1st day of the rest of his life...

My 5 year old has entered a new phase in his life --about a month ago, he started kindergarten.
(I know, I'm a little behind, but life is busy. What can I say?)

Isn't he so cute?  The one day he doesn't go to school with bed head.

I'm not sure what to feel (besides feeling older). I'm a little bit sad and a little bit happy, a little bit worried and little bit excited.
I mean, it could mean the beginning the difficult process of growing up, of suddenly having expectations placed upon you --which you may or may not live up to--, being judged and tested and given scores with actual numbers and letters that may or may not reflect how "smart" you are or the particular talents you have, of having less say in the course of your day to day life, and dealing with outside forces and influences and people that may or may not be kind and loving or have your best interest in mind...
However it could also be the beginning of great growth and exploration, of gaining confidence and will power, having structure to your day, making goals and seeing measurable progress, meeting new people who are just like you or who are on your side helping you to be the best you can be, realizing just how big the world is and seeing your potential as part of it, and having an opportunity to affect the lives of those around you in a positive way...

I guess it will probably be a little of both.

I hope that even though I can't control what happens to my kids when they're out of the home, I can prepare them and instill a in them a positive attitude about school, and about life in general, and help them see the possibilities life has to offer ...even on those days when I don't want to get out of bed in the morning either.

The Hills are Alive...

....and they're going to eat me...  Aaa-a-a-aahh.


I went for a hike with the boys the other day while my husband was at work.   Now, I've never been afraid of the woods.  I grew up going camping and hiking on a regular basis, and at times I felt more at home there than anywhere.  However, as I hiked through this forest, with my little ones surrounding me, I was suddenly panic-stricken.  What if something happened?  What if a bear, or a mountain lion, or even wolves for that matter, thought my baby sounded like something to eat?  What if one of those dumb cows by the side of the road, or even worse, a mama moose, decided to take offense at something and charge!?  What if, what if, what if...?  It was making me paranoid.

I wasn't too concerned with minor injuries, nettles, bees, whatever.  I was worried about having to fight off some ferocious animal with a baby strapped to my back.  It probably didn't help that there were "Be Bear Aware" signs all over, and we were packing yummy-smelling peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
As we lost sight of the car, I heard a really strange noise, similar to what I might imagine a cougar to sound like, but lower and kinda garbled.  There were cows on the other side of the clearing, but this didn't sound like any cow.  As I seriously considered making a run for the car, I looked around at the docile creatures, and decided that if the cows weren't concerned that I wouldn't be either.  I said a quick prayer (one of many that day), grabbed a big stick, and kept going.

We actually had a really great time!  It was a lovely hike, and a beautiful day.  We enjoyed our little picnic and when the trail ended, the boys wanted to keep going, so we just hoofed it up through the trees, higher and higher, exploring as we went.

We saw a lot of really cool things on the way,

and experienced a few firsts...

 The baby, even though we went way past his nap time, just chilled in the backpack, soaking it all in.  He loved it.

As we went back down the mountain and down the trail, the boys couldn't resist the urge to let gravity take them faster and faster, running, leaping, flying.  We were almost to the place we left the car, but still, I felt those imaginary cords that bind them to me tighten as they got just a little too far for comfort.  I called, to no avail, as they disappeared out of sight.

The panic, which had left for the most part, suddenly came back as I noticed the cows across the way jump up and start running down the canyon. More and more cows appeared from somewhere to the right.  Fears of what might be scaring them, and a possible stampede ran through my head.  As I rounded the next bend I saw the car, and my two little boys almost to it.  Thank goodness for keyless entry and power sliding doors.  I pushed the button on my key chain so the kids could easily hop into the car, and once they were safely inside I finally felt a sense of relief.

Ah, motherhood.  I know it will always be like this.  I will never stop worrying.

Of course, the cows were just afraid of us, and now, because nothing ever happened, I feel a little silly about all my fears.  However, I'm glad that I didn't give up and give in to them, letting them get in the way of our beautiful day.

Still, I might purchase a can of bear spray before next time, just in case.

A Walk Down Memorial Lane

The kids and I went exploring.  The road to our favorite canyon was closed so we ended up here.  

How fitting since it was just a few days after Memorial Day.

