Dishes.  Crumbs.  Laundry.  The hardest part about housework is that it is never done.  Nothing new there.  But then again- maybe grabbing hold of a new thought could bring eternity right into my kitchen.  Or my laundry room.

My father-in-law sent me a note recently.  I have kept it open, on my nightstand.  I didn’t know why I felt the need to keep it there – like a bouquet of flowers – until 5 minutes ago.  Hands under hot water, rinsing and wiping and pondering my desire to build something permanent – like a huge stone structure – A Castle – that would last through the ages, rather than just cleaning yet another set of dishes that won’t stay clean for anywhere near ages.  What I do everyday is fleeting.  I have to keep repeating it.  And sometimes a person wants to work on something that she can just finish and admire, forever.

Here is some of what he said:

Mom and I really do appreciate your thoughtfulness and kindness toward us.  We particularly enjoyed our stay with you and the kids celebrating Paul’s graduation.  The meals, the bed, the car, the help with the house –

Being able to give Taylor and Emma their blessings – (patriarchal blessings) Thank you.  Thank you.  You are special to us.  We love you.

Dad & Mom

Funny how things really are.  The very things that seem the least permanent are the very things that will last the longest.  I do dishes.  I sometimes do laundry.

But really, I am building a family.  And my family will stand.  Long after the ages have past.

Here’s to my large stone structure – My Castle.  Isn’t it beautiful?

The dream I woke up from Saturday morning left me feeling hopeless.  It was a powerful dream about the evils of the world being presented to our children at a young age.  I tried to convince the man responsible that what he had done was horribly wrong.  I tried to make him understand.  He only laughed.

I don’t know that I have ever had such a powerful dream.  I did not know that I could bear the pain of what our children would face in their lives.  I know this sounds drastic and a bit melodramatic.  However, this world has evil to offer even the youngest of children and we are not completely safe from these influences ourselves.  I was filled with despair and darkness.

And then I went on a run.

This is my journal entry explaining the experience I had while running:

And so I won’t be avoiding the pain of raising children.  There is no going back.  Not that I would.

I love being a mom.  I love being a woman of strength.  Bearing children.  Feeling pain. Feeling joy.

Amen to Motherhood.

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All I ever really wanted was a puppy.

They are cute.  And adorable.

What I have is a demanding, complaining, 150 pound (and growing), consumer.  He is 16 and he won’t keep a hold of his ping pong ball.

You see – my teenage son and I – we are playing a rather exciting game of ping pong right now.  He owns the actual ping pong ball.  I have plenty of ping pong balls of my own so I do not need another one.  He keeps trying to hit his ball over to my side of the table.  I bounce it back over.  He quickly returns.  I try and keep it going in his direction.  Try as I might he won’t just take the dang stupid stinking ball already.  I keep trying to explain to him, “This is your ball dear!  Your ball!  You must take it.  TAKE IT!!!”

I will explain it to you the way I explained it to him.

You have a baby.  You protect that baby.  From everything.  The baby gets older.  You still try and protect him from just about everything with the occasional allowance for a natural consequence thrown in.  Maybe you let him play with the kitchen drawers knowing he will smash his fingers.  He learns how not to smash his fingers.  The baby gets older and older.  Ideally, natural consequences start outnumbering parental protection.  Some parents are better at this than others.  I would say that Paul and I have been fairly mediocre.

That baby is now wanting to drive and date and go to New York.  He is now a consumer.  He is no longer a puppy.  I got pregnant because I wanted babies.  Babies turn into consumers.  Nobody told me that.  I never once heard the word consumer.  Why doesn’t anyone tell anyone these important facts?  Back to the ping pong game.

The natural result or consequence to wanting to drive a car is money.  You gotta have money.  Money for gas.  Money for insurance.  Money.  The consumer needs money.  That is his ping pong ball.  Not mine.  And darn it all if he doesn’t want to keep giving that ball to me.  I have even taken to carrying a ping pong paddle around with me.

“Mom.  Can’t you just drive me to blah blah blah so I can blah blah blah?”   Paddles at the ready.

