Berkley's Hair Intervention

One thing we did this summer (yes, I'm still catching up on summer) is a major intervention on Berkley's hair. I had been told over and over that it would not be easy to take care of African American hair, and I totally believed the rumors, but nonetheless, somehow my baby ended up with a mess of hair that needed major help.

See what I mean?

LOL! Just kidding!

Seriously though. Here are a few shots of her hair before the intervention.

Is this heart-warming or what? I love this picture! That hair, though? Not so much.

The fro!

Very blurry (sorry), but this is what she looked like some mornings. A mohawk fro. Gotta love it.

We tried doing different things with it to make it look cute:

Pigtails are super cute, but the truth is, I couldn't even comb the hair into those--I just grabbed it and stuffed it in.

Super cute from the front--not as cute from the back. Plus, she would only leave that headband in for hmm. . . let's see. . a couple of minutes. Little rascal.

The worst part is that I couldn't even comb through it in the back anymore. I'm not sure how or when it got that way. It's like one day we woke up and her hair was super thick and extra curly and no amount of hair product would do the trick.

That's when I knew it was time for an intervention. So, we followed the advice of another family with children who had unmanageable black hair and set up an appointment. I was nervous, let me tell you. I was certain these women were going to hang me up by my toenails when they saw Berkley's hair.

I took Hallee with me for extra moral support. They didn't hang me up by my toenails, but they did reprimand me just a little bit. I'm sure to them I sounded like an idiot as I tried to explain the products I had been using on her hair and how often, etc. I had been washing it, trying to comb it, etc.

That's when they gave me the 411 concerning the treatment Berkley's hair should really be getting, and they went to work. Poor Berkley!!! Two hours later we left the salon, but it was a long, grueling two hours, let me tell you! I felt like the worst mother in the universe for allowing my baby's hair to get to the point they had to go to such drastic measures to save it (It was starting to turn into dreadlocks--yikes!).

We decided the best form of action would be to chemically straighten her hair so we could comb through all of it and get rid of the dreads. It took both Hallee and I to hold her and keep her hand down while the cosmetologist applied the very potent straightening cream. Berkley did not like it one little bit. Then it took two stylists to get it rinsed out.

This was the worst part. After applying the straightener, they had to comb through her head of very tangled curls. It took forever and was very painful. I felt like crying right along with Berkley.

Is this heartbreaking or what?

 Hallee held her while she got her hair straightened with a straight iron at the end of the process. I was pretty much physically, and especially emotionally, spent by this point.

Teenage daughters sure come in handy sometimes, especially sweet ones like this one:)

 Apparently Berkley was even more exhausted than I was! She fell sound asleep while they styled her hair. The trauma was over at this point, and she was completely tuckered out.

So sweet!

 The end result was worth it, I just have to say. I did want to bawl once again, however, when I first saw her. My two-year-old looked like she was at least four!! BUT I could comb through her hair! It was a miracle!!!

I sure love this little beauty!

Here is a picture of the back. Who knew her hair was so long? They actually cut about three inches off the back, too. 

In the end, we all survived the process, but it was a life-lesson for me, to be sure. I whipped through the beauty supply store on the way home to gather all the products they suggested I use on Berkley's hair, and I have faithfully combed through it every day since! I definitely do not want to repeat that little experience again!

We now have a huge basket of hair products just for Berkley. It's a little ironic we use more products on our two-year-old than on the rest of our family combined, but after our experience this summer, I just go with it. Some things just have to be. And besides, she's absolutely worth it!!

Her hair is actually still curly, which I love. It's just more manageable now. I think it is beautiful!

It's All About the Climb

I feel like motherhood has been getting the best of me lately. It's like I'm climbing a mountain where breathtaking views await at the top, but despite my rigorous efforts to get there, I'm not getting any closer. I'm just climbing and climbing but not moving upward. It's a pretty terrible feeling truthfully, and so I've been pondering a lot lately just why I'm not moving up that mountain.

I am a person who thrives on personal growth and change. I find it so refreshing! I am a goal-setter, someone who loves to make to-do lists and then work hard to cross everything off the list. I love to see progress! I think that's one reason I enjoy teaching preschool so much--young children learn so quickly and grow so much throughout the school year, and I love seeing that growth. Most importantly though, I feel a need to see our family growing in all the right directions and to feel myself growing as a mother. And I think that is what has concerned me lately. Because of different challenges with certain children, parenting has been very difficult--even grueling--and it has made the climb seem unbearably hard at times and progress seem haltingly slow, and all of it has made me wonder if I am completely failing.

