Fall Facts

Fact #1: It's not really fall. Technically, the first day of fall (autumn) is September 22nd. However, for me, "fall" means back to school, so in my world, it's fall. Both Mathew (U. of Utah) and Isaiah (Westminster College) began this past Tuesday and Wednesday, respectively. Seth (Union Middle School) started yesterday. My classes don't start for another two weeks (hooray!), and Shulamith is ever-so-happily not returning to school at all.

Fact #2: It is not fall weather. Not at all. This was our first full summer here in Utah, and they tell me it was untypical. I hope so. It's been in the mid-90s or higher almost every day for as long as I can remember. I find myself asking, "Which is worse, 103 degrees in the summer or -18 in the winter?" The answer is the Montana cold is worse, but I still hope this summer has been an anomaly. We attended back-to-school night at Seth's school on Thursday, from 5:30 to 8:15 pm, and it was unbearably hot. There is no AC, and all the classrooms face inward, so they have no windows. Those poor students, and those poor poor teachers! Apparently, the school has ordered swamp coolers, which are scheduled to arrive October 1st. Like that's gonna help. Meanwhile, we will be sending Seth each day with a large water bottle and praying for fall weather to come soon.

Fact #3: Fall means the season of dealing with this stupid yard is nearly over. Every time I go out there, I see more stuff I need to do. Have I mentioned that I really hate yard work? Oh yes, I guess I mentioned that here. And here. But it's worth repeating. I hate yard work. Right now I have blackberries ripening faster than I can pick them, along with peaches falling right off our tree. Help! On top of that, Shulamith has made it "our" September project to get the backyard in shape, so Swen has a place to play next summer. That means digging up huge weeds and then fertilizing and planting grass. But fall means the yard work really is nearly over. I have to believe that.

Fact #4: Fall always was, and continues to be, my favorite season. A true Washingtonian, I love rain, and in the Pacific Northwest, rain is plentiful in fall. While that is not the case here, I still attach so many positive feelings to this season. I also love holidays, and almost immediately after the school year begins, I can start thinking holidays! My birthday is in October, and right on its heels is Halloween. And just when we've taken down our last jack-o'-lantern decoration, it's time to think about turkeys and pilgrims and (most importantly!) BLACK FRIDAY. After that, of course, the real fun begins. I won't even say it aloud here in August, but you know what I mean. It's coming, friends; it's coming.

Fact #5: Fall means we regain some sense of routine. We go to bed earlier. We get up earlier. We FALL into a pattern and leave the random, serendipitous days of summer behind. I like that. I like routine. Already, it has begun. Even today on Saturday, both Isaiah and Seth were up before 10:00 a.m., which is unheard of during summer. Shulamith and I made it to the gym before 11:30 and, consequently, were able to take half a Zumba class, the first time since Swen was born. I forgot how much I love Zumba. It's by far my favorite of all cardio activities, so much more fun than the elliptical or cycling machines or the treadmill.

So welcome fall. Welcome school. Welcome cooler weather (please!). Welcome dormant lawns. Welcome holidays. Welcome routine. Welcome fall.

Tender Mercies

The tender mercies extended to mothers are endless, and to mothers with anxiety disorders, they are life saving. We are in Southern California this week with most of our family. I love Disney more than almost anything, and I have not been disappointed this time. Our many Disney vacations through the years are indelibly stamped in my mind, but they tend to blur, one over the other. I find myself saying things like, "Which trip was that? How old was Luke? Shulamith? Seth? Eli? Isaiah was a baby, so it must have been the 1991 trip." Things like that. This trip we have three of our kids with us: Shulamith, Isaiah, and Seth. Then we also have Mathew and Swen.

It has been delightful, well except for Tuesday afternoon, when Seth got too much sun exposure combined with too little water. Dehydration comes on so fast. Shulamith, Matt, Swen, and I had left the park and were eating in a restaurant nearby. Disney diehards Gerald, Isaiah and Seth were still going strong on the rides. Half way into our meal, I received a text from Isaiah: "Seth isn't feeling well. He can hardly stand up. He says his head hurts and his legs feel like jello." My immediate instructions: (1) Set him down in some shade. (2) Give him a cold bottle of water. (3) Make him drink it. I headed right over and found Seth fighting back tears. "I don't know what's wrong with me, and I can't stop crying." Dehydration feels scary, especially when you don't know what's wrong.

This wasn't a fun experience for Seth, or for me, but the tender mercy that resulted was indeed tender. I rubbed his back and told him he would be okay, that it was just dehydration, and that water would make him better. Once he began to recover, the two of us made our way out of the park and to the hotel, so he could rest and be ready for a fun-filled Disney evening. We took it slowly walking back, stopping for water along the way. He held my hand. I don't know if that will ever happen again, considering he is now 12 years old. Perhaps not. So I'll take it. Absolutely, I will. We stopped at Coldstone and got ice cream. We talked. We talked about the importance of staying well hydrated especially in the hot sun. We talked about lots of things. I love him so much.

