Friday Friends: Rob

This is my brother. Yes, ladies, he is available. Since that's generally the first question I am asked I figured we'll just get that one out of the way. And no, you cannot start swooning over how hot & hunky he is. I'm his sister. That's just gross. Also, you should know that his hair is a lot more gray than this picture shows. Not that it will make a difference to you...

Where our friendship began:
I was 15 months old; he was a newborn who never stopped crying. I tried to help by force feeding him baby asprin. I made it through most of the bottle before our mom walked in and put an end to my early career in medicine.

What we survived:
Numerous--and I mean, numerous--episodes of conning Rob into eating various forms of mud "edibles." It just never got old. "I don't wanna eat that chocolate pudding! It's mud again, just like the last time" "Oh Bobby, it is not. I already pulled that joke on you--why would I think you'd be stupid enough to fall for it again? Trust me--this time it's just plain chocolate pudding." "Okay, fine...MOM!!!!! Wendy made me eat mud again!!!!"
It should be noted, however, that the eating poop thing was all him. I had nothing to do with that.

Highlights:
--setting the irrigation sprinklers on our sisters when they slept out in the fields
--making chocolate covered insects to bring to church youth activities
--digging forts in the front yard
--writing elaborate and detailed notes back and forth during General Conference, summarizing which teens in our circle had crushes on each other. I recently found a stack of those notes...ah, good times, good times.

Why I like this guy:
--he's a great dad (PS--aren't his kids beautiful? They take after their mother, obviously).
--he has a brilliant mind and a wicked sense of humor
--he's a great brother. He's there for me.
--he holds himself to a high standard, yet has the utmost tolerance and acceptance of others.

What I've learned from him:
To be nice. Maybe it's a side effect from being picked on so much when he was younger, but Rob has a very compassionate heart. He doesn't judge others. When he knows someone is in trouble, he just jumps in and helps. When someone needs something, he gives it to them. I've never, ever seen him pass a homeless person by without stopping to chat & pull out his wallet. In the process, he manages somehow to invest the act of charity with dignity and respect that probably means far more to the person than the few dollars he gave away. When I once complained about not trusting that money I gave to charity would be used appropriately, Rob quietly disagreed. "I just give the money," he said. "It's on their heads if they waste it or misuse it. My responsibility is to share what I've been blessed with. So I do."

In that respect, Rob has changed me. Now I write out my donation checks and seal the envelope with a grateful heart for everything I've been given. When I see someone holding a cardboard sign by the side of the road, I try to stop & share whatever I can. Even more, I look them in the eyes. I tell them my name. I try to see the person behind the unwashed clothes and weather-beaten skin. I try to treat them the way Rob would.

I'm the older one, and I'll probably never let him forget it. But when it comes to matters of the heart, there's no question which of us is the bigger one.

Rocking Grace

Some background:

Gracie was born dancing. At two weeks old she scooted from one corner of her crib to the other. At four months she entertained herself--and her teachers--at daycare by spending hours bouncing up and down in her exersaucer. In short, the girl was born to move.

Today my little girl turned nine, and she is beautiful. She's such a tweeny-bopper, coordinating her clothes and practicing cheers and beating all the boys in foot races.

A couple of weeks ago she accompanied me on a shopping trip where she discovered a row of wooden rocking chairs. Miss Always-In-Motion parked her butt on one and instantly settled down into pure bliss. As I did my shopping she kept returning to the rocking chairs. When I finally coaxed her away after I'd checked out and paid, she sighed. "Ah, if I had one of those at home, I'd never be mad again. If I got upset I'd just go in my room and rock."

Last weekend Grace was with her dad. As I ran my errands and did my child-free stuff I couldn't shake the feeling that I should get Grace a rocking chair for her birthday. For the record, I was already done with her birthday shopping. For the record, I'm a birthday minimalist. For the record, rocking chairs are bigger and more expensive than I do for birthdays.

Also for the record--when I have those feelings, I've learned to listen. Plus, I love my kid.

