California Beach and Disneyland 2016

We splurged on a Disneyland trip in February, and it was a total success. Reasons for this: 1. we went the week before Disney jacked up their prices yet again and 2. everything on the trip was perfect. How often does that happen?

At home, prepping for our trip.

We drove, and, thanks to books-on-tape and other CD songs, it was actually a fun roadtrip. 

Like our naptime blanket tents?

Our first afternoon we spent at the beach. Both girls' first beach experience. I think I was the most excited (I haven't been to a beach in five years—too long!!! Curse the desert!)

Dustin's mom came with us and the girls loved having Grandma around! We spent Friday in California Adventure. 

And it so happened that no one at Disneyland wore yellow the day I dressed my girls in their matching shirts, which made it so much easier to keep track of my sprinters.

We ran home after lunch and took naps (the kids were wiped out!). I worried beforehand that once we left the park we would never make it back, but after naps we jumped back on the bus and headed back for more fun--our little girls kept going strong through World of Color and fireworks.

The next day was solely for the Disneyland half of the park--Fantasyland, Adventureland, the whole shebang. We brought an Elsa and a Cinderella to the parks.

And we got some classic cameos of our little blondies:

I attribute a lot of the magic of Disney and the enchanting atmosphere, but really, the trip was wonderful because it was me and my family, spending time away from our day-to-day duties, making memories and reveling in the magic of a family made of best friends. 

P.S.—Sara can't wait until the next Disneyland trip...which will probably be in a decade or so :)

The Death of Friendship

A friend sent me this article, and I found myself wanting to discuss is with a bunch of people in my life (I mostly ended up staying up late talked with my husband about it, so hopefully this blog post will help me spread out my dialogue a bit more).

I'm interested in the opinions of those who read this and find holes in her points. Or opinions who supply unmentioned supporting arguments for her train of thought. As I read through the article I had an overall feeling of "yes, exactly what I was thinking!" but found a lot in her voice and attitude not syncing with my view of the world, and some of her points (like that mentioned-but-unsupported Gallup poll about the increasing number of Americans identifying as gay) are not precisely on.

Basically, help me think through this concept. This lost art and inherent need of phileo. This is the first article I've found that has attempted to articulate thoughts I had when reading C.S. Lewis' phileo argument.

I like the idea of having more love to go around.

Crazy at Church

Dear internet-dom,

  I should start this out by saying I am looking for advice--but I'm not. Not seeking for sympathy or "you can do it!" boosters either. In fact, my graduate school advisor would completely scratch this post and tell me that I've written a clump of sentences that has no purpose or point and so I'd do well to erase it, find something worthwhile to accomplish with my writing, and start over.

  This is just documenting a moment in the life.

  Attending church is a staple of my Sabbath days. Except for the beginning few months, my entire married life I've had responsibility in my congregation that requires my presence at Sunday worship services (organist, teacher, nursery mom, etc.). It's never been a question of whether or not I should be at church. We go, and each time a baby has joined our family, that attending "we" has multiplied. 

  No two Sundays are ever the same. Our church attendance can be represented by a long line of stratified data points on a spectrum between "miraculously well-behaved" and "tell me again why I got this dress on to stand for two hours at a drinking fountain amusing my 15 month-old"--with a lot more points near the "crazy church attendees" end than the "angels with golden curls" goal.

  Today a fellow churchgoer whom I quite admire spoke to our congregation. The topic: commandment #4, Sabbath day worship. Part of her message was geared toward young parents such as myself, listing appropriate ways to train reverent children during church meetings. Unfortunately, those fifteen minutes of advice, for me, became an experience not unlike this video. Her first suggestion was to keep the kids separate, with parents in the middle. Ah, check. We do that. Well, we try, at least, when my 3 year old isn't diving across our laps and my 15 month-old isn't army-crawling under our legs to wrestle big sister's shoes off her feet. These disruptions could be eliminated by the next suggestion: never let your child's feet touch the ground--children under 2 can spend the meeting on the parent's lap. Strict training with profitable dividends! And this mother accomplished it with her six children (coveting can start here).

