The Wrong Wrinkles

I had the chance to speak in church today, and since the talk I wrote covered some thoughts that I've been meaning to blog about, I thought I'd just post the talk here.  Also, a Mr. Irvine requested it, and when Mr. Irvine asks, I do it! 

Several months ago I was driving along in our car and came to a stop light.  I took the opportunity to flip down the little mirror in my visor and slap on a little last minute lip gloss or something like that.  I looked in the mirror and was horrified with the discovery I made.   I had the wrong wrinkles.  I looked closely and there they were – the exactly wrong wrinkles.  I mean, I am getting older and I have accepted the fact that I will wrinkle up a bit here and there as life goes on.  But in my mind I envisioned those wonderful crinkly laugh lines that happy people develop after smiling too much all their lives.  I’m a happy person, right?  I thought I had every right to expect those wrinkles.  But I don’t have those wrinkles.  I have these two miserable little creases right between my eyes from scowling too much.  Also I have developed a slew of streaks across my forehead from furrowing my brow; either in anger or confusion, and believe me, I hadn't planned on spending me thirties being angry and confused.  Alas, there they are.

I thought a lot about those wrinkles.  Where did I go wrong in missing the “cute wrinkle” boat? I’m kidding of course, but it did start me thinking about hard “furrow your brow” parts of life. I realized that for me, on my path right now, what was frustrating and what I really didn’t expect was how difficult parenting is.  I mean, this is really really hard.  I know, I’m kind of being a baby – I’m so blessed with a happy marriage, a good home, plenty to eat and wear and so many things that so many people are without.  And yet, parenting is not what I expected.  I didn’t know that having three little darlings would mean I’d be engaged in a major uphill battle day after day after day.  I didn’t picture those times of trying to cook a supposedly delicious and healthy meal with one hand, a baby whining on my hip and pulling my hair while one big kid tells me dinner smells bad and the other is crying because her pants are the wrong color.  And bedtime was ½ an hour ago.  I mean, I had always really wanted kids; I thought I’d be a fantastic mother who read with her kids every night and played games and did crafts with them.  We’d cuddle close and lie on our backs in the grass and look for shapes in the clouds. I just didn’t expect that they wouldn’t want to do those things with me and that doing happy nice things would sometimes be a battle royale, not to mention doing all the other stuff I am responsible for.  Thus the wrinkles.  And a few gray hairs.

I have a dear friend who used to live in this ward.  She, like so many others, bought a house and moved away.  I went to visit her in Bountiful shortly after she moved a came upon a rather wonderful insight.  My friend had bought her house from someone who had decorated the walls of the home with vinyl letter stickers.  You know, a pretty script stating “families are forever,” under which could be hung a family portrait.  Nice.  Fine. Unless you do the lettering in a deep and somewhat threatening scarlet color, use a large bold print and plaster the phrase, “LOVE IS SPOKEN HERE,” right over the dining room table.  I’m sure the cute mommy who put that up there was just doing what I’m trying to do – get her kids to be nice to each other every once in a while, but somehow the once beloved words of a tender primary song turned into a scary “I’m getting yelled at!” kind of feeling.  My friend went at the stubborn red letters with a razor blade the first chance she got.  Finally, with a little elbow grease, she was able to remove most of the stickers, down to two last letters.   What remained on her wall were the “O” and the “K” from the middle.  Well, that changed everything.  Now the wall just says, “ok!” It’s saying, “Hey, I know you’re trying, and some things you’ve gotten right and some things you haven’t, but you’re still trying.  Ok.  Good job.”  I love that big red OK above her table.

Most of us are familiar with this quote from President Hinckley:

"Life is just like an old time rail journey ... delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride."

How I love this quote.  Despite the bad wrinkles and all, would I trade my life for someone else’s? Never. Who would I be if I were not struggling so hard to be a good parent?  Certainly not the self that I have come to love and enjoy being, plus I’d miss all the lovely lovely parts of parenting, of which there are so many. As much as I did not expect the hard things, neither did I expect the overwhelming joy that my children bring me.

So I struggle along. And it is the struggle itself that is so vital to our purpose here on earth.  It’s not easy, don’t we know it, no matter what our stories are.  But I invite you, in your dark and brow-furrowing moments, to remember what you’re doing here.   The point is to keep going, to turn to the Lord with an open heart and open arms and say, “O.K.”  I will do what you’re asking.  I will trust in your beautiful and infinite wisdom and keep going.  I will be grateful for those moments when I am blessed with the joy of things being the way I hoped they would be, and I will also be grateful for the times when they just aren’t.  

