What is truth?

So the other day we were driving in a car that has a Sirius or something like it where it will tell you what song is playing. The song Like a Rock came on. I experienced some sort of matrix spin. What? That is a real song? I have been hearing this song all my life on the Chevy commercials- and I thought it was written just specifically for Chevy. I always thought the man singing it was just a little too into his trucks. My life just totally shifted and for a moment did not make sense. So I have moved forward. Armed with the knowledge that there is a man out there somewhere who is indeed as strong as he can be, and Chevrolet just happens to agree.

It is a little daunting to think that I may have other misconceptions-bigger ones, more important ones. But why worry about that I guess. Sufficient is the day.

I tell you that so I can tell you this.

Today Ava was reading to me, a book about wanting to be a mommy. She comes to the word -cowgirl. She sounds it out as the page before had ow as in know, and now this is ow as in cow. So she says the word right and stops. She says it again. And again. Then she covers her face with the book and says, " I always thought it was cal-girl." (cal rhymes with gal) Cal-girl. She said she had no idea it even had anything to do with cows. I saw her world spin, just as embarrassed and baffled as I had been a few days ago. She said, " So when you said cal-girl up, you were really saying cowgirl up?" I laughed with her as she said it a few more times.

But to think that my poor little girl has been told to calgirl up her whole life and she had no clue what she was supposed to do with that? She didn't even think it was related to cowboy, meaning the guy who rides horses, not cowboy up (for it was probably calboy as well). She literally thought they were just two different things.

Be honest... is this proof I shouldn't homeschool?



Ten points if you know who asked what is truth.

The shoe is getting snug

Ava-the sun

Effie-sweet&sour

Levi-little big boy

Reno-big little boy

Livy- porcupine

Elijah-big baby boy

Lliam-uh, just big


So I apologize for the lack of clarity. I am horrid at pictures, camera phones and figuring out how to keep the pics from moving around on the blog when I have told them to stay put. But here they are, in all their glory. And really, they are quite glorious.

The fire is getting hot

You know those moments when you weren't expecting to have your picture snapped? Well this is one of them. But I posted it because it is pretty much the way I look all of the time. Life with seven: fun, chaotic, trying, tiring, busy, happy, scary, exhausting, uplifting, and overall best life so far. Truly. But in the interest of full disclosure, the highs are the highest, and the lows are bad too. Not the lowest ever because, well we'll leave the skeletons where they are. But this is a time of guilt about... well everything really. A time of people telling me that I have too many. Why not public school, then you could have a break? Of many callings-five between the both of us. Of middles and littles going unnoticed for too long. Of trying to figure out what to feed these children who are allergic to cow's milk. Of baking our own bread to avoid milk and therefore waiting, waiting, waiting for it to rise as who can remember to get started on that dough first thing in the morning. Of feeding children popcorn (not microwaved so that counts for something) and bananas for lunch because the bread still isn't done. Of feeling bad that bigs have too many responsibilities. Of feeling inadequate to the task set before me. Of wondering if that was inspiration or am I putting words in His mouth. Or worse, do I even have the spirit with me after another hypocritical display of behavior unsuitable for the Kingdom and our home. Of just wondering who I have become and have I set myself up for collosal failure in having rigid standards for myself, let alone my children. So before I go too far down this slippery slope, I will end with the fact that I am sustained by priesthood blessings and an assurance from the spirit that this is my great work. So because of that we press on. Grateful. Blessed. Humbled. Loved. Despite how tired I look and the spit up on my shoulders.

Hello Little Prince

Its late and I just wanted to add this pic because I found it in Jason's files. This is Lliam, our sixth, getting a kiss from his mama. Quite unwillingly I might add, as daddy was holding the phone and Lliam thought he should have been holding him. That is all for now. Just admire his gorgeousness.

I'm ungrateful. There, I said it.

