Sisterly Sacrifice

Sophie reading to Isaac in the Pepto Palace (2008).

When Sophie was born, we brought her home to a yellow nursery (formerly a beige office -- the office moved into the newly finished third bedroom). A year-and-a-half later, Ian moved in with her, taking over the crib while she got a toddler bed of bright colors and handprints that she and daddy painted together.

When Isaac came along, he took up residence in the yellow nursery and Sophie and Ian both moved into the third bedroom (the office moved downstairs to our newly finished basement). Sophie claimed the top bunk, Ian the bottom and my mom bought them darling quilts, both with gingham print borders, so that they "matched" while being distinctly "boy" and "girl".

When we came home from China, we decided to mix things up by moving Isaac into the bunkbed with Ian and giving Sophie her own room. She was back in the yellow nursery, but, we let her pick any color of paint she wanted. She chose pink - a very pink pink - a pepto pink. And, as the months went on, her Pepto Palace grew into a lovely lovely haven.

She got a brass bed with a canopy at the head, and a white dresser with gold trim. My parents found the most perfect little bedside desk, complete with fancy drawers and cabinets and a mirror when you open the top. We also acquired a pink upholstered antique chair. She found all of my old jewelry boxes and claimed them as her own. We secured flower shaped hooks on the wall for her to hang up her jackets. She put up pictures and decorations and made the place her own (as my sentimental Sophie tends to do with all places she inhabits).

A few months ago, it became apparent that the only way to make room for a new baby in our home would be to move Sophie downstairs (again, the office gets the boot -- it now shares a space with the playroom) and turn her room back into a nursery (lucky we had a girl in light of all that pink). My mind flashed back to a conversation we had had a few months prior to the big moving decision.

"Mommy, tonight I made a wish."
"What did you wish for?"
"I can't tell you, or it won't come true But, I'll tell you a wish I made that already came true."
"What was your wish that came true?"
"I wished I would have a beautiful bedroom when we came home from China."

That room! The Pepto Palace. It meant so much to her. But, in the end, my sweet Sophie moved downstairs to make way for her sister without complaint. We transferred her furniture, all but the canopy and the pink chair that would not fit. The walls are Boston Brick instead of pink. My mom bought a bulletin board and cute shelves and hooks to doll up the new space.

Just like the time I realized that we wouldn't be able to put our beloved hamster "Joey" in a Pringles can and take him on the airplane home from China (my kids played with that guy for at least four hours every day), I cried more than she did. Because, I knew that deep down inside, she was making such a big sacrifice.

I guess no sacrifice is too great for the blessing of a sister. I'm so in love with the way Sophie will sit and hold Katie for an hour and sing her into a calm state when she fusses. It is the absolute best to see her be a great nurturer. Even if it means I will never see her reading books under her makeshift fairy blanket "tent" at bedtime. Even if it is the end of the Pepto Palace era. I think all in our family agree, Katie Jane is worth it.

Introducing!! . . . wait for it . . .

Welcome to the world Katie Jane!
Born Saturday, May 23rd at 3:47 a.m.
8 lbs. 8 oz. 21-inches

Known for her tiny nose and long toes, Katie loves eating and being held by her older siblings and other admirers.

Among the many, many names we have considered these past few days:

Whitney Layne
Clara Jane
Laynie Kate
Kate Alayne

And, at long last, she is Katie Jane. Choosing a name. What a big decision.

Weekend Getaway

Friday night, we dropped the kids off at my mom and dad's just in case we would be able to get a bed at the hospital Saturday morning.

We dined on calamari with spicy hot wing sauce and burnt almond fudge ice-cream pie on our way to our quiet home.

At 10 p.m. Brian promptly fell asleep and I started having contractions every 2 minutes. Here is the thing about me and contractions -- I don't get that excited when I have them, because I figure I'm going to have 2 million of them before I have a baby.

For two hours, I contracted and deliberated. On the one hand, if I went directly to the hospital and the contractions were documented, they would keep my labor going and I would have the baby (what I had been hoping and trying for all day). On the other hand, what a pain to go to the hospital right when we are tired and going to bed (I was wicked tired and so was my slumbering husband). Still, back to the first hand, if I waited until morning, the contractions would most likely subside and I risked being denied at the hospital (if all of the beds were full), and I really wanted to have this baby.

Back and forth I went for two hours until midnight -- when my water broke!

