have a blog of her own so that I can stalk HER!

So if anyone else is out there, come forward and say hello!

OK, friends, we have to be nice here. No one can hate Kaitlin (Nanette's mommy) for being so breathtakingly, drop dead gorgeous. Cause she's just as nice as she is beautiful. I promise.

my messy life

Tuesdays, 10 a.m., my house.

Wear your sweaty exercise clothes or your swanky duds, by all means bring your nursing baby or your screaming toddler, come late or leave early and settle in for an hour of honest, passionate gospel discussion and tears.

I've hosted scripture group at my house since I moved in over 4 years ago. We use the LDS Institute manuals and take turns leading the discussion week after week. I suppose it's much like a Bible group in other Christian churches, except, ya know, we have twice as much to study. ;) Our group is decidedly unacademic (we just want to apply it to our lives) and word of mouth has granted us a diverse group of savvy, funny, truly incredible women, aged 18-72, whom I adore.

Children are decidedly welcome and many weeks I have 20 little people-- all 5 or under-- crawling, running and swinging through the house.

I love it. I love everything about it. Besides raising my children, scripture group is the coolest thing I do. You do realize you're invited?

But I will admit that having a house ready for visitors by 10 a.m. every Tuesday is a Herculean task. Xander has a violin lesson on Tuesday mornings and the elementary kids are left unsupervised at home until they leave for school at 9. I don't think you need six kids to appreciate the destruction that can take place in a perfectly tidy house between the hours of 6 and 9 a.m. Truly a wonder.

The best part of my obnoxiously ostentatious house is this incredible great room that takes up 1/2 the main floor. It is foyer/kitchen/dining/music and family room all in one great open space. 90% of our waking hours are spent in this room and the open path from the front door to the back porch form a shortcut for half the kids in the neighborhood. It is indeed, the ultimate party room; and it's impossible to keep clean.

This morning I flew in from the lesson, got everyone out the door with kisses and peanut butter sandwiches, negotiated the day's outfit with Mary(a blog post of it's own) and checked the schedule to see who was teaching scripture group today. NO ONE. A big fat empty hole. Yeah, that means it's me.

So I looked around my incredibly messy great room and made the conscious decision to leave it AS IS. I did the basics: clean the toilet (ick!), move the furniture back into place (what? your furniture doesn't get moved ALL. DAY. LONG?) and wipe the counter where my friends like to rest their books and elbows.

I did of course, steal a moment to document the chaos...

the coliseum set up in the music room, complete with zip-line

I couldn't resist giving Zeus a ride.

Mary's Store in the corner, where, much to the boys' dismay, she sells their lunch supplies.

the floor-- everywhere.

appropriately, Mary wore her piggy shirt. She lounges while I panic.

My friends arrived at 10 and we were so involved in our tear-filled(always), heartfelt discussion that no one mentioned the smashed cheerios in the carpet or the cereal boxes on the counter.
The hour wrapped up with cute Sam running up from the basement with blood pouring from his mouth. Mary had been demonstrating her prowess in jumping from the fireplace mantle to the bean bag and he followed with painful consequences. When will these boys learn that Mary is a terrible example?

As we mopped up blood I pointed out my messy desk to Holly (as if she couldn't see it), "Ah," she replied, "it's good. Makes you seem more human."

Her words gave me pause. Most of my scripture group friends (some live across town) see me only on Tuesday mornings when my house is clean, my outfit coordinated and my hair blow -dryed. It's not an accurate picture of my life.

Here, amongst my blogging friends, I inevitably show you more of the sunny side of life, but I hope there's enough honesty to keep me human. I'm not afraid to share my foibles with you.

As my friends left scripture group this morning, Mary pulled roses off my fading bushes and strew petals all over the porch and into the hall. She wanted everyone to "be like a princess on their way home."

It's another mess to sweep up later. But a beautiful mess, yes indeed.

Who needs a smile today?

Audrey Pay in her blessing dress...

and one of Mary, just for fun.

finding her own way

Driving home Sunday, something in the atmosphere made Mary think this was the absolute, best, most necessary time in the world to get a happy meal. I'm not much of a McD mommy any day of the week, but we Mormons take the Sabbath pretty seriously so I didn't even consider her request, especially two minutes from home and a well-stocked pantry.