When you give a Mexican senora some watermelon, she'll want to bake you a cake. Now before you get up in arms, she really is a Mexican, from TJ who speaks espanol -if you didn't say that with Peggy Hill's accent then back it up and do it right- therefore I am trying to be politically correct and loving at the same time, and throw in a little Laura Numeroff for adventure's sake (mouse/cookie).

So here is what happened. A friend from Jason's workplace needs a little help finishing the legalization process of his wife and their children. Jason and his buddies rise to the occasion, which entails finding an apartment, loaning money (not ours of course, as we are broke), and helping to furnish the apartment (our couches aren't nice enough so they were left here unfortunately. Fortunately). So all that we are left to do is to take a little something to them on Monday for FHE- no they are not LDS but who doesn't want some treats, watermelon being one of them.

Two weeks later, or perhaps one ( I suffer from crazy mama brain) they call to see if they can stop by. Sure. Si! They come in with two cakes in boxes and a betta in a vase, with the plant, in all his Siamese glory. The cakes she made herself. Turns out she was some sort of a baker in her previous world-and these cakes are beautiful. I am amazed. So grateful- gracias-one word I know I got right. Anyway, after they leave, and the cakes, slightly less beautiful now, are put into the fridge I face the fish issue. The friend had told the kids that in a pinch he will give the fish pinches of bread; so Reno did. Then Levi did,  but pulled off sacrament size pieces instead. So I've got this fish bowl full of bread and I decide I can't face the fish. I put it off til today and when the kids were primed, they cleaned the rocks and such with much zeal and screaming about spraying each other with the hose and all manner of mayhem. No one was injured I am happy to report.

So then we have the fish in his bowl-no water conditioner to add to the tap I might add. The kids want to feed him again, but I decide that he can wait til we get real fish food. Jason and Reno went at about ten tonight so that he won't starve. The whole time they were gone I was researching these horrid little creatures. Turns out if they don't have at least five gallons, a filter, a heater, hiding spots, and an owner that speaks in zen like tones they will die a painful, ammonia poisoned death. Good thing we have toilets cuz Finn is out of luck (that isn't really his name, but it suits me now). Seriously, these things come from rice paddies. Rice paddies. And you are telling me I have to filter and change and test his water? Where is a goldfish when you need one? I am so not doing this. Reno keeps talking about getting him an aquarium so Finn will be happy, and getting him some friends. I say look boy, you are in the wrong family for all that business, and the Willdens have too many kids to take you in.

Anyway, I feel really bad knowing that I am contributing to the loss of this little fish's life. But not bad enough to fix it. It will be years before Reno can handle the responsibility of an aquarium. When Jason got home from Wal*Mart he said that this was the worst possible gift ever. Now that's an overstatement, but I feel that it is a gift that will keep plaguing us parents--the kids could not be happier. Livy calls it her feees. So you know, the speech therapy potential is there. But really I am disgruntled and not grateful, but quite grateful to have been thought of and remembered so kindly. Ya pickin up what I'm putting down? I give him about two weeks before Livy decides to take her feees outside to show the chickens. Really, its only a matter of time.

What? Clinging to some scraps?

Once for a brief time we owned a mini-van. It was well understood by everyone who was anyone to me that it was Jason's van. He loved the space (we had only three children then) and the smooth ride-whatever. I still to this day cannot reconcile myself to the fact that I am multiplying and replenishing my way back into one-but like a Mormon Van this time. This is our nickname for the big massive 10, 12 or (gulp) 15 passenger monsters. See I am too cool to drive a van. In fact I am to cool to be a mom of such a large family. Now back when I had three, four, and yes probably even five I was still pretty darn hip. Now with six and a huge, repeat huge belly, I'm neither trendy nor cool. This is hard for me. Even though there are women in our ward my age, they can still be posh cuz they are on their first child. No one is posh when they have seven. I don't even have the energy to try anymore.  I'm not really putting myself down, I am just realizing that I have lost the battle and need move on. Cute high heels? Maybe last year, but this year girls I'll be chasing my Irish twins through the halls at church and mama can move faster in flats. Same with shorter skirts-no one can squat/sit down easily without showing their delicates off so its long skirts as well-another sworn enemy I must relinquish. The list goes on-dangling earrings are too easily ripped out so I stick to my fabulous post Brighton earrings my mother got me for my birthday two years ago and as she didn't get me anything this year yet, here is a hint mom. Make-up? If I get time. Legs shaved? No one will see under the long skirt so its a toss up. Plucked eyebrows? When I find the tweezers the bug catchers took from me a few weeks, er, months ago. It is actually easier to embrace the whole large family motherhood role than fight it anymore. (Perhaps after I have this baby and can sleep normally again I'll change my mind-but then he'll be hungry and so plucking and shaving-probably not)