This came as such a shock. I figured I would never have that experience. My Doctor has always broken my water, including with Ian when I was already at a 10.

I felt panicked. This was uncharted territory. I was planning to spend at least 12 hours on the pitocin before allowing them to break my water. And, then the breaking of the water would be the end. Suddenly everything was thrown into full throttle and I couldn't wrap my brain around what was happening.

Upon arrival at the hospital (approx. 1 a.m. by the time they checked us in), I was amazed to learn that I was at a 6 (I guess those contractions were doing something after all). I was determined to stick to my plan of going natural, but, after two hours at the hospital of i-n-t-e-n-s-e contractions every 2-minutes + large posterior baby (ouch back labor) + visions of the doctor turning the baby with no anesthesia causing added anxiety + nurse who was really ticking me off by her lack of compassion and the way she kept talking to me like a girlfriend out to lunch rather than a person in the throes of transition in desperate need of concentration = finally surrendered to drugs.

When I made the decision to get the epidural, I was like, "I don't want to feel one more minute of pain, give it to me now!" The (mean) nurse quietly hooked up my I.V. (remember, I'd already been there for 2 hours) and said, "Okay, now we have to get half the bag in you before I will call the anesthesiologist." Ummmm, that might have been nice information to share with me before I got to that exact point (imagine flames shooting out of my eyes even now as I type those thoughts).

Let me add here that the reason I didn't want the epidural to begin with is that I had had one with my first and third births and both were bad experiences.

In the end, the beloved anesthesiologist arrived and gave me a spinal (a single injection that lasts 2-hours since I was already so close), and I was immediately overcome with such a state of bliss that I was filled with love for everyone, everyone in the room and maybe in the whole world.

I was so calm and sedate. I finally understood why most women l-o-v-e their epidurals and speak of them with such fondness. The doctor arrived right when the numbing sensation started to move down my legs to the tips of my toes. Whereas I had been clinging to the ceiling in tortured pain when the nurse checked me before, I was able to lay there calm as a sunbather on the beach while my Doc turned that baby. Moments later, I was pushing. Even the pushing felt like a piece of cake. It was like I thought the word "push" and she came right out. I am seriously still in absolute amazement at how easily this 21-inch, 8 pound 8 ounce (not 9 pounds after all!) bundle of love came into the world.
It's been the best Memorial Day weekend ever, beginning with this blessed birth and rounding out with visits from dear family and friends, bubble baths in the whirlpool tub, and room service delivering meals to my bedside. All of it has been fabulous. And, Brian was an amazing labor companion (especially during the painful part). I think he was equally grateful for the drugs. We will have a name by morning.
Isaac the proud big brother keeps exclaiming, "She came out! The baby came out!" And, assessing the lovely labor room with, "This is a good place to come out."

This Just In

Just got a message from the hospital saying that they have me scheduled for an induction tomorrow morning!!! My Doctor had said she would try to schedule me for Tuesday, so, this is a nice turn of events.

Of course, they said I have to call first to make sure they have a bed. And, I've heard many a story of inductions being put off for a day or two because of lack of space. So, I'll try not to get my hopes up too terribly much.

Then again, maybe the castor oil will do the trick and they will have to take me tonight.

I did not plan to be induced. I intended to have a wholly natural birth. But, I also didn't plan for the baby to grow so big so fast! And, I guess I've already ruined the natural course of things by taking the pre-term labor shots. Oh well. It's been much nicer to be concerned with trying to go into labor than with trying to not go into labor.

Haven't Found the Trick Yet

Spicy nachos for breakfast, Indian food for lunch, a whole bottle (4 oz.) of castor oil . . . where are you baby?

I would go for a nice long walk, but, it only makes my elephant ankles even more swollen.

Oh, and here is something interesting. For the past few weeks, I've been craving chewing on ice day and night. Normally, I never use ice at all. I just discovered that this is a sign of anemia. Isn't that strange? I suppose all will be resolved when I have this baby.

I'm off to finish working my way through Pride and Prejudice.

Lemon Pie = Labor Pie?

Layne's lemon pie is soooo delish! My mom said it is the best lemon pie she has ever had in her life. But, I don't think I should say such things about my own cooking.

As far as the pregnancy goes, unlike my previous births, I have not been anxious to have this baby. I mean, I am excited, but, not "anxious" as in, "get out now!" I've been really mother-earth, my-body-knows-what-to-do and she'll-come-when-she-is-ready about the whole thing.