The experience caused me to reminisce about other tender mercies extended to this anxious mom through the years. Like when Luke was a baby and suffered from severe asthma. He was my first child, and he was so sick. All the time. In and out of the hospital over and over and over. Our extended families had the phone number for Mid-Columbia Medical Center memorized. I remember one time in particular. I was seven months pregnant with Shulamith, and 14-month-old Luke was once again in the hospital. His breathing was so labored that our pediatrician told us he might need to be life flighted to a larger hospital in Portland, but they would check his oxygen saturation levels first. He needed to stay inside a big, metal hospital crib under an oxygen tent. He didn't want to. He was scared. I was terrified. So with my very pregnant tummy, I crawled up into that crib and sat under the oxygen tent and held him in my arms as he struggled to breathe. I cried and cried. And prayed. I prayed with all my might that he was getting sufficient oxygen and wouldn't need to go to Portland. He was. Tender mercies.

Then there was the time Shulamith aspirated a peanut into her bronchial tube. She was 20 months old, and we were in Snohomish, WA visiting Gerald's family during the Christmas holidays. Gerald's mom always makes peanut brittle for Christmas, and somehow Shulamith got her hands on some at the same time she was jumping on a bed with her older cousins. Suddenly, I noticed her wheezing, similar to the way Luke wheezed, except she didn't have asthma. I knew something was terribly wrong. We took her to the local hospital in Everett, but they wouldn't treat her there. Instead, they put both her and me in an ambulance which transported us to Children's Hospital in Seattle. Apparently, if the peanut had made its way into her lung, the situation could have been life threatening, so the ambulance was necessary. She went into surgery immediately, and they successfully removed the peanut. Tender mercies. All was well. Other than Shulamith being utterly offended when they tried to put a diaper on her. "I'm NOT a baby!" she declared. "I DON'T wear diapers."

Then there was the time we were vacationing in Penticton, British Columbia, and 3-year-old Eli bolted into four-lane traffic, causing several cars to screech to a halt to avoid hitting him. My heart in my stomach, I ran after him and brought him to safety as the following conversation ensued:

Mom: Eli! Sweetheart! You can't run out in front of cars like that. They could hurt you.
Eli: Don't worry, Mom. They always stop for me.

Tender, tender mercies.

And the time 4-year-old Seth decided to walk to Haagen to get some Skittles. Yes, all by himself. I was talking on the phone and turned away for only a second. When I turned back around, he was gone. He knew the way to Haagen because I had strolled him there practically every day since he was born. It was a lovely walk over a bike trail next to a duck pond, so I guess he just decided to head over there on his own. You can't imagine the utter terror a mom feels when she can't find her 4-year-old. Gerald was already living and working in Montana, so I was single-parenting. Only Isaiah was home at the time, so I sent him off on his bike searching, while I circled the perimeter of the house. If you've ever wondered if it's possible to scream, cry, and pray simultaneously, let me reassure you. It is. About four minutes passed although it felt much longer. Down the street came a police car with Seth in the back seat, well and happy.  I nearly fainted from relief. Tender mercies. The officer, on the other hand was anything but tender. He was very mean to me. Certainly he could see my tears of distress, but instead of trying to help me, he was arrogant and judgmental. "You need to keep a better eye on your kid, ma'am." And off he went. I've met a couple of sweet, caring police officers, true public servants, and I try very hard to remember them, instead of this jerk, when I think about the police.

Critical readers may notice an omission in this post, not a word about Isaiah. All I can tell you is that he is true to form, the classic middle child. Stays in the background. Never makes waves. He has never had a serious accident, a "near miss," a scary experience. I can't think of a single time I've been really worried about him. Perhaps that in itself is the tender mercy.

We moms can be pretty hard on ourselves. We are entrusted with these tiny, precious spirits, and much of the time, we don't feel worthy. We have never known a love so pure; we have never cared with such depth  for another human being.We try so desperately to do everything right, but try though we may, we often feel woefully inadequate. Like when our babies are so sick and we can't make them better. Or when they eat peanut brittle while jumping on a bed, and we don't catch them in time. Or when they run out into traffic or decide to cross a busy street to walk to a store for candy. Or a million other times. Perhaps the tenderest mercy of all is the one the Lord extends to us, even in the midst of all our parenting mistakes. He assures us we are His beloved daughters and that we are doing the most important work of all. And we're doing it well.

Tender Mercies.