And finally, the thing that prompts this post. When I had Reno I bought a bag that was trendy, and hip. It was not a diaper bag because I was not one of those Winnie the Pooh toting girls. With each consequent child I bought a bag/purse that said, I'm a mom but ya know, like a trendy one. With Levi and Livy I had small Ariat bags that were/are awesome-but they are purses. I used one for each of them and then eventually I just carried one. When Lliam was born I used one purse/diaper bag as the others were 18 months and 2 1/2 so they all fit in one. Now Sundays are the real problem. My Sunday church Mary Poppins-y bag is a monster. It is heavy laden with books, coloring supplies, all the diaper bag type stuff, snacks, toys--everything I can possibly think of to keep a 2 and 3 year old quiet during Sacrament meeting and the baby happy-quiet is only achieved when he is asleep. It is no wonder that this poor bag's strap broke-but he died with his boots on and that is all we can ask from him. So after two weeks of carrying him with only one strap (who am I? My former self would die of mortification) I went to Target tonight to pick out my next purse/work tote thing.

As I looked and looked through the fancy leatherish looking bags none of them looked like me anymore. I would have felt silly buying a pseudo-sophisticated bag and then filling it with formula and bottles. On a very skeptical whim I checked the diaper bag section after I had grabbed wipes and there it was. A bag that can actually be cleaned. I really almost bought it for that reason alone. Imagine my surprise when I got home and there are four huge pockets inside to fit all of my categories of things. I am so smitten with my diaper bag. And when I walk into church tomorrow with my life altering bag slung on the shoulder of whatever child is close to me when we get out of the Yukon XL with a jumper seat so as not to necessitate our family buying a Mormon Van yet, no one will notice the bag. Because no one cares. Because no one knew I was hanging on to some scraps of vanity leftover from my youth. They all see me as I am, which is fine. I am happy with who I am, now that I am taking a moment to take inventory. So from now on I am embracing the fact that I carry a diaper bag; it no longer has to be a bad word. But in the interest of full disclosure, I am still not down with a Mormon Van. So you know, baby steps. 

*When I googled images of these vans and this bad boy came up I will be honest and say that my pride did not totally rebel. Very hip for a Mormon Van.*

*The title for the post is a line that Elaine uses on George. If you didn't get that, you don't get it. Its fine.*

La-A is sounding better and better

Just  quick note. Lliam was almost a Finn. We backed out the day he was born because he was a breech baby, just like daddy. So he became Jason Lliam after Jason William. So Reno and the rest start batting around Finn for this one and I let it ride because I like the name. Then I find out tonight that Tori Spelling just named her new baby Finn, and she is a celebrity of some importance-not sure since we don't have a t.v. Anyway, my stomach turned that people would think that we got the name from her. Usually it wouldn't bother me but you know its just too out there and too recent and too much. So back to the drawing board-although Jason and I have not even discussed possibilities yet-we're too busy with the half dozen we've hatched to count the one still cooking. And there's a mixed metaphor to end the day with.

I'm back ...

That is a shoe in the background. That is me in the bonnet. Those are my children. The artist got a bit overzealous in number but he captured the spirit and essence of our life here. I'm grateful he chose this scene of me feeding them, and not the one that followed. It was a dark moment for us all.