My official due-date is June 1st. Or, sometime between the 1-3, but, officially, on my chart it is June 1st. Since I've never actually been preggo up to my due-date, I've just gone with the official due-date of "end of May." When that doesn't appease peoples' inquiries and they want a more specific date, I say, "the very end of May." If they are just dead set on an exact date (and, why are so many people dead set on an exact date? It's not an exact science people!), I tell them, "June 1st." There are you happy now? I'm due so late in May, that it might even be June.

Even though my comfort has been greatly compromised for the past month (read: life=pain), I have still tried to think of each day as a precious gift of time. One more day to clean and organize, one more day to set up the nursery, one more day to go to the kids' softball games, one more day for Isaac to be the baby . . . come rock-a-bye with me my baby one more time before my arms are filled with another little one.

Physically, I've been ready to burst for quite some time. But, mentally and emotionally, I was more shooting for the middle of June.

Finally, Wednesday morning, I woke up and thought, "I'm ready." Not like, "get out now!" But, like, "I'm ready. I'm at peace. I could go anytime and that would be okay."

Then, I started thinking about lemon pie and how when we bit into it on Tuesday, the books arrived and it became celebration pie. Could it possibly be a charmed pie that could induce celebratory events, even labor? I ate a piece for breakfast just in case.

I went to a Doctor's appointment Thursday morning.

Not this Doctor, though I hear he is highly recommended.

I'm at a 3 and 75% effaced. Which means absolutely nothing to me since I'm typically at a 4 for absurd lengths of time. All of my babies are posterior and that is why my labors are so long (as in weeks). I'm trying to be open to the idea that this labor could be different. We'll see.

For quite some time the Doctor has been telling me that this baby is large. I figured she would slow down, because, I've had three kids and they've all been pretty close to 7 1/2 pounds. I think I know what I am doing, and, I don't grow 10-pound babies.

Or, do I?

Yesterday morning, I had to come to grips with the reality of my Doctor telling me that this baby is already 9-pounds!!! Whaaat? I mean, she could be smaller (or, heaven forbid, bigger!). They don't know "for sure." But, this I do know -- a few hours before Ian was born, they told me he was 7 lbs. 5 oz. and that is exactly what he weighed. So, I do think my doctor is exceptionally good at determining this kind of thing.

My Doctor said, "When babies grow over 9-pounds, we get concerned about the shoulders getting stuck in the pelvis." And, I said, "Oh, yeah, Sophie's shoulders got stuck and she had to be pretty forcibly removed (with a vacuum and three Doctor's pushing - no, more like sitting - on my stomach if you must know). But, she was my first and this is my fourth, so the way has been paved."

My Doctor looked pretty concerned, and asked, "How big was Sophie?" The answer: 7 lbs. 11 oz. (my biggest so far). And, then my Doctor looked really concerned and said, "Well, your pelvis does not get bigger with each birth so this is a problem."

I reflected on our conversation for the rest of the day and woke up at 5 a.m. thinking, "I MUST have this baby TODAY!" I e-mailed my request to be induced and my Doctor called me back at 8 a.m. to say, "Yeah, you and everyone else wants to be induced on the Friday of a holiday weekend!" So, she scheduled me for Tuesday, unless . . .

Well, unless I can somehow get some contractions going on. Then, she will happily help me keep the labor going once I check into the hospital. But, so far, all is quiet. I even tried a strawberry pie from Maddox. But, these pies just aren't helping people!

Here's to hoping I don't make it through the weekend without birthing my super-sized baby.

I Love: Being an At-Home-Mom

Am I a Stay-at-Home-Mom (SAHM) or a Work-at-Home-Mom (WAHM)? Some days it's hard to tell. All I know is that I am tremendously grateful for the AHM part.

For as long as I can remember, I planned to stay home when I had kids. It was never a question in my mind. This commitment to be an AHM affected decisions I made in college and is the reason we bought a fixer-upper in Ogden (which we knew we could eventually afford on one income) instead of one of the nicer, already fixed up homes we could have afforded on the two incomes we had when we bought a home.

When it came right down to giving up (nearly) 50% of our household income and trading my amazing 100% coverage health insurance benefits to pay more for the not-as-fabulous health insurance benefits offered by Brian's employer, it did raise some questions.

