If you give a girl a muffin...

....she eats it. And then she eats another one, and then another. And then she gives some to her husband and son. 'Til soon all the muffin batter you made is gone, and you need to make more.

Which is what happened yesterday.

Back story, I make muffin batter for Shulamith. Lots of it. Years ago, Gerald's mom gave us the recipe for the very best bran muffin in the world. I'm not kidding. It really is. As you know, most stuff I cook isn't good. Some of my family members eat what I cook just to be nice (this would be Gerald and Eli); others pretty much refuse to eat anything I cook (this would be Isaiah and Seth). Nevertheless, my bran muffins are spectacular. They are so delicious, and pretty much everyone thinks so.

This experience is foreign to me, to have people genuinely like something I cook, even like it enough to ask me to make it again. And again. And again. I have to admit; it's gratifying. That's what happened with these muffins. One wonderful thing about them is the batter stays good for 30 days in the fridge. So you can make up a batch and then bake them one, or two, or a dozen at a time, whenever you like.

So a while back I made a batch of batter for Shulamith. I doubled the recipe, so it filled the largest size Tupperware bowl, and I thought for sure it would last a month.  I was wrong. Apparently, when they eat them, Matt eats four muffins, Shulamith eats two, and Swen eats one. If they eat them every day, that's 49 muffins a week! Haha, I don't think they really eat them every single day, but the double batch was gone in about two weeks. So I made more. And more!

Would you like the recipe for these delicious muffins? I can't think why you wouldn't.

 Best Bran Muffins in the World

1 1/2 C sugar
1/2 C oil 
2 eggs
2 C. buttermilk
2 1/2 C flour
2 1/2 tsp. soda
1/2 tsp. salt
2 C. Kellogg's All Bran cereal

Mix up all this stuff in a large bowl. Then....

1 C. bran flakes cereal (any type)
1 C. boiling water

Combine and add last. Mix it all up.
 
Spray muffin pan (because these don't work so well with liners). Pour batter into muffin pan. Bake at 400 degrees for 15-20 minutes. Yum!

So back to yesterday. I knew Shulamith was out of muffin batter, and I knew that on Monday my last set of essays would come pouring in because my semester ends in two weeks (W00T!), so I decided first thing I would make a double batch of batter. I checked to see what ingredients I already had and what I would need to buy. I glanced in the fridge to make sure I had four eggs (yep, exactly four!), and then I left for the store to get All Bran cereal and buttermilk.

Home again, I began by measuring the sugar and oil into the bowl. Then I went to the fridge to get the eggs, but to my great surprise: no eggs! What? I just checked 20 minutes ago. Or did I? Yes, I did. I asked Gerald, who had been sitting right there at his computer the whole time I was gone, if he had any idea where my eggs went, but he didn't. I texted Shulamith. Mystery solved. She had come up to get the eggs so Matt could cook breakfast. So back to the store I went, right away, because I don't really "get" cooking, so I didn't know how long you can leave sugar and oil just sitting in a bowl.

The end result is a brand new double batch of muffin batter now sits downstairs in the Webster-Monsons' fridge. Which is perfect, because if you give a girl a muffin, she eats it. And then she eats another one, and then another.

Minivan Mom Returns Plus Hot, Fresh Bread

I am the classic, quintessential minivan mom. I would say "soccer mom" except only two of my kids played soccer, but you get the idea.

I LOVE driving a minivan. I love everything about it.

I love all the space inside. I love sitting up high off the ground; it makes me feel in control of the road. I love having seven seats, enough to fit any combination of my kids, with plenty of room for their friends. I love the space in back for a week's worth of groceries. The list goes on.

We bought our first minivan in 1991, when we were expecting Isaiah. Our little Volkswagen Fox had only four seats, and with our third child on the way, a minivan was the obvious choice. We bought a 1990 Plymouth Voyager, and for the first time ever, I fell in love with a car. It was everything I wanted.