“Mom.  I need to get on your computer account so I can blah blah blah.”  Paddles up and swinging.

“Mom.  Mom.  Mom.”  Paddles ladies!  Paddles!!!

I explained it.  I prayed and hugged and loved.  I keep explaining and praying and loving. And he keeps asking me the exact same questions over and over again.  Frustrated.  At me.

ME!!!!

Not himself.  Not even the economy (everyone’s favorite) or the weather (that he will have to ride his bike through to get anywhere) or some unseen powerful force out to destroy all teenage fun.

I gave that ball one more shot over the net a moment ago.  He has now set out on his bike through wind and sand and sun to find a job against all odds and the fun destroying powers of the universe.

And now I will raise my voice to all women everywhere!

A puppy is only a puppy for 2 seconds.  You may want to consider a fish.

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I love water.  My mom told me that I swam before I walked.  I have loved watching our youngest learn how to swim.  He jumps into the water regardless of depth.  He does not know to fear water.  He simply floats.  His arms outstretched and his body relaxed.  I tell him he knows how to fly. When I was little, I could fly too.

But water isn’t always calm and clear and safe.  It can be deep and dark and dangerous. My life is that way.  I can recall perfect moments sitting at the park watching a little one on warm sand discovering the joy of buried feet in cool sand-holes.  Holding a sleeping baby underneath an open window while the spring breeze blows through a quiet house.  Life is calm.  I am floating along. But then I can recall other times when the wind picks up and the night is dark.  This is when I feel like I am on a little boat in the middle of an ocean.  The water is not my friend.  The water is something to fear.  I will not get into that water for anything.

I would rather get into a boat.  I sit in the rain and wind and look around at the waves and I worry.  I am weary.  I cannot rest.  Who will sit at the helm and man my boat?  Who will worry and watch for me?  There is no one to trust my boat to.  My boat carries my family and my heart and keeps me from drowning in the waves.

My storm has a name.  It is uncertainty.  I watched a woman in grief over a dear friend who had been in a terrible accident.  This friend of hers spent 2 weeks in the hospital fighting for her life.  The woman I watched was filled with uncertainty and fear.  She was over come by it.  She could not function.  Then her friend died.  The next time I saw her there was a peaceful sorrow.  But it was peaceful nonetheless.  It was the uncertainty that she could not handle.  And so I think it may be with so many of us.  The ‘not knowing’ is what may get us the most.  It may be the darkest, scariest storm of them all.

I think that there is a time for swimming, a time for floating, and a time for climbing aboard the boat.  I think the boat is meant to be a safe place to rest when swimming becomes impossible.  I think there is only One who can successfully man the boat.  I think He knows what is at stake.  I think he asks me to rest a while and trust His knowledge of the seas.

To be calm in the center of a storm.  That is something to strive for.  That is something to believe in.  And to dive into the water just as the sun breaks through the clouds.  To float with arms outstretched. That is joy.  That is flying.

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The past 7 days have been a challenge.  Between the money stress that accompanies student life, the muscle soreness that accompanies lifting weights for the first time in months, the anxiety of beginning a new semester (my last, by the way), worrying about work beyond school, and a 24-hour bout with a bug that had me dashing gingerly to the restroom at regular intervals, I wasn’t prepared for this morning.

At the beginning of the week I told myself that 5:30 am was the time I needed to be rolling out of bed.  Yesterday – courtesy of “the bug” – I was up at 4:15.  Today, I was up on time and out the door on schedule.  The plan?  Go to the gym and work out some of my paralyzing soreness.  I was feeling good – emotionally.  I was hoping that the workout would help me feel good – physically.