I will remember what Joseph learned, that these things shall be for my good.  I will remember what Nephi taught, to press forward with a brightness of hope and a love of God and of all men. I will savor the vistas.  More importantly, I can savor the blessings that come from the challenges and be grateful for the path that I haven’t always chosen but that I’m blessed to walk upon.

Now THAT was Awesome

I have been waiting for today for like four months or something.  I can't remember when it was that I got a message from the kids' elementary school announcing that they could get discounted tickets to The Lion King when it came to Salt Lake.  It was in the spring sometime.  My friend Terri Lyn and I got on the list right away.  I'm so very very glad we did!  Tonight was the night and it was incredible!  The opening number alone was so amazing that I found myself crying a little I was so overcome with the power of all those beautiful people, all the powerful top-of-their-lungs singing, the magnificent set and costumes...the energy in that room blew me away.  We had awesome seats, we got to be right by a percussionist right in the balcony. My kids, Stomper and Bitty, were so good.  They were excited, they sat still, they didn't misbehave in the slightest.  And speaking of behaving, little Bundle stayed home with her daddy and though she required some high maintenance, did not totally freak out.  She went to sleep for him.  Miracle!  Best night ever.  I'm on such a high!  I so wish I could go see it again tomorrow!  Thank you, creative people of the planet, for making that show what it was. 

Welcome to the Family

It's been a long time coming, and long ago if you had told me just how much I would want one of these, I would have scoffed.  Now, I couldn't be any happier. We have a new and very welcome member of the family:

2007 Kia Sedona - name to be decided.  

Stomper has suggested "Ole Bessie." Bitty is leaning towards "Violet" in honor of my 1976 Volvo wagon which I drove in high school.  I loved Violet.  She died in my arms one stormy winter night....but I digress.  That's a story for another time.

 Isn't our Kia so shiny and blue and clean?  I am cringing at the thought of what the floor may possibly look like one year from now; I'm sure the debris will contain at least 50% french fries, same as my purse. But I will do my best not take for granted this currently clean vehicle. 

I'm so grateful to not have to buckle three kids in a squashed row of carseats I can't even tell you.  And look:  here's Bitty demonstrating the automatic doors:

My life has just gotten  much much easier.  Thank you.

Still Recovering?

Since we have now been back from our family camping trip for about 10 days, I don't think I can use the "we're still getting our feet under us again" excuse as to why I haven't blogged about it yet.  I mean, don't get me wrong, it DID take a few days to be up and running, but 10?  I don't think so.  I think I'll chalk it up once again to the very handy and ever-present excuse of having a 1 year old.  Not much bloggin' here.  I guess it's also because the computer is right by the kids' bedroom door, which they insist upon being open once they go to bed.  I can't blog during the day because Bundle won't let me touch the computer without being an active participant, and I can't blog at night because if the big kids get a glimpse of me I am instantly under fire with a barrage of, "Mom!?  Will you get me ________?"  "Mom!  I don't like _________."  "Mom!? Could I please ________?"  So I steer clear of the back of the house for a long time in the evenings.  And generally I go to bed before I ever make it back here. 

Well, now that there has been an entire paragraph of excuses as to why I haven't been blogging much, wouldja like to hear about the camping trip?  I was so happy that the entire Preslar clan (minus Rick's big boys who we missed) made it up into the Uinta Mountains for a little old fashioned Preslar Family Camping.  Most of us were slumming it in tents but Mom and Dad had their well-loved trailer plus Rick and Tonja have a new big trailer too, so the rest of us could at least wash our hands and sit on something comfortable from time to time.  We really had a good time - the mountains are so lovely and we enjoyed cooking outdoors together.  There were wild flowers everywhere and the streams were just begging for the kids to come splash in them.  Which they did.  I would say there were really only two problems.  1.  The mosquitoes.  Dang those little varmints.  2.  Bundle.  Dang that little baby.  A kid who can walk, prefers to eat dirt and rocks over anything else, and has no sense of self preservation?  Yeah!  Let's take her camping!  Oh yeah, add in the fact that she was super grumpy and wouldn't let anyone else get near her for the most part and you have yourself one exciting camping trip.  I was very glad to come home.  I mean, you can throw in all the wonderful family members, yummy dutch oven meals and beautiful scenery you want, and when you've got a baby like that on your hands, camping is just something you get through until it's over. 