We tend to drive our vehicles until they stop in the middle of the road and emit thick, black smoke, so it's no surprise we still had this van when Baby Isaiah was 14 years old and ready to learn to drive. Yes, they let 14-year-olds get learner's permits in Montana. Isaiah's opinion on learning to drive the same car his parents used to bring him home from the hospital was "it's just wrong." Nevertheless, that is the car he drove when he took his driver's test. In its final few months, the van tended to overheat, so I had to carry around gallon milk cartons full of water, and then stop every few miles to add water. Can't even begin to tell you how fun that was.

Finally, in the summer of 2005, Gerald came home one night with a new minivan for me, a 2004 Oldsmobile Silhouette. I didn't love the color (boring tan), but I loved the car. Almost as much as my Voyager. It was my car for four years, until Eli sort of kidnapped it his last two years of high school and used it to pick up all his friends at 6:00 a.m. each day and drive them to early-morning seminary. So how could I really argue with that? When he graduated, we moved to Utah, and I reclaimed my minivan.

A year later, Eli left for his mission, and we were pinching pennies to support him, along with helping Isaiah with college tuition. A few months later it came time to renew our registration. Here in Utah, they have this thing called "emissions and inspection." That means that not only do we have to pass a smog test, but we also have to pass a safety screen. By this point, my lovely van had just a few issues, a broken windshield and missing right front headlight to name a couple. When I began to add up the cost to get it to pass inspection and to renew the registration, the number was well over $500. First, you have to pay for the inspection. Then you have to pay to get all the stuff done they tell you is necessary. Then you still have to pay for the registration and tabs.

So we didn't do it. We just didn't do it, and fairly soon, we stopped driving the van. We never intended it to be so long, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and we were getting along okay without the van for the most part. Gerald and I just shared our other car. It was fine. When Gerald's at work, I spend much of my time with Shulamith anyway, and she has a car, so yeah.

Then this past March, with more joy than I can put into words, we welcomed Eli home. And suddenly THREE people were sharing one car. Every night, I'd lie in bed and try to sort out all the transportation needs for the following day. Then I'd get up in the morning, tired from the lost sleep worrying about it, and explain the schedule to everyone. It was a hassle. For real. But I still didn't have an extra $500+ sitting around to get my van registered, so we limped along.

About a month ago, my mom was blessed to receive an inheritance, and she told me she wanted to use some of it to pay to get my van registered. I explained to her how much it would cost, all the stuff I knew would need fixing, then the inspection fees, and ultimately the cost of registration. But she still wanted to do it. And not only that; she said she also wanted to pay to have the van professionally detailed, so I would not only have a car back, but I would have a very clean car. A couple weeks later, she deposited the money into my bank account. Hooray!!!!!!!!!! Thanks so much, Mom.

I got right to work and replaced the windshield and bought a new headlight assembly, which Gerald installed. Then I took it through emissions and inspection, and it passed. After a quick trip to the DMV, my van was legal again, and the minivan mom was on the road. Then just the other day, I had it detailed, which by the way, is the best. thing. ever. Oh, it is so clean. Sometimes I just sit in it, just sit there, basking in the clean.

Not only has this alleviated our transportation issues, I feel like I have my identity back. Driving a minivan is more than what I do; it's sort of who I am. I hope that doesn't sound too pathetic. Ha!

And one more thing. I had a bit of money left over after I paid for everything car-related, and I asked my mom if I could use it to replace our old bread machine. It was actually she who had given us the bread machine in the first place, for Christmas years ago. As most of you know, I have woefully limited homemaking skills. I don't cook well; I certainly don't bake bread. But I can handle adding water, mix, and yeast to a machine and pushing "start." We loved this bread machine so much. It made literally hundreds of loaves of fresh, hot bread for our family for years, until finally, like all things, it wore out. That was about a year ago.

Since then, we have all missed our yummy bread, especially on Sunday. For some reason, people get extra hungry on Sunday; everyone comes home from church crazy starving. It's not that on other days we eat every three hours; we don't. Of course we don't. Yet, on Sunday, we walk in the door, and everyone is dying for food. Best ever is when there his hot, fresh bread waiting in the bread machine. So when my mom said "yes," Shulamith and I went right out and bought a new machine. Here is the delicious result:

Minivan mom returns plus hot, fresh bread!