When I brought the rocker home it looked a little lonely sitting there by itself. The thought popped into my head that I should also give Grace my special teddy bear. It's a plain brown bear that I inherited at Christmas time when we spent the holidays with my family and my mom decided that everyone--including me--should have teddy bears. For some reason Grace prefers my teddy bear, and when she is most stressed or upset she'll ask if she can snuggle my bear. So the bear sat on the rocking chair and waited for Grace as well.

That's when it finally sort of clicked in my mind. This more-than-I-would-usually-do-for-a-birthday was exactly what I wanted my daughter to know of God's love. It's how God parents me. He gives me ongoing reminders of just how much He loves me, even when He doesn't have to, even when there isn't a reason, even when it's over the top and far more than I deserve. Grace's life would have been perfectly fine and happy without the rocking chair or the teddy, but I gave them to her because I love her and I want her to be not only happy, but gloriously, profoundly happy.

Even more than I wanted her to have the exciting moment of walking in her room to discover that she had exactly what she wanted, I want her to know the depth of God's love for her.

When she came home there was a card on the teddy bear's lap that read:

Dear Grace, 
I love you so much. I wanted you to have a rocking chair to rock on when you are upset, and I wanted to you to have my teddy bear to hold when you are scared. I want things that make you happy because I love you SOOOOOO much! Heavenly Father loves you even more than I do. I hope you'll always remember that He wants good and happy things for you, even more than I do. I hope you'll know that He loves you, and that when you sit in the chair and you hold your teddy, you'll feel my love and you'll feel God's love for you. I love you, sweetie! 
Love, 
Mom

Isn't it awesome that we get to share the parenting experience with Him?

A Matter of Perspective

Tonight the older girls and I tried a restaurant we'd never tried before. Candlelit and comfortable, it was a pleasant dining experience, and they enjoyed practicing their grown up manners.

Grace made the rather odd--though true--observation that the entire waitstaff was male; not a woman in the bunch. As dinner progressed, judging from the flirting going on, the attractive male waiters were most likely much more interested in each other than any woman. Cindy Crawford could have walked in and I'm not sure they would have noticed.

Near the end of dinner Mia said, "Mom, do you know why every guy in here is being so nice to you and bringing us food all the time?"

"Uh, because we're paying them lots of money?"

"No! Because you are so beautiful. You're like, the prettiest lady here."

Someday her rose-colored mommy-glasses will come off, but until then, I'll just soak it in.

Definitions

This past Sunday my back was out of whack, so the whole family stayed home from church. Not a problem--we held our own Primary meeting on my bed.

Grace was the Primary teacher. She had Eric and Mercie draw pictures of their families and then she asked them questions.

"Mercie, what is a family?"

"Um, it's a mom and a dad and brothers and sisters."

"Very good. Eric, what is a family?"

"Love."

"MOM!!!! Eric doesn't even know what a family is!!!!"

I don't know--from where I sit, I think Eric pretty much nailed it.

These Are A Few of My Favorite Things. Again.

Yes, it is time once again for the list of things that make my life happier.

• Havarti Cheese. Where, oh where, have you been my entire life? However did I exist without you?
• Smoked Jack Cheese. I had forgotten about this, but thankfully Dad reminded me by giving me a huge, HUGE block of it at Christmas time. The kids decided they don't like it, which just means more for me. I am slowly savoring a little each day, doling it a bit at a time. My hope is that it will last until October.
• Kind words. Self-explanatory.
• New slippers! Thanks to Holly, and Christmas.
• A luxuriously warm & comfy robe, thanks to Mom & Christmas. Also, it is bright red, which is just awesome.
• Lay's Garden Tomato and Basil potato chips
• Maggie's Organics all-cotton socks. Oh yum!!! Comfort food for your feet. I am so in love I don't think my toes will ever accept anything else.
• Gardein Mandarin Orange Chick'n frozen entrees. Seriously yummy meatless food.
• Family home evening lessons taught by one of my kids. They are A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. It's sometimes challenging being the mother of such brilliant and talented children. Tough to keep up. But oh, how I love being amazed by them!