 As she spoke this advice, my youngest was up the stairs on her way to the podium, with both feet on the ground and quite expertly transporting herself. Subsequent advice highlighted similar lapses on my part: no food in church (distracting)...Had she seen the fruit snacks that kept my kids still (but not quiet) during the first 5 minutes of her talk?...no toys in church (distracting)...We forgot all our toys this week except one cloth book and I was trying to teleport any trinket or doo-bobs in my daughter's currently messy room to our pew...and above all, keep your children from distracting others around you...Failure of the day = wearing heels which click-clacked as I unsuccessfully tiptoe-sprinted after my daughter making another escape attempt down the hardwood aisle.

  Exposed and embarrassed, I sought refuge in the foyer where I listened to other ways she'd trained her young kids to behave at church and at home. I was ashamed as she spoke. But I expected more embarrassment for my family's misbehavior rather than my actual embarrassment for not being more ashamed of our less-than perfect behavior. 

  To be honest, I had let my little one escape from our pew because #1 she would be quieter in the aisle than on my lap and #2 I love when she flashes a smile before racing back into my arms. I know I could work better on disciplining my kids (both actually doing it and, more importantly, doing it patiently and well). But already my girls grow at astonishing speeds. I have the awful habit of gazing downstream at memories and moments that have washed beyond my wading area before turning to look upstream with dread at the new surges of river-water headed towards me, not because they are challenging or unknown, but because they force the precious water swirling around my watery tennis shoes irrevocably downstream. My little girl couldn't walk at the start of this year, and now she is running, climbing, turning, and mischievously smiling back at the Mom she knows and can call by name. 

  I was embarrassed because I was not more ashamed of the way I enjoyed my girls' antics, of how I smiled even as I was overwhelmingly exasperated at hauling a squirming 25 pound dressed up whirlwind back to a seat she would escape whether I wanted her to or not five seconds later. I was called out in my act of digression, as my children disrupted the quiet and reverent atmosphere so craved in our busy world.

  But I don't have very long with my little girls--tomorrow they are a day older, and this little sprite that I impatiently and fervently love will disappear, replaced by a lovely and beautiful fairy child that is almost intangibly different, but the next day another version surfaces, and after a month's-worth of near-indecipherable gradations, a completely new creature has been born...and there is no way for me to embrace the wild-spirited child that existed before. 

  And so I try to contain my energetic offspring, but please don't lose patience with me as I indulge in their antics one more time. Hopefully I'll get it all pulled together before they are the permanently feral church children. But let me enjoy this sensation, right now, mid-stream, before it washes away in the beautiful but never-slowing current.

**Note: This post is not intended to berate or disparage the speaker. She non-judgmentally shared some important insights and I plan to incorporate a few of her activities and strategies in our family. It was the impeccable timing of my children's actions coupled with her delivery that elicited my comments, not her message itself. The speaker and her husband have always been exceptionally loving towards my kids and greet them by name every week with a smile.

Birthdays

     I know the first thing people tell you as you enter the ranks of new mommyhood is to "enjoy every moment, even the hard ones, because it goes so fast." So cliche and overused, but at times the truth of that statement stops me short. Too often as new parents Dustin and I continued to function as a couple, just with a few attachments or adaptable charges whom we chartered to and from various adventures. A baby and small child can be hauled from place to place to place with little or no representation in the planning or execution of weekend or vacation plans :) My house is quickly becoming home to real people with individual quirks and deliberate personalities. It is delightful. 

    Our girls have birthdays 3 days apart--we are now the happy parents of a 3 year old and a 1 year old. 

    Luckily, Sara's birthday was celebrated with a lot of freebies. (Cake #1) Macey's bakery in Provo gives you a free cake for your first birthday! Free. You choose the colors and flavors and everything. So cool. Then we went to a neighbor's birthday party where they had rented a train! My girls rode it for almost an hour and still talk about the crazy train that drove down the road and through fields. Awesomeness. 

  We had a family celebration with grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, the works in between actual birth days. That meant Sara had her official dig-into-it cake (Cake #2) and Rosie had her cake-of-choice: bright blue velvet, hot pink frosting, topped with a big monster-face (Cake #3).

      On Rosie's actual birthday we had a little party for friends at the park. Cupcakes (Cake #4) were precluded by a bumblebee pinata that had been Rosie and my daily project for the previous 2 weeks. It was really fun to make and the kids had a fun (but veeeery long...whew, that homemade paper-mache!) time beating it open. 