Gerald, you have to find me another "West Wing."

I didn't watch the TV show The West Wing when it was current. When the show first aired in 1999, I was just a little busy with a 6-year-old, an 8-year-old, a 13-year old, and a 15-year old. Then in 2000, I had Seth, and if I thought life had been busy up to that point, well I really had no idea. Let's just say there was precious little time for TV. To tell you the truth, I don't ever remember hearing about the show, which considering its tremendous popularity and that it continued for seven seasons all the way to 2006, seems a little odd. It's true, though.

About a year ago, I was looking for a show that I could watch late in the evenings when everyone in this house is either at work or asleep. Gerald suggested The West Wing, not because he had watched it (he hadn't), but because he had heard such glowing reports. I was sort of "meh" about it at first; how could a show that old be any good? But one night when Shulamith had taken Swen downstairs, and Seth was busy with homework, and Gerald and Isaiah were at work, and Eli was away on his mission, and I was feeling, um, at loose ends, I pulled it up on Netflix.

One episode and it was all over. I was hooked. I tell my students that is what their lead sentence needs to do, hook the reader so he or she can't stop reading. That is exactly what happened here. It has taken just about a year for me to watch all seven seasons. I sit here today, tears in my eyes, having just watched the final episode. Seriously, this show is just SO good. If you haven't watched it, you should. Really, you should. It doesn't hurt that I'm a bit of a political junkie or that the administration and senior staff in this series are of my own political party. But I think I would have liked the show even if those things weren't true.

The writing is positively spectacular. I honestly don't know how they managed to maintain such an incredibly high standard episode after episode, season after season. And the depth of the characters is equally good. They are real people, real human beings with real human fears and failures, trials and triumphs. We relate to them. We understand them. We struggle along with them. We mourn their tragedy and celebrate their joy. And because I'm a hopeless romantic who needs people who are obviously meant to be together to actually get together, I waited 6-1/2 seasons for Josh and Donna to finally recognize and acknowledge their feelings. Yes!

Now it's over.

I don't want it to be over.

I've had other series that I didn't want to end: Prison Break, The Practice, Breaking Bad, and others that I'm waiting to return: Scandal, The Following, Homeland.

But none of these were/are as good as The West Wing. It is hands down the best TV show I've ever watched. So farewell President Bartlet and your strong wife, Abby. Farewell Leo (John Spencer actually died during the last season, and the script had to be rewritten as a result). Farewell C.J., Sam, Will, Toby, and Josh (my fave).

I will miss you.

Meanwhile, Gerald, you have to find me another West Wing. I'm counting on you.

"There's Just A Lot of Love Goin' On Here"

....said the former Elder Jones, aka Eli's "mom."

Let me explain.

In the mission field, there is a genealogy. I'm not sure exactly how it works for the sisters, but for the elders, it's like this: When you enter the mission field, you are "born." Your trainer and first companion is your "dad." Your follow-up trainer and second companion is your "mom" and you are the "daughter." Your trainer's "dad" is your "grandpa." Any greenies (new missionaries) you train are your "sons." Greenies your sons train in the future become your "grandsons." When you complete your mission and return home, you "die." True story.

Elder Jones was Eli's follow-up trainer, therefore his "mom." We saw him Sunday, along with roughly 100 other returned missionaries from the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, all gathered to attend President and Sister Petersen's homecoming in Farr West, Utah.

It was the most amazing experience. [Note to self: When attending your son's mission president's homecoming, don't bother wearing makeup.]