"Perhaps I should see if they will let me work part-time? Perhaps I should just work for a few more months so we can put some money into savings? Perhaps . . ."

Instead, I went cold turkey and quit my job right when Sophie was born. That was probably for the best, because, really, when is it ever convenient to give up income and/or benefits?

Sophie's heart hair-do for Valentine's Day.

Then, came the transition period. And, I am sad to admit that there was a lot of complaining and ingratitude. There were, of course, wonderful moments. But, transitioning from a fast paced life in the career world to the isolation of being at home with an infant was a lot harder than I had imagined. It took some time to find my niche. As the years have gone by, I've learned to love being an AHM more than anything else life has to offer.

This is what we do sometimes when we are suppose to be going to bed.



















When Isaac was a baby, I went through a time when I seriously considered getting a full-time job. Regular paychecks, company health insurance plans, paid vacations, and other benefits are such beautiful things lost to the self-employed (now, I only wish we had the option to pay what we paid for those less than stellar company benefits). I wrote down the pros and cons. Added up the costs (such as childcare and money lost from my WAHM ventures) and subtracted them from the foreseeable pay increase. When I came face-to-face with working as my possible reality, it broke my heart to pieces to think of leaving my kids. I suddenly didn't feel like complaining about the little struggles, the never ending housework, and other minor things that can cloud the vision of gratitude for the tremendous blessing of being home raising my own kids. The money and benefits didn't seem so lucrative anymore.

My crew of six feeding the ducks.

Recently, a copy of Dr. Laura's new book, "In Praise of Stay At Home Moms," came into my possession and reading it ramped up my gratitude for my blessings even more.

First, by way of critique, I feel inclined to say that this book felt more like reading a rough draft than a published piece. And, I had a difficult time digesting the first three chapters that I think really put down working moms. Even though being an AHM is the absolute best, right, and only choice for me, I feel like there needs to be a mutual respect.

With that said, I also felt washed over with sincere gratitude for my blessings. It was kind of like reading a book on the miracle of eyesight. Each of us is so blessed by this gift, yet, we don't go around every day thinking, "I am SO grateful to see!!!" Reading this book made me really think about my blessings when it comes to being a mom. And, it made me even more grateful for the support I get from Brian. He would never suggest that I go to work and he appreciates all that I do in the home.


Several months ago, I heard a caller on a talk radio program who changed my perspective of being an AHM. The topic was childhood obesity and asking why kids today don't run around the neighborhood and play outside the way we did when we were kids? People suggested that it's because of technology (kids playing computer games and watching T.V.) combined with parents being afraid of kidnappers. Then, a caller said, "It's because of moms going to work." And, he talked about how when he was a kid there was a mom in almost every house peering out the window now and then to make sure the neighborhood gang of kids wasn't getting into mischief. They knew that if they had a problem, they could knock on almost any door to get help from a mom. With the majority of the moms gone, it has changed the whole face of the neighborhood and made it less safe for kids to go out and get the fresh air and exercise they need.



This got me to thinking about how my choice to not work outside the home could actually be for an even greater good than just the benefit of my family. Like my few drops given back to the ocean of humanity. That's nice. But, what is really nice is getting to be with my kids. I wouldn't trade it for a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g.

Celebration Pie

Layne posted a recipe for lemon pie that caught my eye. So, today, for no reason in particular, I whipped one up, and, yum!

Brian was cleaning out the garage and I invited him in for a slice. "Why are we having pie?" He wanted to know. Just then he got a phone call informing him that the giant shipment of 2,000 Ogden books just rolled into Ogden from the slow boat from China. Then, we knew we were eating celebration pie.

He is unloading the books as I type. If you need a portrait photo book, I know where you can get one.

I Love: Loving Ogden

Even though I grew up in North Ogden, I had a very bad image of Ogden City. Yes, the suburb of North Ogden is very different from the lowly-impoverished-crime-ridden (as it is often portrayed) heart of Ogden City.

When Brian and I bought our starter-fixer-upper bungalow in Ogden proper, it was quite the shock to my system. I spent my first couple of years bemoaning the fact that I lived in Ogden, or, the armpit of Utah, as I then referred to it.

Around the time Sophie was 6-months-old, I attended a meeting in which a certain Ogdenite (Kym B.) talked briefly about the virtues of Ogden. She spoke of the surrounding mountain beauty, the fact that the trails are within walking distance from our homes (at least for those of us living up on the bench), and she ended with, "Lots of people hate Ogden and talk about it's problems. But, I love Ogden. There is nowhere else I would rather live."