FYI: Cemeteries are the most colorful right after Memorial Day.

The Jackson Hole Cemetery is the most beautiful cemetery I know.

It's on the side of a mountain, so all the plots are tiered.

It was a little boy paradise.

We talked a bit about mortality, and what happens after we die.  As I tried to avoid scaring them, I might have made it sound too good because both kids decided they wanted to die right now and go to Heaven.  Oops.  So then I had to talk up earth life, which was surprisingly hard to do.

You know what though, mortality isn't supposed to be easy.  It's not all fun and games.

In fact, we probably cried harder when we sent people off into mortality, knowing how difficult, and painful, and lonely it might be, and that some of them might succumb to Satan's lies, forget who they are, and lose the blessings God has in store for His children.
Of course, I didn't tell them that.

Instead, I told them how grateful I am for my life, for my body, for my family, for the things I get to learn and experience --things I couldn't do elsewhere, and for the knowledge we have of Heavenly Father's plan for us.

I'm so glad I get to be their mother, and that I have the opportunity (or rather, the responsibility), to impart to them the things I've come to know and cherish. I have hope that it will guide them throughout their lives, give them direction, and make things a little easier on their journey through this life,

...wherever their paths may take them.

Work of Art?

The balance and simple aesthetics of this particular piece astounds me.  The strong straight lines, paired with the whimsical spattering of the dark color adds multiple dimensions of contrast. The carefully placed human element and the temporary nature of this medium suggests the impermanence of our own existence, and embodies the fleeting moment that is childhood.

Medium:  Mud on White Door

He couldn't have signed it better than if he could actually write.

I  wish I could always see his "masterpieces" as works of art, but generally I just see them as work for me.  Someday I'll miss it, I know, so I'll cherish these moments while I can (after giving a good [loud] lecture and taking away a few privileges).

Honestly though, the look of pure delight on his face and the jubilation in his voice as he announced "I have muddy hands!" almost makes me want to let him play in the mud everyday of his childhood.  However, thinking of all the cat poop that was buried in that particular mud reminds me why I freaked out so bad in the first place.

Sigh. Motherhood...

(I didn't see it at first, but my husband pointed out to me that our  3 yr. old's handprint resembles a smiley face with it's tongue sticking out. Genius!)

Kids Need Zen Gardens Too

I just wish it wasn't on my patio.

Progress

Not bad for a phone camera eh? Still, a new one is on its way. Yay!

Do you ever have those times when your life feels like you're walking up a 'down' escalator?  Or that for every two steps you take, you slide backwards one?

We went to the sand dunes for a small family outing.  It was fun, but man those last three yards to the top were about the end of me.  It was super steep, and with every step there was a mini avalanche that would bury my feet and shoes and I'd find myself standing just about where I started.  If I hadn't had the baby strapped to my front, I probably would have tried crawling on all fours.

Luckily, my wonderful husband (after already pretty much carrying the two boys to the top) was there to hold my hand and support me as we struggled together to the top. He didn't just cheer from above, or even just reach down and pull me up to join him.  He was right there next to me helping me, as he struggled to keep his footing as well, and together we made it.

Since our third child has joined us and I've been dealing with health issues, as well as possible post-baby emotional issues, life has felt like an uphill struggle.  Whether it's housework, or callings, or lifestyle changes, or keeping up with three kids ages four and under... my life often appears as an impossibly steep mountain that threatens to bury me with each step.
Luckily, I don't have to do it all by myself.
I've been so blessed to have a wonderful husband who isn't above helping me with what some may see as "my job."

He could come home from work and say, "Well, I've done my job, time to relax!" and scorn me for not doing my job very well because the house is messy or dinner's not ready right when he comes home.  Or he could see me floundering and piously think, "If we could only trade jobs for a day, I'd show her how it's done..." and maybe blitz the house for good measure to make it look clean (getting angry when it doesn't stay that way for very long) all the while acting like a martyr.

No, I am proud to say my husband is truly amazing. He is right there in the trenches with me.  He cleans, does laundry, gets up with the children and feeds them breakfast so I can sleep in, watches them so I can go grocery shopping alone, and he even reads them scriptures and puts them down at night.  (Sheesh, this is making me feel a little inadequate.  Just to be fair, I am usually feeding the baby at those times, and I'm the one getting up in the night with the kids).  He has even come to grips with his original misconceptions that once something is cleaned it will stay that way forever, and learned that 'my job' is an unending one.