You are right, Elder Jones. There was just a lot of love goin' on. Even walking into the chapel, we could feel it. We arrived over 30 minutes early, and already there were former missionaries--elders, sisters, and seniors alike--greeting each other with warm smiles, long hugs, and heartfelt expressions of joy. It was like family reuniting. Wait, no, it wasn't "like" family; it was family, the Arkansas Little Rock Mission Family, comprised of missionaries who served under the divinely-appointed leadership of President Steven and Sister Polly Petersen. I don't know how many members regularly attend this ward on any given Sunday, but this week in attendance were over 700, filling the chapel and the entire overflow area back through the cultural hall.

A lot of love goin' on here.

The meeting began like any other, with hymn, prayer, releasing and sustaining of various members, and the administration of the Sacrament. I thought of Seth and the other Young Men in our ward and how they might have responded to the challenge to pass the Sacrament to a group so large. These particular Deacons did a fine job, indeed.

The first talk was from Sister Petersen. She fought back tears as she testified of the joy she found in missionary work, particularly her heightened understanding of the Lord's concern for the "one." She spoke of the many things she learned and will "always remember" as she served the three years in Arkansas; how her testimony grew as her love increased, love for her Savior, love for humanity, and love for every missionary who served alongside her. She was the "mission mom." She was their mom when we couldn't be. When they were sick or hurt or troubled, they turned to her. I am profoundly grateful for her service.

Sister Petersen was followed by her husband. Eli had told me many times that President was an incredible speaker. He wasn't kidding. The man held us in the palm of his hand for nearly 20 minutes, as he testified of his Savior, of truth restored, of the power of prayer, and of his deep and abiding love for our sons and daughters, who served under his care. He loved them as his own. He told us that when people ask him what he misses most about the mission since returning home, he tells them without question that he misses the weekly emails. You see, when serving a mission, every elder and sister emails the mission president once a week on p-day. Eli always did this BEFORE he emailed me, and when my letters were short, he would say, "Sorry this is so short. I needed to email President, and that took longer than usual." Just doing some rough math, I figure that in the course of his three years, President Petersen received well over 30,000 emails from missionaries. And this is what he misses most? It must not be anything like grading student essays.

After the Petersens' talks, all the ALRM returned missionaries who were present joined them in the choir loft to sing their official mission song and then "Called to Serve." People tell me I have a gift for language. I don't know if that is true, but at this moment, I cannot put into words the feeling in the room during these two songs. Nearly 100 strong, this powerful missionary force sang with pure heart and conviction "A million will join us! It's the end of the drought! We're called to the harvest! It's the day of the South!" and "Far and wide, we tell the Father's story, far and wide his love proclaim."

I won't try to explain further. You really had to be there.

Just a lot of love goin' on? You betcha. And it continued on right out of the meeting house and through the streets of Farr West all the way to President and Sister Petersen's home, where they hosted a reception for all who attended that morning. Delicious food, check! Lovely decorations, including vases on each table filled with "little rocks" (get it??), check! Tons of pictures to add to the memories, check! President and Sister had to tire of posing and smiling, but they didn't show it. I'm pretty sure they took a photo with every missionary there.

More love!

 And still more!

Above are two of Eli's favorite companions, his "daughter" Elder Croshaw on the left, and Elder Hoggan (no family relationship, at least I don't think so) on the right.

Yes, Elder Jones. You definitely called it, as all moms do.  Just a lot of love goin' on here. 

Hospital Slumber Party!

When Shulamith's first child was born, she was in the hospital nearly a week. I stayed with her during the day and went home to sleep, while her husband Matt stayed to help with Baby Swen through the night. This time was different. Matt decided it would be best for him to sleep at home with Swen and for me to stay at the hospital with Shulamith and Baby Kennedy. The result...

A THREE-DAY SLUMBER PARTY FOR SHULAMITH, KENNEDY, AND ME!

And what a party it was! But let's start back at the beginning. Shulamith was hoping all along for a successful VBAC delivery, but when she went several days past her due date with zero signs of progress toward labor, her doctor felt it was best to get the baby delivered. Her surgery was scheduled for Saturday morning at 9:00, so at 7:30, she, Matt, and I headed to the hospital. Here we are just before.

