Elliot

I'm the mother of a ten-year-old.

A handsome

funny

inventive

sneaky

reading

helpful

sensitive

long-remembering

easily distracted

logical

independent

meat- and carbs-loving

self-conscious

creative

reserved

inquisitive

loving

ten-year-old.

Elliot had a birthday a few weeks ago. I love this kid to death. I'm probably too hard on him, and sometimes we fight for control (I know I ought to let him grow up, but it's so hard!), but deep down Elliot and I really "get" each other. I love to share inside jokes with him. I love to watch him develop his talents and succeed. I am so grateful for the help he gives me and for the kindness he shows his younger siblings.

It's sad to think about him being on the downward slope of his childhood.

I have woes

Yesterday morning, five minutes into my jog, something gave way in my lower back, and walking has been a complete joke ever since. The kind of joke that makes you wince and cry and stay in bed for eighteen hours at a time; not so much the funny kind. 

Also, for the life of me, I cannot stand up straight. My torso bends a full thirty degrees to the left, and who knows? maybe I'll be crooked forever after.

I got up at 8 to get the kids dressed for church and to send them on their way to sit with really nice people who also took them home afterward and fed them lunch (so nice!). I got up at 1 to make myself a peanut butter sandwich. And I got up again at 4 to soak in a long bath and get new pajamas on. Then I ventured into the kitchen and saw how my husband has been so busy taking care of me and the children and the ward at large that no one has been attending to the kitchen, so I decided to spend a few painful minutes on my feet to load the dishwasher.

As I hobbled into the laundry room to grab a towel to wipe up Norah's ice cream-water spillage on the counter, Aaron came up the stairs, having just been outside, and announced, "The bishop's here!" and headed straight to the door to open it.

I hardly had time to panic, but somehow I managed a (too loud) "Oh, for heaven's sake!" and lunged to slide the laundry door shut to hide one small portion of our messy house and then tried to tell Aaron, "Wait! Don't open the door yet!" but the door was already in mid-motion. Our visitors surely saw the laundry room, surely heard me yell at Aaron, and surely saw my next act of desperation. In my I-am-WAY-not-appropriately-attired-to-greet-the-bishop state, I pretended the door was not already being opened, and began to run/limp/wince/angularly hobble down the hallway and into the safety of my bedroom. I am extremely confident that Bishop/friend Jim and executive secretary/friend Brent watched the entire escape transpire. The door, after all, was already open.

So in they walked into our pigsty, talked to Steve for a minute, and asked, "How's Emily feeling?" "She's having a rough day." "Oh, can we visit with her?" "She's in bed." Which I was, and, which they also knew, I had only been for about 90 seconds.

So, that was my big exciting adventure for this otherwise painful and unproductive day. (Apologies to Jim and Brent.) Tomorrow I'm going in for my first ever chiropractic visit and hoping beyond hope that one Dr. Higbee can make my body straight and whole again.

Fill in the blank: eighty percent...

...off is a really good sale.
...is a solid B- on a test.

AND

...of our children will be of the male variety.




It's a boy! We like boys around here, so we think that is just dandy. Our kids are very happy and excited, except maybe for Norah who has been adamant for the last four months that the baby is a GIRL! She finally relented today that it is a boy, but she generously suggested that we name him Sister.

All seems to be well with the baby. We are grateful for health: so far so good. My heart has been breaking lately with news of friends who are experiencing serious baby- and pregnancy-related challenges and to all of them I offer my most sincere expressions of love and offerings of prayer. I would give so much to not have my loved ones suffer.

Change is good

I like this time of year.

The weather is fantastic: I can drive with windows down, read outside, not turn on heat or a/c.
The teachers have stopped assigning homework.
I have vacations to look forward to.
I have time and inclination to nap every day.

Tomorrow I find out the gender and general health of my current fetal child.

And I'm lucky to have her

I could write volumes of books about this girl, starting with how we really didn't like each other growing up, and I acted as though I wanted nothing to do with her or her friends, but really it was because I knew I could never measure up to her beauty and charm, so I acted as if I didn't want to, all the while stealing her clothes after she left for school and carefully replacing them just so in her closet before she came home from basketball practice or whatever it was so she wouldn't know I had worn them; then going on to how we became good friends as we got older and I liked that she liked to hang out with my friends, even when I wasn't around; then how we both got married and had kids and became genuine sisters who loved each other; then how she went through a really intensely difficult time in her life, and I felt like it was the most gut-wrenching thing that ever happened to me because I didn't want her to hurt, ever; and then on to how she is the greatest older sister I could hope for and how as I'm typing this, my daughter is pointing at her picture, saying, "She made my blanket for me!" which of course she did because she is so generous with her talents and gifts, and I love her so.