But Mary persisted, "I neeeeeeeeeeeeed a Happy Meal. I'll DIE without a Happy Meal."

The boys were horrified, "But it's Sunday, Mary. We don't go out on Sunday."

"Is this about church?" my little spitfire retorted, "Cause I don't care about church. I don't care about the stupid gospel. I NEED a Happy Meal."

Smothering laughter, I drove home while Mary muttered "stupid gospel, stupid gospel" from the confines of her car seat.

If she were my first child, or even my 3rd, 4th or 5th I might have been horrified. Where did I fail in teaching her? What about all those "little children are so close to Jesus" stories?

But in Mary, I have learned to admire her audacity. By all accounts I was a mellow little girl: eager to please and unquestioning of any authority. It wasn't until later in life that I had to discover WHY I believe and not simply WHAT I believe.

Mary's face is such a mirror of my own that I occasionally forget that we are separate people, that she has a life outside my arms and ideals. But Mary dances with a confidence I've never owned. She struts down the hall at church and parts the wave of people with the sheer force of her spunky personality. At school, she supervises the playground games as each child obediently bends to her will.

She's a powerful little person and if I try to control her every action I will surely fail. My job is to teach her kindness, charity and compassion (all synonyms really) and if she eventually chooses a life of Happy Meals each Sunday, so be it.

Just be sure to thank the poor kid who makes your hamburger, sweetie.

smashing pumpkins

In the spring, we mulched the garden patch, built little mounds and planted pumpkin seeds. All summer long we watched as the seeds sprouted, grew and quickly overtook the garden. The vines sprawled into the playset and crept under the fence into our neighbor's yard.

Every few weeks a child pulled me to the garden patch, where we counted 1, 2, 3, 4....

By harvest we had 19 large pumpkins and dozens of the little tinies.

Lucy admiring the barfing pumpkin-- my boys read waaaaaaay too much Calvin & Hobbes.

For a few weeks the pumpkins are showcased on the front porch and then carved into fantastical designs for their grand, lighted premiere on Halloween night.

But then, after All-Hallows eve, they are shrunken, useless, pitiful. So we like to give them one last hurrah.

Up the stairs....

Through the attic access in the laundry room...

And to the top of the roof, where in a 2 minute barrage of flashing orange missiles they are tossed one by one to the driveway. Screams ring from above and below as each pumpkin transforms to squash.

And it doesn't hurt that election day comes right on the heels of Halloween. Call it a celebration or a time to vent. Either way, it's a smashing good time.

ready for next year

rainy Sunday

everyone has a sugar hangover today.

Erik and I went to a party last night. Gotta love the post-Halloween fest-- I just surveyed all my friend's costumes on the 31st and stole the best one for the 1st. Thanks Brenda. Erik went as a polygamist, which I found so creepy that I could hardly stand to talk to him. Hmm, let's go for Superman next year, 'k honey?

Arriving home, my repentant polyg swept the kitchen floor and came up with this:

Scary, huh?

I may be easygoing about Halloween candy consumption but clearly they have descended to rank slothfulness. Not cool.

It's kind of a depressing day. Rain poured all morning and battered the roof and windows at church. Driving home from church it was already twilight. The dark short days of winter have arrived. But we made a big pot-roast dinner, played tag and UNo and made the best of it.

As bedtime approached, I looked at the two sinks filled with dirty dishes and spilling onto the counter in every direction. "Who's on dishes?" I asked.

Ben waved his hand from the computer desk where he was fiercely typing away at a paper on The Scarlet Letter.

Without pause, Stefan abandoned his book on the couch and strode to the sink, "I'll do them. I was on table setting and that's pretty easy."

And he did. Filling the sink with steamy, soapy water, he scrubbed dish after dish-- crock pot, mixing bowls, saucepans, two skillets from pancakes, dozens of plates and bowls and piles of silverware. I moved around the kitchen straightening and sweeping, completely awed by his simple, quiet kindness.

Beautiful.