I'm really excited to go again.  In about two years.  Love the Preslars. Love camping.  Don't love camping with Bundle.  

Wow.  That sounded grumpy.  Here's what I did love.  Kids going for rides in the back of grandpa's truck.  Things getting roasted over a fire.  Not seeing my kids for hours; just hearing them shouting, splashing and playing happily with cousins.  Smelling yummy mountain air.  Camping is lovely.  I will enjoy it again one day.

Dear Beverly

Tonight in preparation for story time with the kids I was perusing our selection of picture books, feeling uninspired by any of the regulars.  I realized that it had been a while since we had done that wonderful "chapter a night" thing.  It's so fun to pick out a really delicious chapter book and read a bit to the kids every night.  I remember the practice fondly from my childhood - I think my favorite ever was Danny the Champion of the World, by Roald Dahl.  I have loved reading some of his others to my kids - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Fantastic Mr. Fox. Wonderful. Well, I came upon Ellen Tibbets by Beverly Cleary and knew that was the one to start.  Anything by Beverly is always a good pick.  She has such a way with knowing kids.  I remember reading all about Ramona, one of Mrs. Cleary's star characters, and being amazed to find out that Ramona felt just the same way about the world that I did. 

So I get the kids into bed and flip open the cover, and what did I see?  Mrs. Cleary's autograph.  I have always remembered the day that my mom took us to a book store to meet her, and I remember standing in line and getting my book signed, but I had forgotten which book it was.  Look, here's a picture of the day:

Don't I look just mortified?  I was so embarrassed that my mom was taking pictures - but now, thank heavens that she did!  So, there's Beverly Cleary, signing my copy of Ellen Tibbits, and do you know what she wrote?  "To Rachel, who looks like Ramona."  Can you believe that?  The creator of one of my favorite characters of all time thought I looked like her.  What an honor.  At least, you'd think so.  At the time, I, much like Ramona, was quite jealous of my older sister and was horrified that I reminded Mrs. Cleary of the dreaded little sister.  I wanted to be the big sister, Beezus.  (Nickname for Beatrice, for those of you as yet unaquainted with the Quimby family.)  Anyway.  In my fury and shame at being yet again placed on the "little sister" shelf, look at what I did:

Dreadful.  And hilarious, I guess.  A keepsake, for sure.  I should probably frame the page along with the photo.  But only after I finish reading the book to the kids!  Well, dear Beverly, just so you know, I have always remembered the compliment you paid me that day and grew to appreciate my resemblance to your wonderfully awkward, getting-into-scrapes heroine.  I even named myself "Quimby" after her when I had to come up with a camp nickname for a summer.  You and Ramona are dearly loved by me and always will be. 

In Her Happy Place

Bitty.  Dancing.  Happy. 

Which makes the increasing price of her dance classes almost worth it.  I say "almost" because there were several weeks in the spring when she flatly refused to take part in the class at all and we thought about quitting.  Instead we just gave it a break for a month or two and now look. Joy!  I've been debating about what to do come fall - the busy girl will be starting soccer for the first time (a practice and a game every week) plus full-day school for the first time and I don't think I should tax her resources by adding one more thing to her schedule.  But then I saw these pictures Troy took of her last dance class of the summer and I'm heartsick thinking of not continuing with our beloved Miss Kim!  What to do!?!

This is Never Going to Fit

There is no way I'm ever going to fit all the pictures I want to into this blog entry.  Don't you hate that?  We just got back (well, almost a week ago now,) from a simple laid-back weekend in Bear Lake with some dear friends the Griffiths and even though there weren't that many events to report on there are a million pictures showing our complete bliss as we spent three days in heaven.  We lounged in the pool, frolicked on the beach, kicked back on the expansive lawn, watched the sun go down and the bats come out.  We enjoyed the full moon, we participated in sidewalk chalk art, ate more hamburgers than should really be eaten in one weekend, (which for me would be 1). We stayed up late watching hilarious British comedies, we invented recipes for blueberry crisp out of breakfast cereal. We slept in.  It was magic.  Listen to this: my children didn't fight - with each other or the three Griffiths boys.  I didn't play one single game of pretend with Bitty.  Vacation.