 We love celebrating at our house! And I can't imagine two more fantastic human beings worth celebrating. 

A Pearl of Great Price

My sweet daughter turned 1 year old this weekend. With a year of her life already nested in memory and out of grasp, I've been brought this week to think about the beginnings of her time with us, especially in light of my dear friend and college roommate Bonnie’s passing out of this life. The intense and painful and surreal passing between veils, between "out there" and here, tangibly on Earth--birthing and dying.

Last May I was HUGE! I gained 50 pounds while carrying Sara (I was often asked if I was carrying twins or how long I was overdue). We’d just moved into our new home (yay, moving 9 months pregnant) and I was out-on-the-town for a girls' night with my mom-in-law and sisters-in-law to celebrate one of their birthdays. We laughed over pizza and speculated on baby's due date and what would set me into labor. I remember standing outside of the restaurant forever and chatting and feeling really restless—I was disappointed that I hadn't gone into labor (although I’d learned not to expect it on my due date from my first pregnancy) and it was getting late and I was anxious to get home and go to bed. My newly married (3-weeks!) sister-in-law drove me home and we laughed about babies, etc.

We pulled in the driveway and as I got out of the car….WHOOSH! Mid-sentence I just stop and gasp as my water broke all over my new front lawn. My sweet sister-in-law starts freaking out a little “Lauran, what’s wrong, Lauran, what happened? Did your water just break?!?! What do I do?!?!?!” She ran in to get me a towel and to tell Dustin (who had JUST managed to get our almost 2 year old daughter to sleep). I jumped in the shower and took some time to get ready, dreading the coming night just a little bit—I was so tired and wasn't sure I could really deliver a baby that night. I really enjoyed having a natural delivery for my first child but told Dustin on the way to the hospital that I was planning on getting an epidural for this one for sure.

I was nervous.

When my water had partially broken my first labor contractions began right away. It had been an hour since my water broke this time and still I felt nothing. What if they had to induce me? What if this wasn't really labor and something had gone wrong? What if, what if, what if?

About 10:30 pm we arrived at the hospital and as we walked up to L&D I felt the first stirrings of a contraction and actually got excited. Good, I thought, I really am in labor. Whew. Sara’s labor was actually quite calm, especially the first few hours. My mom was with Rosie, my sisters had other plans, and so it ended up being my husband and my dad for the first hour or so—rather humorous to have my all-male cheer team :) Dustin got to sleep a bit and I laid down and tried to get some rest. Around 1:00 am the doctor (we were SO lucky to get the same doctor and same nurse as Rosie’s birth—they both made such a difference!) came in, cleared the rest of the water sac, and recommended I get up and start walking around. I hadn't asked for an epidural yet because, well, it wasn't as painful as I remembered labor being yet. It was still do-able.

As it began getting harder we decided to try out the tub. The tub was awesome and things were progressing well…too  well. Before I knew it it was time to push—but I was still soaking in the warm water. Looking back, it was a funny moment—getting out while trying to get dressed and really trying not to push. During one especially strong surge I knelt down on the ground and my nurse, for the first time in two deliveries, got a little bit of anxious panic in her voice: “No, Lauran, we do not want to have the baby here on the bathroom floor--we've got  to make it to the bed!” I actually managed to laugh and assure her we wouldn't have a bathroom baby. In the moments it took to get to the bed the baby was already crowning. The doctor rushed into the room and everyone was shouting at me to stop pushing, to pant or cross my eyes or do anything but push while he got dressed for delivery. Yeah, it had been a relatively low-pain labor, but now it was off-the charts--WOW it was crazy painful. I got onto the bed around 3:00 am and Sara came at 3:08 am. Most painful 8 minutes of my life, but she came so quickly and it was so exhilarating to have her come out to us and come directly to me (and the doctor had no problem catching her this time).

She was a BIG bundle of joy: my on-her-due-date baby was 9lbs. 13oz. Bigger than a lot of 1 month-olds :) No wonder her coming out hurt so bad.

I didn't get to hold her long as they had to give her some oxygen and clear her stomach. But even with a clear airway she hardly cried at all—even after the traumatic and certainly painful birthing process my sweet girl was calm and gentle. I'd been so worried that I couldn't love another kid like I loved Rosie--she had made me a mom, and we shared something special. And then Sara came and brought such a sweet joy into our family that I don't know what we ever did without her. She is my calming strength and serene joy. She has been such a blessing, with her thoughtful gaze and her big beautiful eyes. 