No, no. You don't get it at all. I mean Jingle Bells! You know, Santa Claus and Ho Ho Ho and mistletoe and presents for pretty girls

I have nothing to add to my nearly eight months of silence but this...Christmas time, Christmas time, Christmas time is here. This is a little song my children are singing now. I'm not sure where its from, but they have it down. But I repeat their words here because is it not the best time ever? We are in an RV in Phoenix (think van down by the river) so I am unable to decorate yet, but I am counting the days until I am home with my tree and trimmings and what not. I have nothing positive to say about this trip to Phoenix as of yet because it is just cold enough here to make things not fun, and Jason has been working his tail off and is too tired to do anything when he gets home but sleep. And I don't have anything to drive because I am not registered to drive the RV because I couldn't provide my driver's license when he was renting it because my children misplaced it and I haven't replaced it because I am still holding out that it will turn up under something or tucked into some forgotten treasure chest. So we are relegated to spending our time with what the KOA has to offer, which isn't much but really grumpy snowbirds who left their grandchildren far away from this place and have little kindness left for some lady in a Cruise America RV (think white trash of the ritzy motor home world) and ten kids to boot. I added a few extra because to be honest when you see us with all our trappings and hear our noise it seems like there must be more. And Ava counts for three at least.

But next week holds lots of promise since his parents joined us in the next RV site over and will be around until Tuesday at least, which is an unexpected surprise because when they invited themselves to join us in Phoenix it was only for two days. They are really good about taking the children away from me and coming back hours later, which is fine with me. Like I said, lots of promise. And also like I said, counting the days until I am home again and focused on Christmas and its wonderfulness and such.

I have saved them the trouble of "accidentally" breaking the crayons

I cleaned half of my living room, and then sat down to take a break to ease the stitch in my side that I feel should be blamed on the baby, rather than my less than exerting work-out routines. Then I saw the towels piled up under the table and remembered the chocolate milk that Ava let Levi spill at lunch and was motivated by a need not to smell the soured milk later (as if I don't do it now it could be a while). I moved the wet wash into the dryer- a load a day keeps my mother away:)- and found that it was polluted by bits of paper. Then bits of crayon. Finally, this was revealed. Who did this? Those children never put things in their pockets...and also I never check. So here we have a box of crayons confiscated from the church on Sunday laid to rest at the bottom of my washer. But the upside of all of this is that the kids now at least twenty minutes of coloring in an otherwise colorless world, as I was too busy cleaning to get out the water colors and we couldn't find the crayons. The downside is that I hear things hitting the side of the dryer, things that could very possibly be melting crayons. But you get what you get sometimes. Besides, the stitch is gone and I feel that the rest of the living room should be finished now.

*I feel that now is an appropriate time to let you all know that the RS President asked Ryann if there were health hazards in my home after she took a comment from me about my messy house out of context. If after reading this post you feel her concerns are valid, email me and I will give you her number.

I could use a little progress

The other day I brought up an idea to a friend from church, really just in passing, that I had read in the New Era (side note: I really do not like the new Ensign format and am boycotting it until conference, or perhaps I feel the shame that I should for being so ridiculous. But really, it is awful now). The article I read was about different Relief Societies around the world working on their Young Women Personal Progress program together, as there are so many that have not completed it. I told Jamie that I think that its a cool idea, and she mentioned that she was doing it for Young Women's, as she is the President and thought it would help her relate well with her one young woman. Well as is my way, nothing was done about it...but I thought about it all the time. I finally decided to join her in the program. I asked her about it after her meeting with the Branch President, and found out that we are starting it in our Branch, for all the sisters to work on it. So I was really excited. Until I opened my copy, which happened to already be at my house, as I live with the Branch President and church mail is delivered there. I thought I would get a head start, since it will be talked about in Relief Society and I am in Primary and will miss the announcement.