I would feel really inadequate if I thought he did all those things better than I do, but he's so thoughtful and considerate of my feelings that he occasionally makes mistakes, like breaking dishes and setting stains and putting the kids in mismatched (if not each other's) clothes, just to make me feel better.  :)

Someday, I'll get back on top of things, and be able to help him be the amazing English professor that he dreams of being.  However, I'm so glad that he chooses to put his family first.  --and to all those students waiting for their unit one papers...  just be patient, he's a lot more lenient when he feels like he's neglected you, so no more whining.

Hey you.  Happy 6th anniversary.

S.A.N.T.A.

So, does anyone else have a problem lying to their children about the whole Santa thing?

I mean, I love the innocence of youth that allows for kids to believe in something magical, and obviously I believed in Santa as a kid and turned out okay...I think.  Actually by the time I was told the truth, I wasn't too surprised, although I could imagine some kids being heartbroken and feeling completely betrayed...

Seriously though, why do we do it anyway? Does it really convince kids to be good, or change their behavior to tell them that if they're naughty they're not getting anything for Christmas?  Um, yeah right.


Gee, all those poor kids sure must've been naughty... 


Now, I'm not saying that anyone who teaches their kids about Santa is wrong, but I am having a personal dilemma with it.  I have to admit that not only am I a horrible liar --no pokerface whatsoever -- but I feel super guilty and weird telling my kids about a strange bearded man in a fuzzy red jumpsuit who somehow comes down the chimney to give them toys...for whatever reason (obviously not for being complete angels though).  Honestly, the first time I tried telling them I think they were more alarmed than anything.  At least we have a chimney this time so I don't have to field those kind of questions.  I couldn't bring myself to even approach the whole reindeer thing though.

I suppose there's something to be said for tradition, and it just being a part of childhood, but still... I don't need one more thing to undermine my credibility with my kids.

Remember how Mom lied to us about that whole Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy thing?  Maybe she was lying about the whole God thing (or drugs/alcohol thing) too...


Yikes!!

Okay, so maybe I'm blowing it our of proportion, and honestly, I'll most likely keep on telling my kids about Santa et al.  However, I'm still going to try to be careful not to get too into it, or try super hard to convince them of anything.  And when they do figure it out, I'll make sure to let them know not to go blabbing it to all their friends and ruin the "fun" (since lying is fun you know).

So far, I've only told them that Santa is a really nice guy who gives presents to everybody because that is what Jesus would do if He were here.  They already know that Christmas is Jesus's Birthday, and since we can't give presents to Him we give them to other people, because when we do things to other people it's like doing things to Him.

Oh yeah, and when we go to Grandma's house for the holidays, we will be sure to tell Santa that we're going to be there so he can find us --the kids were worried.

I'm such a liar.

I think I'll end with a few of my silly attempts at an acronym for Santa. Pick your favorite.

S.A.N.T.A. 

Sweets
And
Nice
Toys for
All

Singlehanded

Act of

Nationwide

Toy

Allocation

Sublime
And
Nostalgic,
Truth is
Ambivalent

Standard
Anecdote;
Negotiable
Truths
Abound

Subterfugitive    

Anomaly

Notorious in 

Traditional

Allegories

Buhmadoes

You know how we're supposed to teach our kids how to speak our language?  It seems like I'm learning their language instead.  Not only am I the one person in the universe who understands what they are saying sometimes, but I'm afraid that it is rubbing off on me. For example, my oldest will say, "I don't like buhmadoes," and I will find myself saying something like, "Well, give your buhmadoes to your brother."
Does this happen to anyone else?

Speaking of vegetables... we took the kids to a doctors appointment yesterday for a routine checkup.  As the doctor quizzed my oldest on his numbers and colors and such I felt like I was on trial.  After all, those questions are really to see how much you have taught them right?  Anyway, when the question came up, "What's your favorite food?" my four year old responded, "Carrots! But my brother, he likes buhmadoes."   

Ha ha, score for me!  I promise I didn't teach him to say that.