It's then I have to take a step back and remind myself that it's not always about getting to the top of that mountain. Yes, the view up there is great, but there is so much to be said about the intensity, the sweat, and the effort of the climb. My days right now are full of struggle. I am constantly putting out fires and working just to keep my head above water, between one child's emotional and physical struggles and one little two-year-old's consistent trouble. Add a husband who is working six days a week, a busy teenage daughter, an almost 12-year-old son who is constantly testing boundaries, and one other child who needs my time and attention--not to mention preschool, church callings and personal illnesses I've been dealing with--and I can't help but feel completely overwhelmed on a regular basis. Now, I realize all of this is just normal life and a lot of people have it much worse than I do BUT it's still a lot, and I have been struggling.

Most nights I fall into bed just thankful to have survived another day. I curl the covers up under my chin, giddy at the prospect of sleep because I am so exhausted. But then sleep doesn't come. I begin to think about the issues going on in our lives, and especially the important, deep issues concerning our children and our future, and my mind and heart will not rest. I remind myself that tomorrow I will be tirelessly following Berkley around, pulling her out of moments of trouble, or better yet, running around trying to prevent the moments of trouble; that I will more than likely be dealing with more resistance from Boston to do what he is asked, more melt downs, more moments of complete frustration that he cannot/does not/will not (I'm not sure which is most accurate at this point) do his simple morning responsibilities and be the contributing member of our family that I feel strongly a capable seven-year-old boy should be by now; that Nate is going to make a big deal of little things and do all he can to cause an outburst from Regyn; and that Regyn, no matter how often we have worked on it, cannot and will not be able to just ignore Nate, and so the outburst will occur. And I know that sleep would definitely help me deal more patiently and capably with these inevitable issues, but yearning for rest only seems to make it more evasive.

Berkley started peeing her pants out of the blue just over a week ago. She went from hardly ever having an accident to having five in one day. Then even more the next day, and it has continued since then. No matter how hard I try, I cannot make it through a day without her having accidents. I have no idea why. I finally took a urine sample to the doctor to see if she had a bladder infection or something. Nope. Apparently, she just needs more attention. Or something. On top of that, she has poured a bottle of lotion into her carpet, which she tried cleaning up herself with a whole carton of wet wipes, shattered a number of Christmas tree ornaments on our already sparsely decorated Christmas tree, scribbled on my preschool tables with crayon, painted her toenails on my bedroom carpet (which now has a blue stain), torn pages out of books, gotten into and eaten candy or ruined many of the older children's belongings in their closet--the list goes on and on.

This is my children decorating the tree (it's a very small tree this year since we are still in the basement). Notice Berkley sneaking off with an ornament. The fact that she is a blur actually means she was speeding off with the ornament.

Here she is as Regyn is trying to patiently teach her how to place an ornament on the tree. Not an hour later, she broke that very ornament.

Here is the tree today--after my sweet mother-in-law replaced some of the broken ornaments.

You may wonder where I was when all of this was going on. Let me tell you. RIGHT HERE. This child is like no other child I have ever known, and certainly like no other child I have ever raised. She has to be accounted for at all times. And I mean all times! I seriously cannot turn my back or go to the bathroom or take a shower some days without this darling little child getting into trouble. It's completely exhausting. She is just naturally curious and very capable and an amazing climber, and by golly, this girl is determined if nothing else! I left her with my mother-in law for an hour the other day while I went to physical therapy for my neck. I warned my mother-in-law that she needed careful watching or she would pee her pants or break ornaments off the tree (even though I had warned and taught and trained and worked to teach her not to touch that tree) or who knows what. My mother-in-law nodded and smiled, and I came home an hour later to Berkley sitting on my couch in wet pants and shattered ornaments in her hands. "Where's Grandma?" I asked. She was in the other room for a few moments on the computer. Well, that is a perfectly acceptable thing to do when watching a child normally, but not this child.