And all this rambling and storytelling to come to my point. After looking through the manual for about ten minutes, I was shocked at how much time and effort that it will take to complete it. I am in awe of any girl who has actually completed the program...it is hard. And extensive. And time consuming. I had no idea. I am not as energized as I was twenty minutes ago, but I know that when I do complete it, I will have accomplished something extraordinary. You may think I am exaggerating, but get a copy. Check it out. Those young women have to work dang hard to earn those emblems and ribbons. So here is the deal. If you haven't earned it, start working on it. If you have, re-earn it. I assure you you will learn and grow, and progress. I will let you know how it goes.

I underestimate her sass

I was rereading my journal last night and came across this memory that made me laugh. I wanted to share it. It is a conversation that Ava had with me and the would-be friend that called her on her play cell phone.

Ava to me: "I am talking to a boy."
Ava to boy on phone: "Boy, what are you doing?"
pause. . .
Ava to boy on phone: "Oh leave me alone."

I say good girl.

It's an uphill climb

Anyone who thought that being Primary President would be a nice break (that was me, I guess) was seriously mistaken. Five times that amount of work, worry, and stress. With RS, its all about trying to motivate sisters to be more, do more-blah blah blah, enough already. With Primary--so much responsibility-its children, with no filters, no tolerance, and the wiggles to boot. They watch your every move, back talk every thing you say, are already bored, and take those pauses where you are trying to collect your thoughts as license to leave their seats for greener pastures. Not that its all bad, not at all. Just much more legwork. And before, I had Jason's help (he is now the Branch President, and his time is far spent-what little remains goes to the children). Now, I spend every evening cutting, laminating, thinking, planning, learning, etc. This is just new; I promise I'm not complaining. Every phase of life is like this though-right? Aren't you all out there just as busy and burdened? Let us remember Steve when he said, "We'll get up her." I think I can do that.

Cleanliness is overrated

I put Reno in bath on Saturday. After I turned off the water he looked up at me and asked,
"Mama, do I have hip-hop today?"
"No."
"Well, do I have gymnastics?"
"Not today."
"Then what could be the reason that I have to take a bath?"
"Well, you have church tomorrow."
"Oh, yes. We have to bathe for church."

*His calculations are accurate; he really only bathes when he has to go somewhere. He used to be cleaner, but he has an aversion to bathing now. Two baths a week. Another unexpected consequence of homeschooling. Who'd have thought?

HELP WANTED

We had a hamster named Dixie. She came home from Ryann's this summer after Ryann had been hamster-sitting, and she just wasn't the same animal. She had been tossed up so high by one strong, "yittle" boy that she hit the ceiling , but no-that wasn't it. After about a week I cleaned her cage (you're supposed to clean it twice a week, but I was neglectful, busy, uncaring, and unfeeling to name a few) and what a different rodent. She played! She exercised! She had a renewed interest in life. It was amazing. So why am I blogging about a depressed hamster in a dirty cage? I was just wondering if someone out there would come and clean my cage? Please.


*I feel that it is important to note that Dixie escaped from her cage and was never heard from again. She didn't want to live in the messy cage, or the messy house. I don't blame her...perhaps a bit of envy every now and then. I try not to dwell though--I mean, she is a hamster.

All I need to know I learned in Primary

Just thought I would share an epiphany, that actually could be a Primary song hiding somewhere in the recesses of my mind: Kindness begins with me.
If I am kind to my children, they will be kind to each other and more importantly to me :).
Yes, I get that you already knew this, but I saw it in action today and I am hooked. Its gonna be different around here, I can promise you that.

Let us dispense with this useless endeavor

I hear Effie's cries from her bedroom. I do not check. Its quiet time. She wasn't obeying...I don't care why she is hurt. Okay. Perhaps this is a bit too natural woman of me, but am I the only one who has no tolerance for shenanigans gone wrong during periods of disobedience? Her cries are now intermittent, still a plea for me to check on her so that she can gain sympathy where none exists. Feeling a bit softer, I will go.

I enter. She sees me, begins to sob, "I hurt myself." "I can see that you did" and I help her climb up into bed; I assume she slipped since I did not ask. She shows me her leg, which I kiss, though see no evidence of injury. I ask her to rest until its time to take Ava to ballet. All is well. All is quiet. For now.