That is all for now.

Welcome to Nerdtown

This was my day today:

Woke up for some ridiculous reason at 6am. Decided that I'm done thinking about repainting my bedroom--it's time to just do it. By 6:15am the paint was stirred, brushes were rounded up, and moulding was taped off. Given that it required several coats I didn't actually finish until 3pm, but for a paint job accomplished alternately in my underwear and my pajamas (I decided that I didn't want to risk getting paint on my jammies so I took advantage of being home alone to strip down), it turned out dang good. My only concern is why on earth I waited so long.

Event no. 2--I got a new dishwasher. I was too cheap to pay for installation, so until I can either figure it out from youtube videos or con someone into helping me, my days of handwashing are not quite at an end--but they are close. The new one is black. It's pretty.

I went to a dance. A real, grown-up one. There were a surprisingly high number of men there. Many of them were the same age as my grandpa, but still.

Also, I took a small break from my vegetarian lifestyle to have In-and-Out, and it was very good. Of course.

The day's highlight: finding a beyond-fabulous collection of essays by every major existentialist philosopher, all in one beautiful volume, tucked away on a bottom shelf at Barnes & Noble. It made my whole week.

Conclusion: I am a nerd.

But I am a nerd with exquisite taste and a lovely bedroom.

Merry Christmas from Grace

Grace came home from school today with a holiday card for her beloved Mama.

Dear Mom,

I love you when am I going to your work? I love you so so so so so so so much Love Grace To Mom One thing I left on the crismas list is a repunzel barbie to mom from grace. PS pleze rite me back

I especially like how she didn't exploit holiday sentiments to ask for anything in return, or use this buttering-up opportunity to sneak in a last wishlist request.

Second Best

When I was a little girl I proudly announced to my teacher, when asked what I planned to be when I grew up, that I was going to be a mommy and have 12 kids.

When I was 14, a boy at church tried to insult me by predicting my future: "You're such a molly you're going to have 12 kids, live on a cattle ranch, be married to the bishop, and write mormon cookbooks." To his dismay, I didn't see it as the insult he intended. I thought it sounded perfect.

In college wards--three in a row--the end of the year found me voted Most Likely to Have 12 Kids, and again, I took it as the ultimate compliment.

If I had ever stopped to sketch out my dream life it would have looked very much like this: Stay-at-home mom to 12 or so kids, all delivered naturally & possibly via home birth, probably home schooling, writing books (though not necessarily cookbooks) on the side, married to an awesome guy who totally supported all of those endeavors, living off the land and possibly off the grid...you get the idea. It's a completely different life from the one I have.

Thank God it's completely different from the wonderful, amazing, totally perfect life I have. Oh, how I thank God that I ended up with this wonderful, amazing, totally perfect-for-me life.

Sometimes I get pitying looks from people because I wasn't able to have children "of my own." I look at my beautiful, beautiful children, who look nothing like me and never will, and I am grateful all the way down to my toes that I was blessed to have THEM; not the genetic clones I envisioned. I feel the love of their birthfamilies, surrounding the kids and sustaining me. I look at all the ways adoption has expanded my soul and opened my heart and enriched my world, and I'm humbled to the ground that God's plan for me included this "second-best" path.

Sometimes I get pitying looks from people because my path to wedded bliss took a painful detour through divorce. Ironically, some of those pitying looks come from people whose own marital experience could best be described as the next road over from hell, so I take the self-righteous pity for what it's worth--a thinly veiled attempt to feel better about their own circumstances. This one is harder to write about because I don't have a happy ending to tack on as the moral of the story. I do, however, kinda agree with the handcart pioneers, that my divorce and subsequent experiences have been a small price to pay for knowing God. The kind of close-up, intimate knowing that only comes when you are down in the mud...yeah, I'd do it all again if it meant coming through with the knowledge, deep down to the core of me, that God is always there for me.