When we put Berkley to bed at 7:00 every night (that's when she doesn't nap--if she naps, we are in serious trouble because we can't get that girl to bed until very late), the whole family breaths a sigh of relief, because even though we love her more than words can say, she is more work than a new puppy. It is taking the whole family's effort (mostly mine, of course) to get through every day. After an especially rough morning the other day, one of my children said in frustration, "Oh, I just can't wait until Berkley is eight years old!" I felt sad at the comment, but even more sad that I felt similar feelings at times. I mean, she takes constant parenting, diligent parenting, and it is so hard. I am on my knees, eye to eye with her many times throughout each day, patiently trying to teach her what is appropriate behavior and what is not. She is not easy. And in a terrible moment of complete frustration the other day, my mind hollered internally, Is this worth it? And then I gasped audibly, so disappointed in myself that those words had even formed and that thought had ever crossed my mind. I strode across the room in an instant and picked up my baby girl and held her so tight. And then I thought over and over, You are worth it. You are so worth it. Because she is.

This little girl that causes me so much stress, that makes me work so hard, is teaching me so very much. Yes, she is making the climb difficult and slow and grueling, but because she demands so much more of me--so much patience, so much self control, so much time, so much attention, so much love--I can only hope I am becoming more. This stretching is painful and exhausting, but it's also what I need. And honestly, there's nothing else I would rather be expending all of my time and energy on than these children of mine--but if they didn't demand it, maybe I would get distracted and give the best of myself to something or someone less important. I know at times I find myself exhorting to what I call "lazy parenting," which is basically sitting back and letting things go in to auto-drive for a while. It never works for long before everything falls apart. Good parenting is hard work. All the time. But the fruit of the labor is so worth it.

I mean, these five children I have, they make every day a challenge, but they also make every day worth living. And this mountain I'm climbing, I just don't think the views at the top would be as glorious or mean as much if the climb to get there wasn't so difficult. So, even though progress is slow at times and sometimes it feels like I'm at a complete standstill, I am grateful to be on the mountain. And sometimes I just have to remember, it's really all about the climb. There will be times the slopes will be steep and scary and other times when we'll reach a little plateau and I can catch my breath a little; what matters in the end is that I keep climbing and never give up. I'll probably have a lot of cuts and scrapes and bruises along the way, but that will only mean we didn't take the easy route, and that's ok because the most important things always take the greatest effort.

(*Disclaimer: When I started writing this blog post, I had no intentions of it turning into a metaphor about a climb up a mountain, but then it just happened to go that direction and I realized motherhood does seem like a difficult climb. I just want to make it clear, however, that although I happen to love the "Life's a Climb" song by Miley Cyrus, I really struggle to support anything to do with her right now as she has made some pretty poor life choices for a while. Just had to throw that in since it seems I stole her phrase. Love the song and the idea--don't love her image. )

Three Little Girls

Once upon a time three little girls were born.

The first came to a family who already had four children of their own but felt someone was missing. To them she was a miracle. Her name was Berkley.

The second came to a family who wondered if they would be able to have more children. To them, she too was a miracle. Her name was Brylee.

The third came to a family at a very unexpected time, a time when her family needed an extra person to love. She, of course, was a miracle. Her name was Makyla.

Three beautiful baby girls. Three miracles. All born within one month of each other. All cousins.

Brylee, Berkley, Makyla.

These baby girls started to grow and three distinct personalities began to develop.

Poor Brylee had a huge bump on her forehead in this picture. Makyla was not loving this.

One was a cowgirl (Brylee):

One was a diva (Makyla):

Is this hilarious or what?? I love it!!!

Who says divas need panties? LOL! Is this the cutest picture?

And one. . . well, she's a little bit of everything (Berkley):

-Volleyball Player

 -Knight Rider

-Goofball

 -Rapper

-Carmel Apple Taster

-Fashion Designer

Love this!!! When this girl gets herself dressed, I smile clear to my toes!

-Soccer Player?

Sometimes the girls were best of friends. . .

Sometimes two of them at a time played really well together. . .

Makyla and Berkley

Berkley and Brylee

Makyla and Brylee

. . . AND sometimes two of them at a time got in A LOT of trouble together. And I mean A LOT!

Like this past weekend when we were visiting Grandma and Grandpa's home in Cokeville. That is when these two innocent-looking two-year-olds decided to wreak total havoc every time their mothers got together to catch up on what had been going on in their lives (and might have, sort of forgotten for a few moments they had two-year-olds they should be keeping a close eye on).