Here’s how it went from there:  I make the 25 minute drive in to the school both eager and full of dread.  I decide to park at the Institute building – because I can park there for free (Seminary/Institute really does pay dividends at ASU).  I pull up to the gate to scan my parking card at 6:25am.  The green light comes on and the reader beeps.  The mechanical arm doesn’t budge.  I think “hmm.  that’s strange.”  I scan again.  Green light?  Check.  Beep?  Check.  So why isn’t the stupid arm moving?!!  I can see from my vantage point that there is someone in the building.  So, I shift in my seat, stretch my arm out, and then do that whole fat-man-rocking thing — you know, when someone has parked just a Liiittle too far away from a buzzer, an ATM, or some other type of drive-up window and they flail around in some type of controlled seizure to reach whatever it is that they need.  I felt like a T-rex trying to scratch its tail.

I’m convinced that as men get older, gain weight, and get a little rounder around the middle there is a period of denial.  A period where the mind convinces them that they’re still 12-years old with infinite dexterity.  Then there comes that ever-so-valuable moment of realization.  For me it came as I tried to climb the inside panel of the car door using only my left bum-cheek and third-rib with my arm outstretched and a vein about to burst in my head . . . with the seat belt still buckled.  My arms felt like they were all of a sudden 6-inches long and my body was as wide as Kentucky.

Anyway, my shifting and rocking finally strike the perfect balance and I am able to press the handy-dandy intercom buzzer to plead for admittance.  Then I relax back into my seat and wait for a response.  I’m praying that the person in the building will actually answer, because after going through the pains of pushing that button I’m not sure I could do it again.  No answer.  “Alright,” I think to myself.  “Here we go again.”  Sadly, one seizure was all I could muster.  I couldn’t reach the button a second time.  So I backed up and drove away in a huff!!  There’s a not-so-free parking lot closer to the gym, and I’d rather pay the extra money than sit there looking like some mentally-impaired version of Randy from a Christmas Story when he was rolling around on the ground trying to get up.

So I drive around the campus perimeter to the not-so-free lot.  Bonus!  The arm is already up!!  “Maybe it’s free day at the pay lot,” I think.  So I park, feeling very triumphant.  “Stupid Institute parking lot!  That’ll teach you to make me look stupid flailing around my car, arm outstretched, straining like a constipated kid to reach a stupid button that no one is going to answer anyway!”  I park, then gather my gym bag and stroll across the street to the rec center.  There was a lot of activity out in front of the building, but the summer construction crews are doing a lot of last minute work before the fall term.  As I approached the door, there was a rec-center employee there greeting people and holding the door open.  “Wow!” I thought.  “They’re really stepping up their game in the service department.”  As I got closer, however, he said, “We’re closed today.”

Good feeling gone!!

That’s when I noticed that water was dripping – more like pouring – from the ceiling and the entire floor was covered with towels and whatever else may soak up water.  “Pipe broke.  They’re just getting the water shut off now.  We’ll be closed all day.  Sorry.”

All I could do was shake my head, smile, and walk away.  No workout today.

Wait! No shower?  Geographically, I was half-way to work!  That means I would have to drive 25 minutes to get home just to get cleaned up and drive 45 minutes to go to work.  I sat pondering this predicament in my free parking space with the car door open for a few minutes.  With a sigh, I  closed the door and drove home, concluding that the world is conspiring against me.

At least there’s WordPress to flush it all out and down the drain . . .  into the public domain.

Enjoy your day.

Mine’s already gotten better.

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I am pretty sure no one told me we would be teaching one child to use a 5,000 pound weapon on wheels while simultaneously teaching another one to use a toilet.

Child Number Six is now Captain Toilet. Candy for Pee. I have never seen a little kid so in control of his tinkles. It was like realizing the toddler knows magic in a family of muggles. As soon as he realized that going in the toilet got him a piece of candy he turned into a Pee Wizard. “MOM!!! I go potty!” Tinkle. Tinkle. “MOM! I haf tandeeeeeee!!!!!” Okay kid, here’s your piece of candy. Not 2 minutes later, “MOM!!! I go potty!”, and sure enough, he can. The boy can potty at will. The boy knows his pee. For the record, we are on our 3rd bag of candy. (Side-Note: I got to run into the bathroom over 10 times in the course of writing this post.) (Another Side-Note: Child Number Five ((who is almost 7 years old by the way)) gets a candy when Captain Toilet succeeds. ((I know, that isn’t right, is it?)) Child Number Five is Captain Toilet’s greatest fan. You should hear the cheering that goes on each time a pee in the potty occurs.)