I hear her wind chimes. She bought them at the Maritime Museum in San Diego this summer as a Father's Day present for Jason. Then insisted they hang in her room, next to her top-bunk bed. Perhaps we will have no quiet time after all. Again.

I insist upon this ritual- one hour of quiet time every day. My anger grows as I seek to enforce my will upon them. It would be easier to let them watch a movie every afternoon; more would actually fall asleep, more would be quiet. Why do I bother? Upon examination I am not sure. Will reevaluate and determine why I feel I need this time away from them, besides the fact that I feel I need some time away from them.

The quiet time cd just ended. It is actually quiet; two out of four asleep. Unfortunately, quiet time is over and I need to get everyone ready for a trip to town and for Ava to go to ballet. Like I said, perhaps time to reevaluate and redirect my efforts.

I can't help thinkin this is how it ought to be

Effie informed me a few days ago that she is still Taylor Swift. I asked her why she told she wasn't and in a round about way she told me that she needed exactly two days of not being TaylorSwift so that she could continue being TaylorSwift. This is the same logic she was using when a minute ago I told her that she is cute and she told me no she isn't, she is a human. She then recognized that one could be both, however she is not. That's a four year old for you. Sorry for the false alarm.

The reason for the teardrops on my guitar

Effie announced yesterday that she is "not Taylor Swift anymore." Without rhyme or reason. I am quite at a loss as to where this will take us. Some background for those who aren't in the know, she loves TaylorSwift, wears her hair like TaylorSwift, dresses like TaylorSwift (the repetitive nature of the name is taken from real life), sings all of TaylorSwift's song, preforms concerts as TaylorSwift, has been to a TaylorSwift concert with her daddy (hurray for scalpers), and actually looks like TaylorSwift. And note the one word-TaylorSwift- this is how Effie says it every time, usually accompanied with a twang, a shake of the hair (learned at the concert, where Effie discovered that "TaylorSwift is in this world!!!" ), and a twist of the bottom. Very sassy indeed.

She has been a little tired lately, which might explain this sudden disinterest. However, if this is a real break-up, I am a bit staggered by the blow. I wait to see where we will be lead by this little girl in search of something new. Jason and I will miss our TaylorSwift, and he will miss Taylor Swift I am sure, as his devotion was comparable to Effie's. It started with "Our Song" has ended with "You Belong With Me" and has encompassed every song in between-thanks Miss Swift, for a few great years and wonderful memories. I really thought it would last.

And when you find everything you looked for

I hope your life leads you back to my door

Oh, but if it don't, stay beautiful

T.S.

I can't change who I am-but should we discuss it?

I am somewhat reticent concerning my familial matters when it comes to those outside the trust tree, as it were. So I am therefore hesitant to attend my ten year reunion which is taking place homecoming weekend. I live in the same town with many friends from HS, and abstain from furthering relationships with these individuals, as the differences in our lifestyles have become so great. It was the fourth child. Then the homeschool. No one can relate in that set. The nodding of the head when I answer 'Are you finished having children?' with 'No, not at all' coupled with the glazed look, then disgust when I follow up with 'No he isn't in kindergarten, he's homeschooled.' can be too much at times. And going, I feel would be subjecting myself to this deluge without a friendly or sympathetic face in sight. Unless Jason goes too, but really what fun would he have? We are talking small town kids here and these people are only biding their time until its late enough to get plastered-God love em. I sound a bit negative, however I will say that individually I love, or at least really like, these HS friends, and can dialogue about my life easily one on one. I just think I would freeze or worse-if my lifestyle became in any way a focus for discussion. I wonder if gay people have an easier time coming out. That is what I will be doing, if I go. I will come out as a mother of a large family, homeschooler, and Mormon to boot-they all know that but the reminder will add to my kookiness I'm sure. So I guess what I am saying, is that I am not sure I am ready to come out. But then again I am not ashamed. So where does that leave me. Comments appreciated.