Okay, it wasn't total perfection. I did forget to put Stomper's luggage in the car, (minor detail,) but when you're vacationing with a family of three boys you can pretty much come up with a pair of undies and a tee shirt here and there.  And what you can't find in their drawers the KOA campground store can readily supply, as I already learned a couple of years ago on my last excursion to the Lake when I forgot my swimming suit.  (I think I finally passed the resulting "Camp Cutie" tee-shirt along to someone much more suited to its title.) And yes, the upstairs neighbors were slightly on the obnoxious side, the height of their ill-manners being the  tossing of a baggie containing a dead mouse over the balcony and onto the porch right at our feet.  Luckily Marianne has skills in communication and the kids who did it figured out that people don't like dead mice being tossed at them.  So yes, there were the minor glitches here and there, but as in fine Japanese art, the mistakes are there to show off the perfection all around.  Thanks, Griffiths.  We want to come back now.

Two Sides of Bundle

I took these funny pictures of Bundle the other day - she was completely cracking me up We had the sprinkler going in the back yard and she was demonstrating her passion for/lack of fear of the spraying water.  Any time she spies sprinkling water she can't wait to walk right into it.  She'll stand there laughing or tugging the hose around or just investigating the workings of the nozzle.  Every once in a while she'll stick her head right by the sprinkler head and take it full on in the face and that she doesn't care for so much.  She actually acts surprised that she's getting wet.  Not that she'll move at that point.  She'll just sit there being upset until she's rescued. 

I'm posting these pictures to remind myself that Bundle is actually a sweet, happy and adventurous baby.  I forgot for a while because she decided to provide habitation for a nasty virus this week and has transformed herself from a baby to a barnacle.  Pretty much she's cried and puked and held on to me for four days straight.  Okay, the puking stopped after two days, but the crying and refusing any physical separation from me have been pretty non-stop.  I don't know what else to say but that I hope tomorrow is better than today, which was actually a little better than yesterday.  We're recovering slowly and now we're all just dying of cabin fever.  Luckily I have friends and family who took mercy on me yesterday and provided many hours of entertainment for my older children.  Thank heavens for that.

In an effort to further evoke the presence of the healthy, happy Bundle I'll post another picture Troy took of her in the back yard a few days ago.

Ah yes.  I remember that girl.  And I hope she's back tomorrow.

Periwinkle

I just had the most wonderful evening.  Every year the women in our church get together for a supper of summer salads and decadent desserts which we enjoy while sitting in someone's back yard.  Tonight was the night and it couldn't have been more lovely.  We were in this glorious (and very well tended) back yard which was shaded just enough to keep us from melting. There were flowers everywhere. I sat on the swing with my friend and swung lazily while sipping limeade. The salads were fresh and flavorful, and someone brought fantastically gooey brownies covered in piles of fresh raspberries.  Like I said, lovely.  Well, our group (aka Relief Society) just got a new president, and after we had slurped up every last bit of salad on our plates she got up to say a few inspiring words.  Actually, she had us (about 35 women) each introduce ourselves and share what our favorite color is and why.  Seems simple, but she said that she imagined that after we went home and considered more about why we love our favorite colors we'd each end up gaining a little insight into our souls.  Which is exactly what happened. 

My favorite color is periwinkle.  I know, you would have guessed purple, due to my zeal for a good purple pad and matching pen, but no.  I really only go for the purple because no one sells note pads in periwinkle.  As we were going around the circle I was thinking and thinking about why I love the color so much.  I supposed it was because it is such a calm color, but that doesn't really seem like the reason. My turn came around so I shared my color and didn't have much to say but that it's just a great color. Lame. Shortly after that I got The Call from the babysitter (Bundle was ready for my return) and headed for home, still pondering the value of periwinkle.  I just kept thinking how much I love that perfect balance of color - it's so hard to get it just right.  Not too much red, or you've got lavender.  Not too much blue, or you've got, well, blue.  A perfect balance. Balance. Ah ha!  Balance! THAT's why I love it!  It was a total insight into my soul - what I'm striving for is perfect balance.  It's a constant effort: balancing being a mom with being a wife, finding time for me but not being selfish or absent, between cooking and savoring fantastic food and just plain eating too much, between giving into my creative mind and never creating anything.  Not an easy place to rest, that's for sure.  I think periwinkle gives me hope that the perfect balance of life can in fact be pulled off and the result, though not easy to attain, is one of great beauty, calm and strength.  Worth it.