And, believe me, this is a person who could live elsewhere if she chose.

This gave me something to ponder. A classy gal like this proclaiming to a large group that she l-o-v-e-s Ogden. I had never heard such a spin on the city I'd been raised to view as tattoo parlors and people with missing teeth.

I thought and thought about her statements. Then, I began to look around. It was fall. Could this really be Ogden? This gorgeous setting? All of these huge beautiful trees lining my street with leaves raining down like a fairytale?

As I began raising my family, I started appreciating the many family friendly things right at my fingertips. The farmer's and art market, Dinosaur Park, the gorgeous Temple, the Treehouse Museum, the amphitheater -- all of them first class, and all of them less than five-minutes from my home. My parents' home in North Ogden started to seem way out in the boonies. Why would anyone choose to live somewhere other than downtown? Especially on the east bench with these one-of-a-kind historic homes?

By paying a little bit of attention, I started to learn about all of the festivals and cultural events right here in my own little city. The kids and I attended them all religiously (and, almost everything was free).

Yes, there are many, many reasons to love Ogden. That is for sure. I'm so glad that my eyes were opened to my blessings.

On the one hand, when Ballet West comes to town for their one performance, it may pale in comparison to the multiple shows they put on in Salt Lake City. But, that is what makes it special, it's our one little gem here in Ogden. It's unexpected.

And, let's look at a restaurant like Tona as another example. Yes, I'm sure there are probably half a dozen or more restaurants of equal or (dare I say) greater quality in any given area of Salt Lake. But, they are a dime a dozen in those parts. When you find a "Tona" in between the tattoo parlors and pawn shops, it is worth appreciating.

Even though I never would have thought to choose Ogden as my home, it turns out that I have loved learning to love Ogden over the years. It is truly unique and does have so much more to offer than it is generally given credit for.

I guess it's a matter of choosing which parts to focus on.

For the 75th anniversary of Ogden Pioneer Days this summer, the city is having 75 artists decorate horses to display around the city. Brian was lucky enough to get to do an "I Am Ogden" horse with pictures from his book:


We're not big rodeo fans around here, but, this project was fun. Well, at least the finished product is fun.

The horse made it's debut on Channel 2 this morning. And, luckily, I did not go into labor!

I Will do my Best to Grant Your Wish

I have less than three weeks to go. Isaac was born three weeks early.

This time, I had 20-weeks of shots to combat pre-term labor, so, even though I traditionally deliver early, that changes the whole system in ways I have yet to understand. At this point, I guess anything can happen.

I've been having irregular, yet strong and steady contractions for the past 18-hours. What does that mean? I'm not sure. I've usually been having contractions for two months by now. I've usually been at a 4 for two weeks (or, more) by now. Two weeks ago, things had not even started happening. Everything is completely different this time.

Last night, Brian requested that I don't have the baby before Saturday. It would really be a problem to be in labor all night tonight, or, delivering the baby tomorrow morning -- since, he's slated to be on the channel 2 news with Casey Scott in the morning to promote his book. He is really wacky when he is sleep deprived, and, it would be even worse if he missed it. The spot on the news I mean.

My mom thinks I should wait at least until Monday, so the baby isn't born too early, but, then, she'd really like for me to get a move on it so that the baby isn't too big for my own comfort (this really distresses her since she had large babies by c-section) and so we can move on with planning my brother's wedding which is currently scheduled for five days after my due-date (hmmmm . . .).

Heidi would not like for me to have the baby early next week, as she will be out of town. She will also be out of town at the end of the month. She is asking me to shoot for between the 20-26th . . .

Paula is also on her way out of of town for 10-days to Washington D.C.! So jealous. So, it would be best if I waited until she got back.

The kids have a piano recital on Saturday. Their teacher would like me to please wait until that is over. While I'm making it through Saturday, I may as well make it through my beautiful nephew's blessing on Sunday. And, there is the sewing class next Tuesday to finish an apron I started yesterday. Could I please not miss that?

All of this is making me laugh. Because, guys, she is coming when she is coming, alright?

Just . . . please not during the morning news tomorrow.

I Love: My Neighbors

This is my neighbor, Clair.