Showered with Love; Blessed from On High

Date: August 3, 2012. Time: 4:00 p.m. Destination: Salt Lake City International Airport. We had thoroughly cleaned the house, purchased a truckload of groceries, taken hot showers and deep breaths. We had prepared ourselves for 48 hours of all kinds of crazy. And we weren't disappointed. It was the weekend of Swen's baby shower and blessing!

My mom arrived at the airport on schedule; in no time we were back home, and she set about to cooking. She deviled eggs, marinated chicken wings, mixed meatball sauce, and rolled cream cheese into sliced pecans. We mostly watched. Why ruin a perfectly good shower buffet by trying to help? Saturday, after breakfast at Mimi's, we came back home and waited for our guests to arrive. We joked that perhaps it would be only the four of us to eat all this food: my mom, Matt's mom, Shulamith, and I. People don't tend to RSVP anymore, and we don't have any really good friends here, so we didn't know quite what to expect.

But I guess if you feed them, they'll come, because one by one the guests arrived, about 15 of them. Fun times! My two favorite guests (Am I allowed to say that? Of course I am. This is MY blog!) were my best friend Celeste, and our oldest friend---okay not technically "oldest"---in fact, she was the youngest one there, but I mean the guest Shulamith and I have known the longest, Amy. Celeste lives in Texas now (heavy, heavy sigh), but she was here last week for her youngest sister's wedding. I was skeptical that she'd be able to break away from the wedding festivities and her entire family to come to our shower, but she did. Thank you, Celeste. I love you. Here she is holding Swen, with her sweet Noelle and my mom in the background.

And Amy came too! Amy is a friend from way back in our Mt. Vernon days. She and Shulamith were sort of raised together, and she's the closest thing Shulamith ever had to a sister. It was so lovely to spend time with her. Here she is holding Swen, with Celeste and Noelle looking on.

Of course the best part of any baby shower are the presents, and ours was no exception. Shulamith received the most adorable gifts. Oh my goodness! Darling clothes, fun toys, and even a "Joanne" quilt! Whoa baby! This kid rocked it at his shower. Here are a few examples:

We veteran moms were awed by the latest baby technology: bowls that can't spill!

Then it was time for dessert, Costco cake, Shulamith's favorite.

Even Swen liked the idea of that, even though he only got to taste it in a fairly diluted form. Here he is with Grandma Claudette looking at his cake.

And just like that, it was over, the first installment of our crazy weekend. We all fell into bed. Lying there in the dark, I commented to Gerald, "It really was a perfect day, but seriously, I don't know if I'm ready for yet another---even BIGGER--- party tomorrow." But ready or not....

....tomorrow came. It was the day of Swen's blessing. We arrived at church at 9:00. I had only my mom and Isaiah seated with me. Gerald was blessing the Sacrament because we have so few Aaronic Priesthood that they always need grown-ups to help, and Seth was passing the Sacrament. As a brand new Deacon, Seth also had the honor of holding the microphone for Matt, who gave his son a beautiful blessing. Matt has a much larger family than we do. Even though many of them were not able to attend, the ones present still filled two entire center pews. When the meeting ended, everyone came to our house for brunch. Pretty sure we've never had 28 people in this house all at the same time, but it worked out just fine. It didn't even feel particularly crowded.

Here is a photo of the Webster-Monson Family, with Swen wearing his blessing outfit:

By the time it was all over, we were once again two very tired girls. Shulamith was smart enough to change out of church clothes right away; I was not as smart.

And then we did what any self-respecting women would do in order to relax after a crazy weekend:

Pedicures!!! So you're not left wondering, the green toes are mine, the purple toes are Shulamith's, and the brownish toes are Grandma's.

And Isaiah and Swen did what any self-respecting men would do in order to relax after a crazy weekend:

And there you have it. Well, except one more thing. I want to give credit to the person responsible for the majority of these pictures. Not only is Matt's mom a gourmet cook and master gardener, she's also a photographer! Thanks, Dawn. To put a face to a name, here she is with Baby Swen:

Showered with love, blessed from on high, welcome to Earth, Swen!

Heirloom: A Fairy Tale Come True

Once upon a time, a little girl grew up and wanted to get married. When she found her handsome young man, she began to shop for her wedding gown. She desired something elegant, but not showy; feminine, but not ruffly; modest, but not grandmotherly. She searched high and low, until finally she found it: her dream wedding gown!

As the years passed, she and her husband were blessed with five wonderful children, four sons and one daughter. Over time, the daughter grew up until the day arrived that she, herself, was in need of a wedding gown. Luckily, her mother had preserved her gown in an air-sealed package, hoping it would last, just in case she ever had a daughter who wanted to wear it. The two of them ever so carefully opened the sealed package, wondering what to expect. To their delight, they found the gown still beautiful. The daughter loved everything about it except the sleeves, so they had those altered right away, and she now had her own dream wedding gown!