So...is it wrong if I go buy a new periwinkle outfit or purse or something to remind me?  Oh no, wait, I have to balance spending too much money with being slightly nuts.  Okay, I can do this. 

Holy Ship

Well, what was I supposed to do?  Bitty had her cousin Laine over to play and they were having an absolute ball together.  So I left them alone.  They were in Bitty's bedroom pretending to go on a trip on an ocean liner.  I was outside the room listening to their  funny older cousin/younger cousin banter.  I was enjoying listening to them chatting about needing to pack so they could get on the ship.  I guess what I should have done was not just listen to them but do a little looking as well, because after about one hour of this I actually opened the door and took a peek.  Want to see what I found?  Look out, it's pretty scary.

They really did pack.  And apparently Bitty's bed was the suitcase.  What's even scarier was how long it took to get it all put back again.  It's amazing how very very many things we have in our tiny little house and just how very very mixed up they can get! 

Celebrations

Not that anyone really cares, but sorry for the very late post.  I'm still struggling with a bit of post-holiday hangover.  I've decided that I don't care for Independence Day falling on a Sunday because it creates a three-day celebration instead of just one.  Please don't think me unpatriotic.  I'm not.  I'm just the mother of small children.  And the kids made it abundantly clear that three days is too many. Can you say, "meltdown?" We really did have a fun weekend - Romney family get-together on Saturday plus fireworks for Troy and Stomper that night with friends at Sugarhouse park.  More friends for dinner on Sunday - nothing big, but we couldn't let the actual 4th of July pass without doing something, right? Then Monday was the annual burger-fest and early evening fireworks at The Becky's.  Plus, both Adam's and Peter's families have been in town and we've had lots and lots of good cousin time.  Zoo, sleepover, hanging out, cousins beating the crap out of each other... more on that in a moment... Basically I can't believe it's Friday already and I have accomplished almost nothing but feel fulfilled with lots of time with beloved friends and family.

Back to the beating the crap out of each other. So. Stomper has but one male cousin on the Romney side, and thankfully they were born within a year of each other.  They're lucky to have each other because they are completely surrounded and submerged by (count 'em) NINE female cousins.  (I know, I've mentioned it a few times before, but I can't help it.  That's a lot of girls!)  I think it was Tuesday that we had a day-long cousin-fest beginning at the zoo and spending the 2nd half of the day at my house.  We had just received a hand-me-down back yard play set from a friend that morning and the kids were so excited they climbed all over it instantly, producing another memorable photo op:

Despite the happy tableau presented here, the day was actually a pretty wild one.  There was some sort of nervous, crazy energy floating around my house that day.  Pretty much every kid had their moment of totally freaking out.  Some kids freaked out all afternoon.  The highlight...well, let's call it the lowlight, was an incident involving the two boys, the lack of a shirt, and a three-foot-long rubber snake.  1) Smith wasn't wearing a shirt.  2) Stomper had the snake.  3) Stomper got ticked.  4) The entire family heard a whip crack equaled only by Indiana Jones himself followed by unholy screaming.  5) Smith may or may not have a permanent red mark on his chest, reaching from one shoulder to the other.  The welt that instantly appeared on his chest after Stomper expertly snapped him with the snake was really rather alarming, especially to Stomper, who got so upset that he expressed much self-loathing.  He tried to tie himself to the tree with the snake, he ran to his room and de-sheeted his bed declaring that he only deserved to sleep on a bare mattress, and as I passed out ice cream cones to ease everyone's tender feelings (and chests) Stomper let me know that he wouldn't allow himself any ice cream.  Only broccoli.  And potatoes.  With butter, he ended up adding.

I was a little afraid that they would never speak again, thus disrupting the next night's sleepover plans.  Luckily Smith shook it off and Stomper bucked up.  The boys have been having one sleep over per visit for a while now, and we decided that it was our turn to host.  We've never had a sleepover here, but it turned out great.  One really important thing to remember in hosting sleepovers is to totally exhaust the participants and keep them up way past bed time.  That way, when you take them out to the tent in the back yard and read them a story, they roll over and instantly pass out instead of giggling for hours.  It's an effective technique and I highly recommend it.  It makes me very excited for when Smith's younger sister Laine and Peter's daughter Siena are old enough to join in the fun.