He is a WWII Veteran and a spry nearly 90-year-
old man.

I have to admit that when Brian and I first bought our little fixer-
upper bungalow in Ogden, it took us awhile to appreciate the amazing person this man is.

Back in the pre-children days, when we liked to sleep in on a Saturday, we sometimes had a hard time appreciating his early morning schedule -- out at the break of dawn washing his motor home, patching the cement work in his driveway, or, otherwise tinkering (right outside our bedroom window).

Back in the days when I had two tiny kids and I was always frazzled trying to get them buckled into their carseats while running late for a doctor's appointment or playdate, I didn't always appreciate being stopped in my driveway for a story (usually involving extensive facts about geological formations in Montana).

But, over the years, I've grown in awe and appreciation of this person. First of all, I am amazed at his stamina. He gets up at 3:30 a.m. every day, eats vegetable soup for breakfast, goes on a 5 a.m. walk with his grown daughter, and then starts a full and busy day of hard work. Ever the optimist, he always tells me that life just gets better and better with old age. I've come to look forward to our driveway chats. And, to appreciate his big hearted service. In the winter, he snowblows three or four driveways at every snowfall.

Recently, Clair had some serious health problems and was in the hospital for several weeks, undergoing five surgeries. This happened a few years back, and, he was able to make a full recovery. Things looked pretty bleak this time around, but, I'm convinced the man has nine-lives because, once again, he made it.

I hadn't even heard that he was out of the hospital when I saw him mowing his lawn a couple of weeks ago. He moved very slowly, but, he did it (he was still eating from a feeding tube which was only removed a few days ago).

And, you could have knocked me over with a feather today when he showed up unannounced and tilled my garden!!!

This reminded me of President Henry B. Eyring's recent conference talk entitled "Adversity," addressing the purifying effects of trials in our lives and about how to find relief when these inevitable challenging times come our way. He says:

"The Lord always suits the relief to the person in need to best strengthen and purify him or her. Often it will come in the inspiration to do what might seem especially hard for the person who needs help himself."

He tells the story of a personal friend in declining health who always gave a smile though he was in constant pain. Later, when he was forced to use a cane to walk, President Eyring caught him dragging his (President Eyring's) garbage can back to the house from the curb with one hand, while balancing himself on his cane with the other.

"He was giving me the help he thought I needed when he needed it far more than I did. And he was helping with a smile and without being asked," Eyring said.

Today, Clair was a living example to me of President Eyring's words. Clair is just one of the many reasons why, for better or worse, we may never be able to leave our little starter bungalow. What is better than great neighbors when it comes to where you live?

You Can Make the Pathway Bright, Hymn #228, verse 3

You can do a kindly deed
To your neighbor in his need,
If there's sunshine in your heart;

And his burden you will share
As you lift his load of care,
If there's sunshine in your heart today.

If there's sunshine in your heart,
You can send a shining ray
That will turn the night to day;

And your cares will all depart,
If there's sunshine in your heart today.

I Love: Being a Mom

I woke up early this morning and pondered about the new little one about to join our lives. It's strange, because even though I've done this three times already, I still feel apprehensive from time to time. You know, the, "How can I possibly love another baby as much as I love my other children?" feeling. Ridiculous, I know. Then, I remind myself that it's just because I don't know her yet. Or, at least, we haven't met in person in this lifetime. Yet.

As I thought about her impending entrance into our world, my thoughts were flooded with memories of Isaac's birth. I remembered how I was hopelessly and so completely taken with that guy from the second I laid eyes on him. It was like that with all of my babies really. But, it was Isaac's first hours with me that I saw on this particular morning. I am having a fabulous time riding out this wave of anticipation. For the first time, it's like I don't want this pregnancy to end. I finally understand that the best gift ever is about to come my way (so much better than my birthday, Christmas and winning the lottery all wrapped up in one moment), and, it is so exciting to look forward to. I don't want the anticipation to end.

I do, however, want the discomfort to end.

Sophie awoke and announced, "Mom, I don't think we are singing to you at church today because we haven't been practicing." I told her that she'd better sing to me. And, her brothers too, or they would all be walking home.