Oh, I know they look incredibly, adorably innocent and sweet, but oh goodness, what trouble they can get into!!!

It all started when one mother (me) kept ignoring that nagging little voice inside her head that kept saying, you should probably go check on your daughter--she might be getting into mischief. Although this mother has been around the block a few times and knows this is a voice not to be ignored, she was in desperate need of a break and was so enjoying the carefree moments in the overstuffed chair in her mother's living room and so decided instead to go with the motto, The luxury of this moment is worth whatever mess I will have to clean up later.

What this unwise woman may have forgotten to take into account in her blissful state was that her little two-foot tornado might be doing something that affected others as well as herself.

Like unraveling an entire scarf her mother had knitted.

Or chewing an entire package of her mother's gum.

All while her daughter's partner-in-crime (not mentioning any names but it's that beautiful little girl in the green sweater on the right up there) wrote checks in her mother's checkbook.

That's right. These little girls went through my mother's purse! They emptied the entire thing and did as much damage as two little people can do in a few minute's time. My sister Katie and I tried covering up the whole fiasco before our mother found out (naughty, I know), but it's not like we could just knit up another scarf or unchew some gum! Therefore we found ourselves in trouble right along with our little girls, and all we could do was apologize. When you're guilty, you're guilty. We promised to do a better job of taking care of our children and put the purse back together the best we could.

Shaking our heads we plopped back in our easy chairs and resumed our conversation, chuckling to ourselves at how naughty little children can be. It wasn't long, however, until our chuckles turned to frustration when we realized our little girls were unaccounted for once again. Katie told me not to worry because she had just seen them five minutes ago, but I jumped to my feet anyway. This time we found them in the bathroom. I ran in and saw this. . .

Sorry it's blurry, but you get the idea.

The tub was being filled with every kind of bubbles and cleaners these two rascals could find. They were opening and dumping as quickly as they could. I could hardly believe my eyes! I mean, seriously, these two could not be trusted together!

Thankful my mother was not around, Katie and I got busy cleaning up.

She had a better attitude about it than I did, let me tell you. I must say it took a lot of rinsing to get rid of all those bubbles. I am not sure when my mother will realize she is a little short on bubble bath, but I'm sure it will become apparent at some point. We shut all doors to all rooms and promised ourselves we would watch our girls like hawks this time.

Again, they got the best of us, however. Not much later, we realized we had no idea where they were (I'm sure you're wondering by now how either of us could possibly be the mothers of five children; believe me when I say these two little ones really gave us a run for our money this particular weekend). We started searching high and low but could not find them. As you know, a terrible feeling starts welling up in your gut when such a search begins, especially when the children are so young. I told myself not to panic as we searched every inch of the house and went out in the yard as well. I opened the garage and searched there but found nothing. Katie was hunting outside but having no luck. It was when I closed the garage door that I thought I heard something. I opened it again and that's when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

These two little munchkins squealed and plopped down behind the back seat of my grandfather's car to hide from me. They had escaped the house and gone into the garage and into my grandpa's car! And now they were purposely hiding from me. I could not believe it! We could have searched for a very long time because I would never have thought to look for them there. I was so grateful to have found them and so dumbfounded that they had done that. Talk about mischievous, clever little girls!

It was when we were helping clean up the basement only an hour or so later when we found a stuffed Pound Puppy with suspicious-looking slits all over it that we realized our girls had also performed surgery with some nearby scissors on this poor homemade dog! My eyes as big as saucers, I watched Katie hide the scissors and realized with dismay that it might be my last welcomed visit home to see my parents in a while.

It had not been a good day to say the least. Katie and I looked at each other and didn't even know what to say. I was pretty sure I knew who the instigator to all the mischief was and she was pretty sure she knew who had willingly followed her lead. One thing we knew for certain these two little girls had had too much fun together for one day (It turns out some miracles bring stress and a lot of hard work along with the joy!)

You might be wondering what the third little girl had been doing all this time. After all, she lives in Cokeville, too, and her mother was right upstairs with Katie and I. Well, I hate to admit it, but she was playing innocently by her mother upstairs in the living room the entire day. That's right. Apparently Brylee prefers a little less drama, a little less mischief and a lot less trouble than the Berkley and Makyla.