We won’t discuss poop though. I am still recovering from the last poop mess. Stairs, floor, legs, tile….it was anything but magical. New poop tactics are in order. Now we have a prize bucket with all kinds of color and promises of mystical wonder. I was worried the little man might strain himself he was trying so hard to poop. Poor kid.

On the opposite end of the spectrum I witnessed a young man driving his mother around in the family van yesterday. The boy leans forward swinging just a little too wide out into the intersection, and the mom sits next to him with that look of composed terror. My heart was with her. Child Number One drove me to the store for the first time last week. It’s a good thing I have been potty trained for so long. I might have forgotten myself and made a mess of it.

So where’s the magic in that? I’ll show you.

The oldest, who has an aversion to anything serious of any kind, had to write 2 original songs in order to get his drivers license. The incentive was good enough. He produced, rather quickly, a piece of extraordinary music.

Click Here for Taylor’s Song

So there is magic after all. Somewhere, underneath all that funny business, is a depth of soul I hadn’t imagined. Proper incentive is everything. Peeing for candy is magical. And music is the greatest magic of them all.

I just got home from Alaska late Monday night. Yesterday was my first day back.  I was at the pool with 8 kids by 2 PM.  I was on my way to Urgent Care by 3.  Adam let the entire high school pool full of people know just how displeased he was with the gash in his head.  That poor life guard.  She was a little shaken.  I wonder if she had ever seen that much blood in real life before?

After a split second of protective irritation (“What happened here?  Is someone responsible for hurting my super cute and handsome little man?”) I calmly cleaned the wounded child, gathered the 7 others, and made the appropriate drop offs to the appropriate houses.  I did something spectacular at that point.  I drove home.  Oh yes.  I was sopping wet and I drove home.  I did NOT rush to the hospital as I would have done years ago.  There was a time I would have ended up in some emergency room with 8 sopping wet children only to sit and almost freeze to death making an already lame situation even lamer.  Nope.  Not this time.  I was going to get dressed first.

We arrive at the place of the sick and injured only to find out I had left my license at home.  They won’t admit you without one of those.  Something about people using other people’s insurance cards.  Yeah.

We arrive at the place of the sick and injured AGAIN and we are admitted.  Two hours later we are 5 staples to the head richer.  Using staples to close a head wound is an interesting thing.  Especially for Adam.  The boy who screams.

We make our way to McDonald’s.  They promise meals that make your child happy even if he has staples in his head.  They make good on their promise.

I am telling this story to Paul on the phone while he is driving home from work.  He has to get off the phone with me before my story ends because he is pretty sure the car is going to explode.  He was right.

I make sure Joyce gets home from diving practice before taking Emma and Blake to the church for activities and picking Paul up from off the side of the freeway somewhere in Tempe.  Emma calls be back to the church.  Her activity is somewhere else.  I drop her at home and am finally making my way over to Mr. Sit-on-the-side-of-the-freeway-patiently-waiting-in-100-degree-heat.  On my way I notice a giant mass of dirt rolling along toward me.  It is a mile high, miles wide, and as we are to discover very shortly, miles deep.

This is where the cup comes in.  I am smiling.  Not a sarcastic “what the heck” kind of smile.  Oh no.  This is a “ha!  my life is hilarious” kind of smile.  I call Blake. Everything is fine.  I call Emma.  “Don’t try and ride your bike to that activity darling.  You might blow away dear.”  I call Paul.  “Where on this freeway are you sweetheart?  Finding you before the sand does would be a good idea”. . . which I did.

Somewhere between Dixie Cup and Big Gulp my capacity for all that rain water has increased.  I can hold more.  I can take more.  Yesterday, with it’s staples and car explosions and sand storm extraordinaire, was just another day.  It did not knock me over.  Which is a big deal.