A couple years later, she was expecting her first baby. The mother and daughter decided that the gown, though lovely, might not hold up another 20+ years, and since they both have zero sewing skills, they asked the mother of the original bride to take the satin from the gown and use it to sew a blessing outfit for the little boy, who was not yet born. And she did.

Two months after his birth, wearing the outfit made from the wedding gown both moms wore, the baby boy was blessed by his father.

And this is our heirloom, a fairy tale come true.

Baby Showers, Blessing Brunches, and 5,000,000 Essays

As I sit here this morning, in my very clean house, I reflect upon the weekend ahead. Why am I up an hour earlier than my alarm? Oh, you know. You know how it is when you have so much scheduled for the day that you wake earlier than you need to, but your mind simply won't go back to sleep? Yeah, I knew you'd get it. This afternoon we're hosting Shulamith's baby shower, rescheduled from two months ago because of Swen's early arrival. Tomorrow morning is his blessing, followed by a brunch also here at our house. Would I normally schedule two huge events in the same weekend? No, I wouldn't. But in this case, we wanted to make it so Swen's grandma from Portland could be here for both events. She flew in yesterday afternoon and will be here until Sunday evening.

Her timing couldn't be better. Of course it's great that she can attend both the shower and the blessing, but my motives are far less gracious. I am so grateful she is here to cook. I love opening our home to friends. I love hosting parties and gatherings. I'm a socialite for sure. However, the thing about humans is that wherever they go, they always want to eat. Let's face it; food is central to all social events.This always makes me super nervous because as you know, food preparation is not my strongest area. To explain this more directly (because no creature on earth is as direct as an 11-year-old boy), let me relay a conversation I had with Seth about a year ago:

Me: Seth! Why won't you eat anything I cook?

Seth: Because you're a terrible cook.

Enough said.

My mother, on the other hand, is an excellent cook, and she loves doing it. Loves it. When I told her about the shower, she immediately began planning the menu. Within days, she sent me the shopping order, which Shulamith and I gladly filled yesterday before she arrived. She'll be serving cocktail meatballs, spicy chicken wings, layered bean dip, deviled eggs, and a cranberry pecan cheese ball with crackers. And I don't have to cook one single thing. Woo! Not that I could cook any of those things anyway because I couldn't. This very fortunate turn of events has virtually eliminated my stress. I'm able to sit here, relax, and blog. How lovely!

As for tomorrow's brunch, Matt's mom Dawn is bringing half the food for that. The other half I'm mostly buying from Costco: meat and cheese trays for sandwiches. My mom will make a potato salad, and Dawn is bringing a spinach/strawberry salad, chips, and fresh watermelon. Ice-cream sundaes for dessert. We're set. It will be a great day! Well, except for the 5,000,000 (give or take a million) essays that sit here in front of me on the floor. Even though I teach only very part time, it's the end of the semester, and that means final essays from every one of my students. I know. I know. I should have taught P.E. What was I thinking?

I'm trying not to be too overwhelmed because stress doesn't accomplish anything, and these essays need to be returned to students on Wednesday, the last day of the semester, regardless of how much I worry. Onward. After the blessing and brunch tomorrow, my mom will go to the airport around 5:00. Let the grading begin! I will have Sunday evening, Monday afternoon and evening, and all day Tuesday to grade. It's not beyond hope that I'll get done, right?

Baby showers, blessing brunches, and 5,000,000 essays! Wish me luck.

Though It Was Nearly 100 Degrees Outside, He STILL Wore It!

Isn't it lovely when heirlooms can be passed through generations in families? They encourage us to pause for a beat from our overly-busy lives to reflect on our heritage and those who came before and on whose shoulders we will forever stand. They allow us to feel connected to our past as we reach with hope to the future. In this photo, Swen is wearing a light blue snuggly, the very same one I wore home from the hospital when I was born. My brother, Tom, also wore it home from the hospital when he was born two years later. All five of my children wore it at least once, depending on their sizes during the colder season. So of course, Shulamith and I couldn't wait to put it on Swen.

But since he was under 5 lbs. the day we brought him home, we had to wait a bit. It would have drowned him! Today, she pulled it out, and I put it on him. Look! It fits perfectly. The only problem is the temperature was in the high 90's today, so there was really no need for him to wear anything this warm. We left it on him only a few minutes, long enough to take this picture, and so we could say he wore it. There is something so solid and so reassuring in tradition.

Just now, as I was typing this and Shulamith was nursing little Swen to sleep, I showed her the picture once again. She said, "And Swen's babies will wear it too." I hope so. I really hope so.

Though it was nearly 100 degrees outside, he still wore it.