Then, I thought back to a Mother's Day past, one of the first times my little cherubs sang to me in Sacrament meeting. One year Sophie was a sunbeam. The very next year, Ian was a sunbeam, and, there they were, both of my darlings up on the stand all ready to sing love and praises to their mommy! I was beaming with joy. Then, just as the music began, one of them leaned against the other. The other pushed back. And, so it went, a back and forth shoving match that soon escalated into a hitting match while my ear-to-ear smile dropped to a shocked expression and I started wondering if I should intervene. Fortunately, a primary worker stepped in for me and the show went on while Brian and I tried to control our laughter.

This morning, I was showered with all of the homemade cards and gifts that make Mother's Day the best day ever (oh, how I think I will miss the days of the handmade treasures when the kids get older). And, the kids did sing to me. This time with no fighting. I beamed. I swooned every time they looked my way. And, I laughed out loud several times at Isaac who was perched up on a chair by himself dramatically mouthing made up words to the songs.

At one point during Sacrament meeting, I was sitting at the end of the bench all by myself relaxing while all of the kids were piled onto Brian with their coloring books and such. I looked over at them and suddenly thought, "Those are my kids!" And, the thought sunk so deep into my soul (in a way that realizations about the beauties of life rarely do) that I just started to cry. Luckily, right at that moment, Isaac came over to give me a hug, so I was able to temporarily hide my tears by burying my face in his luxurious head of hair. But, of course, hugging him made me cry even harder. And, just when I was feeling mighty embarrassed lest someone should look over at me and wonder why I was sobbing my eyes out (especially if my mascara was running all over), he pulled away and started to head butt me. Just keeping it real. So, I lovingly whispered "You are a stinker!" To which, he loudly proclaimed over and over, "No! You are a stinker!!" So, I'm pretty sure everyone was looking at us by then as I tried to pull myself together.

These are my kids.

I'm so overwhelmingly full of gratitude for them today. And, gratitude to Brian for wanting to have this big family and for being the most fun daddy ever. Being a mom is the best.

I Love: These Two

What a pair. They keep my days interesting and full of joy. Their current obsession is the alphabet -- singing the ABC song, identifying letters everywhere we go, randomly telling me what sounds the letters make, and putting together the ABC train puzzle (and taking it back apart) 300 times per day.

This morning they kept running outside and getting in the van to play. When I'd come out, they would lock the doors and lay on the floor to "hide." Not only could I still see them, but I had keys, so they weren't as stealth as they would have liked to be.

I was finally able to distract them from that game when a friendly stray cat wandered into our yard. I loved seeing their excitement for the next 30-minutes as they watched that feline prowl about. Excitement and curiosity mixed with a tiny bit of fear when kitty came too close.

While I was fixing lunch, they each grabbed two spoons and banged them together. When that got old, they grabbed chopsticks and played them on the table like "drum sticks." When things got a little bit too quiet, I peeked in to see them using the chopsticks to poke holes in the pears in the fruit bowl in the center of the table. They both turned their guilty eyes to me and Izzy quietly and slowly said, "Aya do'ed it."

Izzy went to preschool this afternoon and Isaac took a bath (preschool just isn't his cuppa tea). I peeled myself away from reading blogs and took the time to blow bubbles at Isaac in the tub. I loved his delighted squeals as they stuck to his wet body, floated on the water and popped in his hands. It seems like I did more of that kind of thing when Sophie and Ian were little. Maybe I did, or, maybe those are just the moments that stick in my memory now.

When Izzy came home, we had to do the bubbles again (sans bathtub) and again I was filled with joy watching these two characters chase and pop those iridescent wonders. We had such a fun day reading stories and catching lady bugs. I feel so blessed to get to spend most of my days with these two.

I Love: Brian

I love Brian for so many reasons, but, today, I am especially grateful for the way he has been taking superb care of me in my final days and weeks of pregnancy.

On Saturday, I attended a wedding shower in Logan with my mom while Brian stayed home with all of the kids all day. Not only did he get them to clean up their rooms - he also mopped all of the floors. Apparently, being the BEST floor mopper ever is a special skill he acquired as a teenager working at Wendy's.

As if that weren't enough, Monday morning, as soon as the kids were gone to school, he washed all the dishes and then he scrubbed out the sink so shiny I think I can see myself in it. When we remodeled our kitchen and our bathroom, we kept the old sinks and bathtub because they "looked cool." Unfortunately, being 93-years-old and "looking cool" also equals "extremely hard to clean." I can never get that kitchen sink as clean as I would like and it's times like these, when Brian puts his manly muscles to work for 20-minutes of intense and focused scrubbing, that my sink looks fabulous and I am so grateful!