Yes.  I am no longer a regular size Dixie Cup.  And I like that.

Now.  How much does a Big Gulp hold anyway?

Wait.  Don’t answer that!

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“I’ve come to the conclusion that the two most important things in life are good friends and a good bullpen.  ~Bob Lemon, 1981″

I love baseball.  Really love.  I can talk baseball.  With guys if necessary.  Who’s pitching?  Oh!  How’s his shoulder doin’?  How many games back?  What?!!!!  Upton hit a fly in the bottom of the 9th to win it?  WOOOHOOO!!!

“The other sports are just sports.  Baseball is a love.”  ~Bryant Gumbel, 1981

My baseball crush came on late in life.  Like an allergy.  One day you can eat clams and the next thing you know shell fish gives you hives the size of melons.  Baseball is the best allergy I have ever had.  I love the smell.  I love the pace.  I love the game.  There are plates.  Anything that has a plate must be good.  Yes.  Baseball is my favorite.

“There are three things in my life which I really love:  God, my family, and baseball.  The only problem – once baseball season starts, I change the order around a bit.”  ~Al Gallagher, 1971

Baseball is all about being safe.  Just make it home.  Help your guy make it home if you can’t make it home…..RBI.  Home plate. Safe.  Win.  That about sums it up.  I want to be home.  Safe.  Winning in that life winning sort of way.  The kind of winning that really just means fulfillment and happiness and contentment.  Peace with who you are and where you are.  Home.  Safe.

“This is a game to be savored, not gulped.  There’s time to discuss everything between pitches or between innings.”  ~Bill Veeck

I decided that not knowing where you are going to live must be like rounding 3rd.  The base coach is waving you on.  You can’t see where the ball is.  Just keep going.  If you could feel it in slow motion you would feel that anxiety that comes with wondering if you will even make it home.  Such uncertainity.  Such fear.

But isn’t that what any trial is about?  I have a sister-in-law with M.S.  A friend with a handicap child.  A friend with a handicap.  What will become of me?  What will become of my child?  What does the future hold?

Such uncertainty.  Such fear.  Will we make it home?  Safe?  The base coach just keeps waving us on.  Just keep going.

And so it is.  Everyone just wants to be safe.  Everyone just wants the ones they love to be safe.  And the base coach just keeps waving us on.

So we put our heads down and trust Him.  He must know whether or not we will make it home.  He must.  There is that surge of energy that comes with trusting the coach.  We try harder.  We move forward a little stronger.  More certain.  Less fearful.

Besides.  If we don’t make it home in that inning there may very well be another.  Such is the way with baseball.

“God is living in Arizona.  And He is a D-Backs Fan.” – M.M.C.  (Really Tom Seaver.  But he is a Mets fan.)

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Twins.  I chatted with a cute lady yesterday at the park who is having twins.  She has 2 little baby girls already and is now having 2 boys in October.  I was terrified for her.

I have had several moms tell me in the past that the only way to get through twins is to decide to set everything else aside and just do twins.  To ‘embrace’ it.  To live that experience to the fullest.  To give in to it.  I almost told her all of that.  But I didn’t. Because I don’t have twins.

What I do have right now is a calendar that has grown a pair of legs and arms and the biggest mouth you have ever seen.  I have been fighting Mr. Calendar for some time now. Less is more I tell him!  Triple booking is out of the question I tell him!  I am out of gas in the Suburban I tell him!  He only laughs.  Or whines.  He doesn’t understand.

I don’t sign up for everything.  Really I don’t.  The laundry and cleaning and shopping and cooking are massive but even those things would be do-able if I just didn’t live in my car.  Maybe Mr. Calendar likes to take rides in the car.  Maybe that is why he is just so darn unsupportive.  Here, let me show you.

Wednesday:  Nursery, Track Kids, Baseball, Baseball Team Treats, Babysitting, Science Fair Project, Book Report Visual Aid, Mini-Float.  Thursday:  Comedy Show, Dance, Babysit, Football, Pack Meeting, Awards Night, Science Fair, Choir Concert.

