Bright with Hope

It's no secret I love Christmas. And Christmas music. I start playing it November 1st and play it almost continuously through Christmas Day, much to the dismay of a couple of my sons who live in this house. I can't choose a favorite Christmas song because it's a dead tie between two: "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" and "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day." Coincidentally, or maybe not, my favorite parts of both songs come near the end. In "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," it's the very last verse:

"Hail the Heaven-born Prince of Peace!

Hail the Son of Righteousness!

Light and life to all He brings,

Risen with healing in His wings;"

The year 2020 has been rough. We've all felt the need for healing, but none more than those who have contracted this wretched, unpredictable, and, in too many cases, deadly virus. My heart aches for all who have suffered themselves or lost loved ones; I'm so very sorry. If ever we needed the healing power of "the Heaven-born Prince of Peace," it's now.

In "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," my favorite part is near the end as well:

"Then rang the bells more loud and deep

God is not dead, nor does he sleep

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to all."

In this challenging year, the hope this song offers feels especially significant. President Gordon B. Hinckley used to say, "Everything is going to work out in the end. If it hasn't worked out yet, that's because it's not the end yet." Living in Utah, where so many people don't believe in science or that COVID19 is real, or feel a mask mandate limits their personal freedom, I've felt at times pretty despairing. Grateful for this song to remind me of what is true.

Even more grateful to the relentless effort of dedicated researchers and scientists who've developed an effective vaccine, currently available to frontline healthcare workers and soon, to everyone. Thank you so very much. Our immediate family has been fortunate to avoid the virus thus far; perhaps we will all be vaccinated before anyone becomes ill. That is certainly my prayer.

Meanwhile, we quietly and joyfully celebrated Christmas. We ate good food. We laughed. We took turns opening carefully-chosen gifts, given with love, one to another. We rejoiced to have Seth back with us after his two Christmases spent in Paraguay. And, as always, we continued our tradition of matching Christmas pajamas for all who wanted to participate. Here are some highlights:

The girls!

\

The boys!

Everyone (except those who don't like matching jammies)!

"Then ringing singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good will to all."

Merry Christmas from our family to yours, and may the new year shine bright with hope!

...but here I am crushing it!

Nope. 

I never thought I'd be the owner of multiple dogs, living in a brand new townhome in the middle of a construction zone, with no fenced yard and a yet-unfinished basement, in the sub-freezing temperatures of Utah in December...but here I am crushing it!

Well, mostly. Yesterday, I wasn't so sure. Our two dogs present different challenges. My dog Waffles (yellow lab/Chinese Shar Pei) likes to sniff around forever in order to select the absolute perfect location to go to the bathroom. "Come on, dude. I'm cold. I wanna go home. Do this thing." Shulamith's dog Woofie (Aussie shepherd/poodle) is much quicker to comply, but he's also extremely protective of me and can be crazy aggressive when he thinks we might be in danger. Which is basically every time another human or canine creature comes near. Holding onto the leash for dear life as I struggle not to slip on the ice while he pulls me forward barking ferociously: "Nooooo! Woof! STOP!" 

Our friend Tia, who is a wonderful and experienced dog owner, offered Shulamith some advice, which we began trying last night and today. We take food like hot dog bits and cheese bites out with us. Not boring dog food. For Waffles, we give him a treat every time he goes to the bathroom. "Yay!!! Good boy, Waffles. Here's a treat." For Woofie, Tia told Shulamith to reward him every time he sees a stranger and begins to feel agitated but before he goes into attack mode. This way, he learns to associate people with the positive experience of getting treats. Holding on tight to a very short leash: "Yes, there's a person, Woofie. Good boy for not barking. All is well. Here's a treat." 

Good news is this seems to be working already, after less than a day. We have many opportunities to practice because everywhere, all around us, are construction workers just waiting to be attacked by an 85 lb. dog. Thank you, Tia! You are my salvation here.

Last night, though. After a long day of multiple walks in the cold wind, I took Waffles out first. By the time we returned and I went to grab Woof, he had managed to pull down their bag of dog food, rip it to shreds, and eat all that was left in it. Fortunately, it was nearly empty, with maybe enough food for one or two more days, but still.

I never thought I'd be the owner of multiple dogs, living in a brand new townhome in the middle of a construction zone, with no fenced yard and a yet-unfinished basement, in the sub-freezing temperatures of Utah in December...but here I am crushing it!

No fence + no basement + two dogs = I need a hard hat!

No Fence.

That pretty much explains it. I ordered and paid for a fence to be installed, but so far, all I have are posts. When I asked when the actual fence would be here, the contractor told me he is waiting for the gate to arrive. He didn't happen to mention when he thinks that might be, so I guess I just wait. With no fence. This would not matter much if it weren't for the two dogs that are living here, but that story belongs further down this math equation, so hold tight.

No Basement.