At the end of the day, Katie and I were just hoping this was not a sign of things to come for our girls. After all, when your children are fortunate enough to have, not only one, but two best friends--cousins even--their very same age to grow up with and play with and have fun with and learn with and love, you hope with all your heart they can bring out the best in each other.

And besides, we are hoping this story ends with ". . . and they all lived happily ever after" (even for the Moms)!

The 12 Steps to Potty Training--Or Are There 13?

One of my main goals this summer was to potty-train Berkley. I know, not on the top ten list of how to have a "not bummer summer," but hey, it had to get done some time, right? And although I was pretty sure summertime wasn't the ideal time to do it since it would be hard to keep my eye on this busy little two-year-old, I felt highly motivated to have her trained by the time school started again and I was teaching preschool.

Now before I go any further, there's probably something you should know about me. Okay, there are two things you should know about me. First--I absolutely hate potty training. I mean HATE. When I first find out I am going to have a baby, after the initial excitement has had a moment to light up my soul, inevitably the very next minute I feel a surge of gloom that one day I'm going to have to potty train this child! Ridiculous, I know. I'm embarrassed to even type the words on this entry, but that's just how much I hate the discouraging, exhausting, messy, patience-testing, grueling, yet necessary chore of potty training.

Second--I'm not sure if it's because of the fact or in spite of the fact I hate it so much, but in either case, I am completely anal about how I go about potty training my children (the poor souls), meaning that I put everything else in my life on hold and go for it with all my gusto. All four of my older children were potty-trained by the time they were two, except for Regyn, who was so advanced in her speaking that I decided she could master it at 18 months, and she did! Yes, 18 months. It was two weeks of complete insanity. We spent nearly every waking hour on the toilet. She was so young she just did not understand what in the world I wanted her to do while on the toilet, but I was so determined that if she could relax and pee just once, she was smart enough to do it again and again, that I finally set up a small television in our bathroom and put in her favorite video, "Babe" (you know, that show about the pig who thinks he is a dog?). Turns out I was right! She got watching that pig chase those sheep and relaxed and went potty and wa la! She was potty trained less than a week later! Now, does that sound like total insanity or what?

But, here I was with child number five and I am glad to admit I was feeling a bit more mello. Berkley had already broke my streak of being potty-trained by the age of two because she was two and a couple of months, and we hadn't even started. Whew! It actually felt good to have that pressure off my shoulders. I mean, some streaks are meant to be broken, right? Even if they are your own streaks and you are the only one who cares about them in the first place. Anyway, knowing Berkley's strong personality and her determination to do things her own way, I was pretty certain I knew how this potty training thing was going to go, and it wasn't going to go my way. So I kept putting it off with one excuse after another.

Finally, I ran out of excuses. School was only three weeks away, and my deadline was fast approaching. Realizing this child was probably not going to be fully potty-trained by the time I hoped, I decided to slowly start anyway. So I put her in panties one day.

Now, here is what I have learned about potty training. It takes about 12 steps and the first ones are v e r y slow.

Step 1-Put underwear on the child (This may seem too small to deem a step, but some children are very much against underwear and would prefer to wear diapers until the end of time. So this is definitely a step).

Step 2-The child keeps underwear on for at least half the day. (Again, a small step, but a step. After the child has peed his/her pants 5-6 times before it's even 10:00 a.m. you will realize that keeping underwear on the child until noon is a big accomplishment).

Step 3-The child keeps underwear on for the whole day. (Notice I haven't even mentioned staying dry for any amount of time yet. I'm only noting the accomplishments of the caregiver for not giving up yet! If you can handle changing wet and poopy underwear all day without reverting back to a diaper, you have mastered step 3! Now go get some ice cream--you deserve it!)

Step 4- The child sits on the potty. (Again, may seem like a small step, but some children are scared of that big white thing and they fight like crazy to not have to sit there. Berkley would be one example. That girl arched her back and fought like a tiger. It took two of us to get her to sit there the first time. It was a very big step and no easy accomplishment, let me tell you.)

Step 5-The child stays dry for at least an hour. (Yes, progress! The child is beginning to hold it for a small amount of time. You have to take your child potty every hour, but still, there is hope).

Step 6-The child stays dry for three hours now. You are still taking your child potty every couple of hours, but he/she will stay dry in between.

Step 7-The child begins telling you when he/she needs to go potty! (Major progress!! Yes! This potty training thing isn't so bad after all. I mean, you can leave the house now, Mom. Whoopee!).