Without the emergency situation caused by HELLP Syndrome, everything felt incredibly calm. Almost too calm. Before I knew it, Shulamith and Matt and the medical team were headed back to surgery, and I was alone in the hospital room. Very alone. It was so quiet.

I asked the nurse how long the surgery would take because my anxiety is more easily controlled when I know what to expect; I do not like surprises. The nurse said about an hour, and turns out she was quite accurate. I tried to sit down, but found myself pacing around the hospital room, then out into the hall, then down to the waiting area, then back to the room. It was a l-o-n-g hour. Even though the operating room was literally next door to the room I was in, I felt far away from Shulamith. Isolated. Alone. I didn't like it. This policy that allows only one person to accompany the mom to surgery is really dumb.They need to change it. Candie, can you do something about this?  :-)

Of course in the end, all went well, and the baby even came out of the delivery with a name! Naming children is hard for Shulamith and Matt. While they are truly compatible as a couple, when it comes to names, no two people could be further apart. They struggled and struggled. Going into surgery, Shulamith had it narrowed to Kennedy and Adah, but Matt would commit to neither. I wasn't there, but as the story goes, once the baby was born, Shulamith turned to her and asked "Do you want to be Adah?" and Matt shook Baby's little head "No." Then Shulamith asked her "Do you want to be Kennedy?" and Matt nodded her little head "yes." Done. Decided. Finally. Yay! Welcome to the world, Kennedy Webster Monson.

After waiting that long hour, I was beyond relieved to see medical staff pushing Shulamith's bed out of the operating room, Matt by her side, little Kennedy in her arms. Then began our three-day hospital adventure. The first night was a true-to-form slumber party, with very little slumber. Kennedy was agitated, and pretty much unable to sleep alone in her little "bassinet on wheels" for more than five minutes at a time. Shulamith and I were both exhausted (we hadn't slept well the previous night, anxiously anticipating the C-section), so we were afraid to take turns sleeping, fearing the one "awake" holding Kennedy would fall asleep and drop her. It was a long night!

The following two nights were much improved. A nurse suggested that maybe Kennedy was struggling with too much air in her tummy, the result of her voracious nursing. It's true; this baby didn't have to learn to breastfeed. Within 15 minutes of birth, she was latched on perfectly and eating well. Once Shulamith worked on getting her burped between feedings, she slept so much better. Yay! And we might have slept too, had it not been for the dedicated hospital staff dropping by so frequently for various reasons: Shulamth's vitals assessments, Kennedy's vitals assessments, Shulamith's pain meds, Kennedy's PKU/bilirubin checks, and oh so much more. All this stuff is necessary of course, but when we just got Kennedy fed, burped, swaddled, and asleep, well you can imagine just how thrilled we were (not!) to see someone else at the door.

We had other visitors during the three days, family members excited to meet little Kennedy.

And this is perhaps my favorite picture of the whole experience. Eli was on his mission when Swen was born, and he has only vague memories of Seth's birth. He is in awe of Kennedy.

And with good reason. Newborns are special. It's not just that they're so tiny and soft. They were in Heaven just the other day. And we sense that. We sense the divine in them. We are drawn to them in a way that is unique. We want to touch them, smell them, look into their eyes. "What is Heaven like? I know you remember so much better than I do." 

That is how I felt when I held little Kennedy just minutes after she was born. And Swen two years ago. And my own five children not so long ago. And other babes I've had the privilege to know. There is nothing better. Nothing.

The three days passed. I spent them assisting Shulamith with diapers, swaddling, burping, and cuddling. I made food runs three times daily. Shulamith is the pickiest eater on the planet; no way she was gonna eat that nasty hospital food. Tuesday morning we were more than ready to come home. Our children missed us. We missed them. My babies were not  C-section, so I came home after just one night. Staying three nights away from Swen was hard for Shulamith. The only time I saw her cry during the whole hospital stay was in the evenings when Matt took Swen home. When the doctor released her, she was packed and ready in a matter of minutes. 