And you know, as much as I adore my kids, I'm really glad that I'm not living the stay-at-home mommy life that I imagined. I love that my kids have benefited from many loving people besides me. I'm glad that they've been able to learn, from early ages, that the world is full of kind people, that they can trust the world and be safe in the world, because they've been blessed with wonderful caregivers. I'm glad that God's plan for my life has involved an endless parade of college students who share their enthusiasm and energy and fun, not just with me, but with my kids. My kids think I have a coolest job on the planet, and I would have to agree. Thank goodness God knew that giving me lots of grownup kids to mother, in addition to my four little ones, would keep me happy.

There are more. I love my scrappy little house, for many reasons, one of which is that it's given me the opportunity to learn new repair skills I didn't think I had. It's also given me the chance, many times over, to appreciate good neighbors and awesome home teachers and all-around nice people who help me out when I'm over my head. I love my beat up old minivan, mostly because my kids love it and because it's name is Madame Blueberry, and how can you not love a car that comes with a name like that? If I had the dream house, the dream car, I'd miss the affection for shabby things that has grown on me.

It's cliche; true, but I'm so glad that God hasn't answered all of my prayers the way that I wanted.

This beautiful, messy, glorious second-best life is the happiest thing I could know. Who knew?

Things I Like

• Lady Antebellum
• dark chocolate almonds
• people who feed me
• 3 Nephi Chapter 17
• substitute teaching in youth Sunday School classes
• Christmas tree lights
• cooking with my kids
• my sisters
• long, hot baths
• movies with friends
• flirting
• walking around temple grounds
• new jammies
• functioning household appliances
• brushing & flossing (I know, weird)
• Barbra Streisand
• meeting cool people
• reading new Junie B. Jones books with my kids
• snuggling

Children: the Benefits, Part Two

Here's a scenario that repeats itself whenever I attend a conference out of town:

Several of us will be sitting around, enjoying dinner or sharing a shuttle, or scoping out hotel gifts shops together, and the question of children will come up.

Those who have them will pull out cell phones and show off pictures while everyone oohs and aahs appreciatively. The norm seems to be one child; a few adventurous souls will own up to having two, which is warmly commended with nods of acknowledgement for the bravery of taking on two.

Then it's my turn. I smile super big, pull out my phone with pictures and trump them all with FOUR.

There is stunned silence, until inevitably, some shocked soul will whisper "but, WHY?"

The shock intensifies when they discover that all four are adopted and therefore pretty clearly wanted, chosen, and planned for. No accidents among the bunch.

This isn't about answering that asinine question of why. I can't think of anything better to do with my life than raise a family. In my mind, justifying it is akin to justifying why anyone would want to ever fall in love or eat chocolate or go to heaven. It's such no-brainer that it doesn't even deserve much of a response.

The thing is, I can't wrap my mind around the other side. It blows me away that so very many people are deciding that children simply aren't worth it. It blows me away that they are so focused on the work and messiness and inconvenience of children that they've completely lost sight of the incomparable joy that comes with family life. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the short-sightedness that opts for less hassle now with no thought to everything that is lost by that choice.

It's especially ironic considering that most of them are one of several children who enjoy all the benefits of sibling relationships. I'm tempted to point out at times that someone willingly tackled the task of giving them life and rearing them to be moderately productive citizens, and doesn't it seem just a wee bit self-centered to refuse that role for another someone?

But, in spite of the judgmental tone of this post, I don't really spend much time worrying about the choices that other people make regarding procreation. We all choose our own path, and I respect that.

It just makes me sad that for so many people, it's a one-sided choice.

I know when I get home I'm gonna be tackled to the floor by four little people who have missed me more than anything. It's gonna be loud; they're all going to shout at once, all the exciting news I've missed. It's gonna involve crying and hurt feelings and poked elbows and trampled toes. It's gonna be messy--I'm trying not to think about what the house will look like when I get back.

It's going to be heaven on earth.

Maybe that's what I'll say, the next time someone asks why.