But I have to get my son to preschool in 13 minutes and then get the nail hole patched in my van tire, and I haven't gotten dressed yet, so I'm not going to have time to write those volumes. Plus, I realize that I have been hot-and-cold with recognizing loved ones' birthdays, et cetera, on my blog and I don't want my other much-loved sisters and folks to feel like I love them any less....

So, I'm just going to quickly say: Happy birthday, Sarah! You are wonderful in every way!

Slimed

Nicole Hill Gerulat of A Little Sussy won a stock photography contest using this image of Isaac. I love it!

(And my sister called to tell me about it, and thought it was Aaron.)

Two things

First and foremost, happy birthday to my wonderful mom! I honestly don't know anyone more generous, giving or good with people. I like to think of myself as being generous, giving and good with people, but I've got nothing on her. She schools me, bigtime.

Some of the unique things that make my mom my mom:

• She loves my children absolutely, which is a joy and a comfort to me. When she is around, they prefer her to me. She would rather be with her grandchildren than out with the adults, but does not relax when they are around. It's constant counting heads, making snowcones, taking off too-warm clothing, changing diapers, getting drinks. It's exhausting, and she's good at it. And she loves it. (I'm pretty sure.)
  
• She hates flying, but flies all over the place, because travel and culture and enriching experiences and seeing family trump her fears every time.
• She also hates bridges. And swimming. And confrontation. And cooking. And bad grammar. And dopey people. And attention (this post will likely make her uncomfortable).
• She is magic with teenagers and young adults. Growing up, all her children's friends would come over just to hang out with her.
• She has always encouraged me in everything I do. (Unless that thing has any semblance whatsoever of being dangerous.) She has raised her children to be educated, openminded, and inquisitive.
• I do believe that to know my mother is to love her. Happy birthday, mom! Isn't it great that your children finally appreciate you?

The second item of interest is quasi-related to my mother. In the sense that she is the most generous person I know, and it became clear to me yesterday that I have very stunted levels of generosity in my heart. Here's the story:

Driving home from Arizona yesterday, we were stopped at a gas station/Burger King in Fillmore, Utah. A man came in, kind of scruffy, and asked the gas station attendant if he could make a call. The phone call was long distance so he couldn't use the store phone. He asked if the attendant had a cell phone, and she said she didn't. Steve was standing right there and offered the man his phone, and we stood there as he (supposedly) called his dad. "Hi, dad. We're in Fillmore. We only need about 10 or 12 dollars in gas to get home. The lady says she can't take a credit card number over the phone. Can you go to Check City and wire me some money? Okay, here's my account number."

Steve whispered to me, "Should I just buy the man some gas?"
Me: "I think he's scamming us."

Ten minutes later, we're set to leave and the man is out by his car waiting for money to appear to buy gas to get back to SLC. I remember about how charity never faileth, and tell Steve to do whatever he thinks is best. Steve goes over and buys the dude $15 worth of gas. The guy seems grateful, and we all leave.

I still felt a little distrustful, which is weird, because I always give money to the beggars in parking lots and on street corners when I see them and when I have some, even when it's quite likely that I'm being scammed. It doesn't bother me then. Mosiah 4 gets me every time (read verses 16-20, and they'll get you, too). But if this guy at the gas station was scamming us last night, it was an elaborate and dang good scam, and I didn't want to be the major sucker who fell for it. I was even tempted to redial the number on the phone and talk to the guy on the other end to check out the story. You know, say something like: "Did your son just call you asking for gas money? Don't worry. We took care of him and he's well on his way." But Steve wouldn't let me.

Our last bishop was tremendously generous with a few people who may have been scamming him, and he knew this, but said, "I'd rather be scammed than be uncharitable." So that is the principle that Steve and I talked about after we gave this guy enough gas to get back to Salt Lake. And we talked about how though that might have been a kind thing to have done on our part, it wasn't overly generous in any sense of the word. There are some people in this world who would have filled the man's tank, bought him and his friend lunch, and sent them away with a wad of cash just in case they needed it.

We aren't generous like that. What do you think? What would you have done?