Step 8- The child starts wetting his/her pants again for no reason at all (Not so fast, Mom. I swear, just when you think you are getting somewhere, the child always regresses).

Step 9-The child actually starts pooping in the potty now, too! (Happy dance day! I mean seriously, what is better than your child pooping in the potty?)

Step 10-The child starts staying dry during nap time. (Yea! No diapers during naps. The end is nearing. You can feel it)

Step 11-The child can pull down his/her own pants and climb on the regular potty without help (Still needs help wiping, of course, but this is pretty great, wouldn't you say?)

Step 12-The child starts staying dry at night. (This is when you really wonder if it's possible your potty training days might be over and there will be no need for diapers any more. Sometimes it means you are pregnant again:)

So, that's it--the 12 Steps to Successful Potty Training. Oh wait, how could I forget? The final step. . .

Step 13-The child can finally go to the bathroom independently and stay dry all night. (Yes! You did it! You fully potty-trained a child! You deserve an award or a vacation or at least a very long nap.)

Now, if you are lucky, you might skip over a step or two, or maybe master a couple of them in one day. I wasn't so lucky. At least not at first. Berkley really hated the potty. And she didn't want to wear panties. And she did nothing but pee and poop her pants all day long at first, just as I had predicted. There was a part of me that wanted to be lazy and simply put it off (which is totally not my personality, or at least it didn't used to be), but thankfully, a different part of me told me to be patient and persevere. So I did.

We definitely had a few mishaps. . . like the time we were at my in-laws and Berkley came upstairs with her poop on a pancake turner from the Pottery Barn play kitchen they have in their playroom downstairs (we ended up scrubbing poop out of the carpet and off some toys after that one). Thankfully, the years have taught me to laugh more. Had that been Hallee, I would have stomped my feet and cried. But we all had a good laugh, and then I even had the thought to snap a picture before we cleaned her up.

This is a common sight during potty-training--me cleaning a bum. Good thing I love this little girl so much!

I walked in on toilet paper everywhere, poop everywhere and other disasters as well (that I only wish I would have had a camera near for) throughout the process. It was far from easy and far from anything I would ever call "fun," but I can happily report we are on step #11of the Potty Training Steps, and it feels pretty good. In the end, Berkley was far sweeter and more teachable than I ever thought she would be. All I know is that no matter how many books are written on the subject, my opinion is, it's never easy. It takes patience, courage, hard work, stamina, perseverance, a little insanity and a lot of humor. Oh, and let's not forget love.

Cause I definitely love this little girl!

I'm Back

It's seriously so hard to believe we are already one month into school, and yet another part of me asks, has it really only been one month? Life went from zero to sixty in a blink. One week were still lazily enjoying our warm summer days, plunking through our daily routine at a comfortable pace, relaxing, laughing, resting at will, carefree to say the least.

And then August 26th came.

Now we wake early, jump from bed, rush around the house like crazy little ants, swallow our food without hardly chewing, bid and bargain for turns in the bathroom, grab our paraphernalia and leave the house, "I love you's" trailing as we run out the door. It's utterly exhausting. And we do it all by 8:15 a.m. And that's just a normal day. That doesn't count Mondays when Hallee has an early piano lesson, or Fridays when she has 6:30 a.m. volleyball practice, or the days she has early morning team breakfasts. All I know is the front door seems to revolve in and out like a wind storm for a while until it finally closes with finality when the last child runs out.

That's when I usually take a deep breath, look at my two-year-old (who has a backpack on and is headed out the door herself, determined to follow suit) and wish I could simply fall back into bed. But, of course that isn't possible. After all, I have a home to take care of and preschool to teach most days. And of course that crazy little two-year-old to be in charge of. And you know what? I'm so grateful for that. Grateful to have these family responsibilities because they make up the most important and vital parts of my life.

The truth is I had no idea what I was going to write when I sat down at the computer today. It's been months since I've made it to this blog, which both delights me and saddens me. I'm delighted I've been to busy living my life to have the time to write about it, but I'm always sad when I don't take the time to record important tidbits either because so much has happened over the past couple of months, and I know there's no way I will ever get it recorded accurately now that it's not fresh in my mind (I am going to try to catch up a bit, however, over these next few weeks). Anyway, life is moving so fast, it's a blur, and that is why I knew I needed to stop and sit down and write something. Anything. Before it's been six months or even a year. And I can't remember all that I am experiencing with my kids right now, all that I am learning from them. Because I am sure learning a lot right now.