Mother's Day

We've got a house full of sickies. What a great way to spend Mother's Day: I got hit Friday with the flu, Dustin followed suit Saturday, and the girls have been developing coughs in addition to Rosie's ear infection... *pasted smile*

It was actually, surprisingly, a wonderful day. We were up early at church because Dustin was asked to speak about the importance of families. The talk was beautiful, and his eloquence in describing the purpose and blessings of having a family spread a happy sheen over the rest of our day. And I got to thinking about my past few Mother's Days....

My first Mother's Day, barely 6-months married, wasn't all that eventful. I think Dustin did buy me flowers, but mostly because during our first year of marriage I read a lot into not getting presents and other such showy signs of affection (poor guy). It was the first Mother's Day that I could have conceivably (pun intended) been expecting a child, and I remember wondering that weekend if I ever would someday be a mom, if--although I'd grown up expecting to become one--I could really fill that role or if I'd even be able to have kids. Lots of thinking, worrying, wondering about the future...

My next Mother's Day found me HUGE! I was 40-weeks-and-1-day pregnant with our first little girl and officially "overdue"--I'd been expecting (again, love the puns) to be a Mom this Mother's Day for, oh, eight months by this point and was EXTREMELY disappointed that I was still not a MOM, especially when Dustin gave me the flowers that he'd bought thinking I would be one by this point (pregnant lady reasoning..I guess technically I still "qualified" as a Mom, a fact my husband pointed out to me multiple times that day). I'd tried EVERYTHING that weekend--jumping, walking, yoga, castor oil (whoops), and every other wives-tale you've heard of--yeah, I'm pretty sure we went through them all, and still no labor-and-delivery signs popping up to greet me. Waited all day for it to happen--I think I ended up staying up until midnight just to make sure she really wasn't going to come on Mother's Day and make me a mom for this year's celebration (My baby decided to wait until I was a week overdue and then came at 41 weeks, hours before I would have been scheduled to be induced).

Mother's Day #3--I had an almost 1 year old and realized that Mother's Day, when your baby knows about four words and is easily distracted by movement, sugar, and wide open spaces, is still mostly for celebrating your mom and mom-in-law who live less than 30 minutes away from you. Still got my nice bunch of flowers from the local grocery store's bargain-bouquet rack :)

Last year, I was once again 39-and-counting weeks pregnant, and wondering if I'd be spending this Mother's Day in the hospital (nope). We'd just moved days before into our new home (yeah, moving 39-weeks pregnant is not all that fun, especially with an almost-2 year old "helping") and we were recovering.....and prepping. Two May babies, 2-years-minus-3-days apart.

This year, my almost-3 and almost-1 year old daughters didn't make any crafts for me. They didn't get up and make me breakfast (we are all sick and have church at 9:00, so we were lucky to get up and there as it was). I don't think either of them wished me a Happy Mother's Day (husband still came through with the flowers though). And yet all day I've been so incredibly grateful for them, for this experience, this transformation that motherhood is. Some people are born patient, some people quickly learn to be kind, some women innately know how to be fun and loving to children. Instead, Rosie and Sara have me, and every day, through their patience, the three of us learn what it means to be part of a family, to be nice to each other all day long (is Dad home yet?), to speak with patience and love and consideration, to stop pulling hair and throwing blocks and spilling food and spanking and rolling eyes, to revel in each and every moment we have together each day. I like the me that is emerging. Motherhood hasn't forced me to "lose" myself, but every week as I look back I do see the sharp bits weathering down and, hopefully, the hidden motherly tendencies polished up, and the fierce and consuming love and pride I have for my kids really tempers my temper and my soul into something that might be worth having around in this life and the eternities.

Contacts and Perspectives

Dear World,

  This week I took a big step--I got old. At least, I told my optometrist I felt old and he, a 67+ yr old, laughed at my 27 yr. old vanity.

I got contacts.

  Not really a big deal, right? Definitely not a sign of decrepitude. But, still, I've always prided myself on my 20/20 or 20/15 or whatever vision--we've got to have achievements of some kind, right?