Do you see how rude Mr. Calendar is?  Do you see???

I was just about to commit Calendar murder actually.  I have chopped his arms and legs off before.  They just grow back.  I have ignored him a ton.  I have.  He sends me little bleeps and alarms and stuff but I just hit the CANCEL button.  He isn’t the type to get offended and leave though.  He just keeps on keepin’ on.  So, I was prepared to throw him off a cliff.  Until I talked with cute twin lady.

Wouldn’t embracing this time of life be much better than calendar murder?  Wouldn’t that ‘having twins’ advice be useful here as well?  After all, in 2 short years my oldest will be dropping off the going-to-college-and-then-a-two-year-mission-and-then-married-with-children-cliff with the next one (and the next and the next) following very close behind.  I know my life in the car is short.  Mr. Calendar’s days are numbered even without his untimely demise.

So.  Mr. Calendar.  Your safe.  I will keep you around a while longer.  I will heed your call sometimes.  I will ignore you sometimes.  I will live this experience to the fullest.  I will give in to it. Life is just too short for anything else.  Twins and all.

Mr. Calendar agrees and just sent me a message.  It went something like this:

Event:  Tuesday May 17 2011  

6 PM Pre-Season Diving Camp

6 PM Choir Concert

6:30 PM Science Fair

7 PM YM/YW

7 PM Scouts

Mr. Calendar is an ungrateful turd.

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I am a jack of all trades in the homemaking with children department.  I have given birth in a hospital, on a birthing stool, at home in bed, and in a huge soft birthing tub.   Our kids have done public school, charter schools, online schools, and all-out home school.  I have baked and cooked up all kinds of meat-filled, sugar-filled, and butter laden dishes followed up with tofu vegan lasagna and 100% raw vegan squash spaghetti.  Pick a year or two and I can tell you what phase I was in.

I like to try things.  I like to organize things.  Everything has it’s place.  Including each one of my phases.  I put my vegetarian phase in with my early home school phase.  My walking phase goes in with my Weight Watcher phase.  Everything in a box.  Like teaching history and literature and math and science but not having any of those things touch.  Each subject completely apart from the other.  Don’t let the peas touch the mashed potatoes because that’s just gross.

I did learn something once though.  I can’t treat myself like a dinner plate.  I cannot take care of my mind with only a bit of reading and stimulating conversation.  My emotional well being hinges on more than just high doses of B-Vitamins.  My mind, my feelings, and my body are so interconnected there is no telling where one ends and the other begins.  My strength is so much more than muscle mass.  I have learned that being healthy is finding balance.  It is that place where mind, body, and spirit meet and have a pleasant conversation.  They agree. There is harmony.  And there is work.

Energy spent for emotional well being.  Effort put forth to fortify the mind.  Exercise of body and mind for the sake of peace within.  There is no substitute for work.  Work is a true and divine principle.  My work has ranged from willing my body to crawl across the floor to call for help, to running 200 miles across the desert with a relay team of friends on no sleep and little food.  My work is mine.  It is finding the right thing at the right time.

It seems as though this time, yoga is the thing.  With my husband.

My cute man does YOGA with me!  He used to roll his eyes and chuckle softly when I would talk to him about a full yogic breath and centering and sun salutations.  Now he is “Namaste-ing” with the best of em’.  Well.  Kind of.  Instead of touching his head to his shins he is only able to reach in the general direction, but hey, he is taking a certain level of relaxation with him throughout his day.  And that is cool.

So I am thinking that maybe my current yoga phase can touch my running phase which coincides with my walking phase.  Maybe they can cozy up and hold hands.  Maybe they can even get thrown into a bowl together and get all mixed up and combine together so you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.  I like that idea.  It reminds me of making cookies.  Healthy no sugar no flour cookies of course.  Which I did.  Last night.  I will show you those next time.

But for now, let’s just eat our peas and potatoes together in one bite.  Mind, body, and spirit.  Working together.  Inhale and Stretch to Your Left…….