I remember when I found out I was expecting our first baby. I was so excited I thought I would burst. Nothing could discourage me because I had this amazing secret--I was expecting a baby. It was something I had dreamed of my whole life. Motherhood. It was finally going to happen. And I was going to be the best mother ever. My baby was going to be so lucky! I don't know whether to laugh or cry at my naivety, but I can tell you, it didn't take long at all for me to realize how much my sweet baby was going to teach me and how lucky I was to be her mother, rather than the other way around. It's been that way ever since.

My children have taught me more about life than I've learned in any other way. As ironic as that sounds, it's absolutely true. I've learned more about patience, love, forgiveness, kindness, service, selflessness and so much more from them. As I have worked to try to mold these amazing little spirits into the individuals I think God wants them to become, I have had to sanctify myself and change my own attitudes and behaviors, and in the process I am being molded as well. I have my children to thank for that. They are constantly showing me a better way to live and act and be. Now, of course they fight and whine and complain and all of the other less-than-admirable things I wish they wouldn't do. They are far from perfect children. But they are so full of goodness, and sometimes I think I don't tell them enough how much I love and appreciate that goodness.

Just recently, something happened in our home that illustrated this very well. Nate fractured his collar bone during the third football game of the season. It was a huge disappointment. Thankfully, the brake wasn't a serious one, but it still required he sit out the rest of the season. For someone like Nate, this news was hard to take. He was the quarterback of his team and a major contributor to their success, not to mention he just isn't happy when he isn't playing some sort of sport. But to his credit, he handled the situation very well. After all, there was really nothing he could do about it. He attended practices and games and cheered on his teammates from the sidelines. This went on for about two and a half weeks. Then he decided he was ready to play again; after all, his shoulder didn't hurt very bad anymore and he could do some push-ups. His self-diagnosis told him he was ready to finish the season. His parents wisely thought, not so fast.

We took him to a specialist and got new x-rays and found out that his collar bone had definitely not healed yet and that playing football would not be a good idea. This was devastating news to Nate. I think it was harder to take than the original injury because he was just certain he was going to be able to finish the season with his team. He was crushed. He spent some time in his bedroom. Then he took his skateboard and left the house for a while. Nothing Dan and I said could console him, and Dan was at the point of telling him he could play. It was hard seeing him go through this trial, knowing how much it meant to him to play football.

It was then a small miracle happened in our home. I was just getting into bed for the night when Nate came in my bedroom with a small note in his hand. It was from Hallee. He handed it to me, and it literally took my breath away. It was very simple, but I somehow knew it would have a profound affect on us both. Here's the note:

(Sorry it's sideways--I don't know why it is and I can't seem to change it)

This was on the back of the little note.

We sat down together and read the scriptures. Tears streamed down both of our faces as we read together. You see, those scriptures were the perfect words and counsel Nate needed to hear at that time. They both comforted him and gave him perspective. I was so grateful for my daughter that night. Neither Dan nor I could figure out what to do for our son, but his sister knew exactly what he needed, and she loved him enough to take a few minutes to help him. To me, it was an example of the miracle of family life, of having each other's backs. Sometimes Mom and Dad don't have all the answers, and it's so incredibly awesome when one of the children can step up and do something that makes a difference. I loved that she showed love and concern for her brother; I loved that she encouraged him to turn to the scriptures for comfort and answers so that he could see the application they have in his life; and I loved that he responded with gratitude and love right back.

This is what he left on her pillow the very next morning:

Now because these type of things don't happen in our home very often, I have to tell you, my heart was full to overflowing. I felt so much love for both of these children. Love and gratitude. And I thought to myself that although our lives are very busy and very hectic, I am profoundly thankful that the most important things are still happening, and I want to make sure I take the time to record them.

And so, I guess I am back. Back in the saddle. Back at bat. Back at it. Back at this computer, writing about our lives because it is all so significant to me. And I think one day, when my children are parents themselves, they will read all of this, and it will be significant to them as well. At least, that's my hope. And if not, well. . . that's okay, too because every time I write about my children and our lives, I realize once again how grateful I am for both!