But then we remembered what we were leaving. Just 15 steps from Shulamith's room, open 24/7, free to patients and families, was this:

Can't even express how wonderful this was. I want one for my house. Like really.

So ended our 3-day slumber party.

Kennedy Webster Monson

"You have TOO MUCH children!"

When Seth was maybe six years old, the two of us were grocery shopping at Albertson's in Billings, Montana. You know those coupon dispensers that are sometimes located in stores? Albertson's was famous for those; they were literally down every aisle. So Seth was running from aisle to aisle, pulling coupon after coupon after coupon out of each dispenser. Ahhhh! In desperation, I shouted after him, "Luke! Isaiah! Eli! Seth! Whatever your name is! STOP!!!" At that point, Seth turned to me, and in a voice that I'm pretty sure everyone in the entire store could hear, declared:

"You have TOO MUCH children. You can't even remember their names."

Above is a photo of the five of them about a month ago. How adorable are they? I love them very much, and nothing I have ever done or will ever do could be more fulfilling or bring me more joy than being their mom. Still, like most moms, I have my days of frustration, days when I feel like no matter how hard I try, I'm not successfully keeping up with all of them and their individual needs. And for those of you who might be thinking this could not possibly be true with kids the ages of mine, I would say to you, "Guess again."

Motherhood is not for wimps. It's hard. It's the best thing ever, but it's also the hardest. That doesn't change when kids get older; it's just hard in different ways.

Last night was one of those times when I felt pulled in multiple directions, without sufficient energy for any of them. I'm not sure why. Well, that's not true. Wednesday is my busiest day of the week; I run from start to finish with little down time. By the time I am home for good, it's around 8:00, and I'm always exhausted. That was definitely the case last night. And my allergies were terrible, and I was resisting an allergy pill because I really, really hate taking medicine.

I came home to what felt like about 100 different requests from at least that many kids, though in reality, it was just four kids, four of those five cute kids you see above. Eli needed help filling out his online application for housing in Rexburg for the fall. This is an exciting time for him as he transitions from mission back to college, and yes, I definitely wanted to help him select the right living situation and apply. But then Shulamith was planning a temple morning for today and wanted to discuss which session we should attend, what time we should leave, who wanted to go, etc. With her baby due any day now, she wanted to get to the temple one more time (which we ultimately did, and it was delightful!), and I wanted to help her plan that. Then I had been helping Isaiah all week deal with some administrative process details relating to his new job, and now he was driving all the way to Denver for a mini-vacay before the new job begins, so I was tracking his progress and worrying about him driving so far all alone at night.

Then Seth walked in the door from his Young Men's activity and ran straight to the bathroom and then to bed. He was nauseous and had a headache and was practically to the point of tears, he felt so crummy. "Really?" I thought. "Right this second? Right in the middle of all this other stuff I need to do, I now have a sick kid too?" But then I experienced the most incredible tender mercy. Isn't that always the case? When you feel so totally overwhelmed that you're not sure how to go even one step more, an unexpected and perfectly lovely blessing comes straight from Heaven.

Eli was so sweet and soft with Seth; it brought tears to my eyes. He got him a blanket, went to the store and bought him a Sprite, and found him something to watch on TV. But then the best part. He asked Seth if he would like a Priesthood blessing, and Seth said yes. No one was home to assist Eli, so he did it all by himself.  I watched in total awe as my son so carefully and thoughtfully exercised his Priesthood authority to bless his little brother with health and strength. Even better, I watched Seth, whose faith in this process is so real and so pure, and who admires and looks up to Eli so much. The love between the two of them was so evident to me in that moment that all the stress and struggles I'd been feeling disappeared. Turns out Seth had become dehydrated from running around outside in 100 degree heat and drinking far too little. He felt better almost immediately, the result of a good amount of water, a can of Sprite, and a Priesthood blessing.

Too much children? Yes, that comment has become a standard family joke any time I become over stressed about anything involving one or more of my kids. But it isn't true. I do not have "too much children." I have exactly the right children, and I can't imagine life or eternity without them.