  But that's over, now. I have these contact lenses that I wear probably 70% of the time. When I first put them in (after about 19 tries to get it into my left eye--sheesh!) and drove away from the doctor, I was happily surprised by the clarity of budding springtime leaves scores of yards away and individual pine trees on the mountainside--it wasn't a "I was blind, but now I see" moment, but more similar to those Claritin allergy medicine commercials where a cloudy film is peeled off the world and everything is just more brilliant and visible. Not a life-saver, but definitely a life-sweetener.

  Contacts. They take what is already there, enhance your already-existing abilities, and create a sharper picture that allows you to better understand and enjoy the world around you. They do take maintenance and care, and sometimes only for slight vision improvement, but it is better, and sometimes that little bit makes all the difference.

It changes your perspective on the world. On the life you are living.

  We each have "contacts" moments in our lives. Things that change our perspective. Things that sharpen the view and give more vibrancy, clarity, or comprehension to us. Things that don't necessarily change reality, but enhance our grasp of reality.

You don't always need and eye-opener; sometimes just an eye-sharpener will do.

  This isn't the best post to include this on, but thinking about life perspectives and such--as I did for this post--originated in thoughts regarding a dear friend of mine who's had plenty of opportunity to gain a truer perspective and who's put in the effort and maintenance a clearer view demands. She inspires me to tune up the way I approach life--to be more like her.

  Bonsai, next month, will have battled breast (and then bone, and then brain, and then spine) cancer for two years. Her toddler and baby have now sprouted into one precocious five year-old and one tenacious three year-old. When she was given the "less-than six months" diagnosis, she and her husband moved their kids from their Indiana home back to Utah to spend time with family--and I was blessed enough to live nearby. I've been able to have some wonderful moments with her and to pray in gratitude as those short six months grew into almost nine months of relative health and mobility.

 Now doctors are telling her that her window is closer to four weeks.

  There have be so many blessings. There have been so many moments to be grateful for. So many memories made. There have also been so many hard times. So many challenges. So many "lasts" and unknowns. And during it all I've had the opportunity to see how Bonsai has taken this monsoon and found a perspective of clarity. She's taken moments to teach me what it means to be a family forever, to continue being a mom even if she isn't picking up her future teenage kids' dirty laundry. She's clarified what it means to have an eternal marriage, to parent together even when your spouse is on the other side of the veil of mortality that separates this world and the next. She's taught me to love in the moment and to have patience with those around you and yourself.

  It's times like this when I'd love to be a writer that can say something profound, that can really share something beautiful and striking through words, something that actually coveys what I feel about another human being. To write something that gives tribute to another beautiful soul. But hopefully you each have experiences to draw on that illuminate the clarity I've gained through this friendship that will last though eternity, either here though a miracle or spanning the boundaries that heaven draws.

  Thanks, Bonsai. I look forward to more fun and memories in the weeks and months to come, and also the deeper memories and experiences to be made in the following decades and eons.

Can't Buy Me Love

February, the month of love, just ended last night. And, although my thoughts right now are not as philosophical as my musings from last Valentine's Day season, I have been thinking about love--and the parts of it I can buy. Here are just two of the many examples:

Music: Dustin and I found one another through music--singing, attending, playing, talking about, participating in, breathing music. It's been a large part of our lives pretty much since we were born. I want my two girls to also discover the breath-taking experiences that music gives...the ones you can't buy.
But, you can buy a piano.
It might be half a century old. It might be out of tune. It might have only cost a few hundreds instead of a few thousands, but it is a piano and our family is already doing our darnedest to break it in (or wear it out). That, and a neon green recorder (or "hoon" as it is known around our house) from the dollar store are instruments in making priceless music.

Outings: Family has grown more and more important to me as each year shows me how precious it really is. You can't put a price on the love I've found in marriage and mothering, but you can help it grow by spelling family as T-I-M-E and love as F-U-N. Our outings are usually pretty affordable (we are big fans of Free Zoo Day and splitting fast-food fries & shakes three ways) but the resulting memories and relationships are cherished beyond an auction-able amount. Hubby took the girls out for a daddy-daughters date this week and Rosie can't stop telling me about the crystals she saw in the university's science building and how yummy the crunchy cone was from McDonald's (after they took the paper off).

It doesn't take much--a little money properly placed can take love a long way.