And, then, he took out the trash.

Yes, I'm sorry if you are feeling full of envy and needing to repent after reading this post. If so, perhaps you should stop now, because it goes on.

I was given a lovely gift certificate to a spa for a pre-natal massage and a deluxe pedicure. Since, I already had an appointment to have my hair done this Friday (I don't want to look gross in the birth pictures, right?), I decided to make a whole day of it -- hair in the morning, spa in the afternoon. And, Brian is keeping Isaac all day long while I bask in the lap of luxury!!! I can hardly wait. I think about it all day every day. Yes, I'm feeling truly spoiled by that hunka hunka husband of mine.

Okay, so he isn't really doing the laundry here. He's making Isaac giggle, which, in my book, is even better.

I Love: Waffles

When I was growing up, we did not own a waffle iron. Oh, sure, we had pancakes, french toast, cinnamon toast and all manner of sugar cereals. It's not as if we were deprived. But, waffles became the novelty breakfast item for me. The only time I got to eat them was when I slept over at my best friend's house. Every time her mother asked us what we wanted for breakfast, I requested waffles. To this day, one of my favorite wedding gifts is still a heart shaped waffle iron we received (I use it for special occasions, we've since added a Belgium waffle maker too).

Recently, my friend Deanne gave me the best waffle recipe ever:

1/4 c. walnuts or pecans
2 c. vanilla soy milk
2 eggs
1 small apple, peeled and cored
1 tbsp. honey
1 tbsp. canola oil

Place walnuts in a blender on high speed until flour-like. Add milk, eggs, apple, honey and oil. Blend on medium speed for two minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the waffle iron and mix the following in a large bowl:

2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking powder

Add wet mixture to the dry mixture and mix well. Use about 3/4 cups batter for each waffle. Makes about 6 Belgium waffles.

You can top them however you want, but, my recommendation is honey and cinnamon. Delish! Now, go make waffles for dinner.

I Love: This Bread

Slowly, I am amassing my own hoard of mommy power tools. Two years ago, I got an electric wheat grinder. Recently I added a Kitchen Aid. The wheat grinder and the Kitchen Aid have been a great combo and I've been baking up a storm.

Before getting the Kitchen Aid, I wanted one because everyone l-o-v-e-d theirs. But, I was also kind of thinking, "What is the big deal? Is it really that hard to hold a mixer or knead dough?" Well, now that I've had the Kitchen Aid around, I can see what the big deal is. It's like having another person helping out in the kitchen. And, I'm not talking about a person under the age of five. In fact, this "helper" is also a great source of entertainment and distraction for my under-age-five helpers.

About two years ago, I started baking my own bread off and on. It was yummy, but, difficult to use for sandwiches because it would always fall apart when I would cut it. About two weeks ago, a friend of mine took me to a fabulous whole wheat cooking class and I finally learned how to make awesome bread! It's fluffy and holds together. It's a lot like Great Harvest honey whole wheat.

3 cups hot water (110-120 degrees)
1/3 cup oil
1/3 cup honey or Xagave
1 Tbsp. liquid lecithin (opt.)
2 Tbsp. vital wheat gluten
1 Tbsp. dough enhancer
2 Tbsp. SAF instant yeast
1 Tbsp. salt
6-8 cups freshly milled whole wheat flour

In the mixing bowl add water, oil, honey (or, Xagave) and lecithin. Don't mix. Add four cups of flour. Don't mix. On top of the flour, add wheat gluten, dough enhancer and yeast. Do not add the salt yet. "Jog" in the mixture by switching it on and off quickly to combine ingredients. Then, mix on speed 2 until smooth. Let stand for about 10 minutes (until dough has doubled in size). Then add the salt and mix it in. Finally, add the remaining 2-4 cups of flour 1/2 cup at a time. The dough will seem very sticky. When it doesn't stick to a lightly floured finger, stop adding flour (it will seem like it's not enough flour and too sticky, but, stop anyways and it will be better). Mix for 10 more minutes on speed 2. Coat hands with shortening and form into 3 small or 2 large loaves. Place in greased loaf pans. Let rise until doubled -- 30-40 minutes. Place into a cold oven (don't preheat) and bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes.

** Note, I like to make two medium size loaves and use the extra dough for cinnamon rolls, monkey bread or pizza crust.