Second Pregnancy...

To those who don't know me from Adam, or who know and love me dearly:

I have a few suggestions on what (not) to say to pregnant women--especially if you saw both their first and second pregnancies and the less-than-positive aspects of this most recent one. I find these comments funny (especially when I get to tell my husband about it) but others might not see the humor...especially if they are dealing with other more hormonal effects of pregnancy.

You don't have to tell me I'm huge. I figured that out on my own, and I am reminded of it every time I stand up. It is not the most tasteful comment in the world to (7 tell a  months pregnant) preggo lady that

#1 "You look like you should be delivering tomorrow"

#2 "Are you sure you aren't having twins?"

#3 "Did you just get huge overnight or have I not seen you in forever?" (from someone who sees me weekly)

#4 "You're due in March, right? (no...May)

#5 (for obgyn doctors only) "You are measuring 28 weeks on the dot!...ohh, you aren't that far along? [checking my chart] Well, it's normal to be a little large on your 26 week visit...ohh, you are only on week 24? That's fine too, second babies get larger quicker quite often, ah-hem"

  My only question is--why didn't you tell me I was huge the first 25 pounds I gained? The last month I only put on 3 (and a half) pounds. Why wait until now to tell me that I look like a bloated whale?

  On a related (and more important) note, thank you for noticing that I am pregnant. Thank you for being excited for me. Thank you for wanting to talk about my baby. I know and love lots of people who haven't had the chance to be expecting a child and I've been blessed to be able to travel it road twice. I am savoring 96% of the journey (minus the hugeness and running out of clothes that fit) and I love talking about 100% of it, so even if you come up and tell me I'm fatter than Jabba the Hut, it's going to be enjoyable for me to comment on it--it's all part of the miracle, and I love sharing it with those around me.

 

True Love...or the Truth About Love

  So, February is the month of love. With all the hearts and pink and red and romantic expectations revolving around, I've been thinking a lot about the truth about love--that it always involves effort, either on your part or someone else's (usually both). But that effort comes at different times and in different ways. For example, sometimes other people's efforts are easy to love...and other times, it takes effort on your part to love others despite what they do/don't do.

Let me illustrate:

Rosie spending ten minutes quietly dissembling the filing system in my bedroom which organizes all the tenants and their history of the apartments we manage, just because she likes to be where I am, handling things I handle = Hard to love.

Rosie shouting "I love you TOO!" from the backseat of the car = Easy to love.

Dustin taking my kitchen scissors outside to trim our roses (for me) and breaking the scissors after I told him they would break if he tried using them = Hard to love.

Dustin getting me a maternity massage for Valentine's day because, even though we are not that kind of people, he thought it would be "romantic." = Easy to love.

Rosie getting out of her bed in the middle of the night, coming into our bed, and scooting me off of my pillow and eventually out of my bed = Hard to love

Rosie waking up (sleeping in past 7:00!!) after spending the night in our bed, gently holding my face, and saying "hi, Mommy!" = Easy to love

  You get the idea. People can be easy to love. People can be hard to love. Especially family. And yet, even the hard to love moments can be filled with such a deep and lasting emotion that I sometimes just pause in awe at the blessings I live with every day.

  I got to pick my husband (well, I got to stand there stubbornly until he convinced me that picking him was the only way I would ever really be happy) and was lucky enough to find someone who loved me more than anything--and acted on it every day. Choosing your spouse (AKA roommate/companion/eternal buddy) is a plus that comes with marriage--there are a lot of people in this world I can't stand being around for ten minutes, let alone for ten eons--so lucky for me I don't have to be married to any of them for eternity. 

  But kids are a crap-shoot: you really never know what you're gonna get until they pop out (or even later, when it's too late for exchanges...just kidding). I don't know how I got lucky enough for God to send someone that I (a life-long babysitting-hater, ugh!) could not only love and care for but that I want to spend every day with, someone who can be my best friend, a little girl that I can see loving and cherishing for life, who just gets funner (and funnier) with every word, look, dance move, etc. that she pulls out of her hat. Who gets that lucky? Is it too much to hope that all my kids will be this fun? 

  The truth about love is that it takes work. But God also gives us a break and send people into our lives that are not only easy (and hard) to love, but who make our life worth living--and are the few souls in the universe we literally couldn't live without.