We knew from the start we would need to finish our basement. This house is not big enough for the four of us without that additional space. We could have had Edge (the housing developers) do it, but they way overcharge for upgrade options, so we decided to hire someone independently. That meant we had to wait until we closed on the house to get started; still, we figured it would be mostly done by the time we moved in and completely done by Christmas. Why did we think that? Because that's what we were told! "We'll have it done for you by Christmas," they promised.

Reality is they started a week late, and they only come some days. I never know which days those will be, so it's always a big surprise and music to my ears to hear the pounding of nails downstairs. This past week I decided to verify what I already knew: there is no way this basement will be finished by Christmas (sigh). I guess it's better to know. Maybe. 

Two dogs.

Neither the fence nor the basement would matter quite as much if it weren't for the two dogs living here. Back in January, Shulamith's dog, Woof, came to live with us because she and her family moved into an apartment as they waited for their Bluffdale house to be built. Woof joined our dog, Waffles, and the two quickly became BFFs. That was at Angel House, where we had a large fenced backyard. 

As noted above, here in Bluffdale, we have no fence. And we have no basement. There is no good place for these dogs to be, and I have to walk them outside in the freezing cold multiple times daily. Shulalmith helps me when she's here, and Seth sometimes goes with me. I keep telling myself that these walks help with my daily step count, which they do. Still, I'll be so grateful when the fence is finished, making it possible to let them outside by themselves.

I need a hard hat.

No, this has nothing whatsoever to do with the fence or the basement or the dogs, but hey, it's 2020, so why would math equations need to make sense? The truth is I live in a construction zone. Literally. On all sides of me, and down every street in all directions, houses are in various stages of development. A few are still only plots of dirt. Some are dug with cement basements poured. Others are framed. Several have roofs, siding, and windows. A few are nearing completion, with most of the work happening inside. And a tiny few, like ours, are done and already inhabited.

This makes walking mildly terrifying. Giant cement mixers, excavators, and front loaders weave in and out along the streets, forward and backward serendipitously, with seemingly little regard for pedestrians who might be out walking their dogs. Some streets have sidewalks, but even those are often blocked with big piles of lumber or these strange orange tubes blossoming out of the ground everywhere.

And on the "dog distractibility index," I'd put the sights, sounds, and smells of construction work right up top. "Woof: stop barking at the workers! Waffles: stop sniffing everything and jumping up and down! Both of you: Go to the bathroom! I'm freezing!" No wonder I never see anyone else out walking. Not many people live here yet. 

I know this is all temporary. One day all the houses will be built, and there will be no more construction. One day there will be landscaping, possibly rocks, mulch, grass even, so we won't track in dirt every time we walk inside our house. One day I will have a fence and a finished basement. One day Woof will move back with his actual family to a house just down the street. I show him that house every day when we walk. "That is your house," I tell him. He smiles. "Waffles can come visit you here," I add. He smiles more.

All will be well...eventually. Meanwhile, it's time to walk the dogs.

Our Best Christmas Gift Ever

At the start of 2020, I decided to tell each of my children's birth story in the month of his or her birth. Here we are in December, the last month and the last birth story, for our firstborn child, Luke. He was born in Walla Walla, Washington, about an hour's drive from the small town of Hermiston, Oregon where we lived. It was freezing cold, and the Christmas season had just begun. What a glorious time to have a baby and to become a mother!

Beforehand, however, I had no clue how glorious it would be. I was scared and felt woefully unprepared. We'd been married just a bit over a year, and I'd recently graduated from college and moved to Hermiston for my first teaching position. My plan was to spend the next three years teaching and working on my master's degree; God had a different plan, a much better one. I quit teaching. I still got my master's, but it took a full seven years, rather than the typical two to three.

I didn't mind in the least. From the second they placed him in my arms, I was overcome with the realization of my destiny, what I was born to do, above and beyond anything else in my life. Motherhood was that destiny, and I knew immediately that, over time, I wanted several children.

...but back to the actual birth story...

Back then I didn't realize that all my babies would take their own sweet time coming to Earth, that due dates meant nothing to them, and that they would chill in Heaven just as long as possible. We were expecting Luke around Thanksgiving, but he didn't show up until Dec. 4th, a full week later. I remember feeling pretty sure I was in active labor because my contractions were much stronger than the Braxton Hicks I'd been experiencing for weeks, but how sure can you really be sure when it's your first child? Gerald drove fast to the hospital. If you know him, you understand just how incredible this is, since he rarely reaches the speed limit. (He's gonna object to and deny this comment, but trust me. And if you don't, just ask any one of our kids.)

We arrived, checked in, and were thrilled to hear they would keep me. This was it: Labor! What we didn't realize and what was not quite so thrilling was that it would be another 18 long hours before Luke was born. The hospital in Walla Walla didn't offer the option of an epidural, so unmedicated childbirth it would be! It was the hardest thing I had ever done or ever would do, up to this very day. In the 80s, ultrasonography was not routine and reserved for high-risk pregnancies, so no one, not even my doctor, had any idea Luke would be 9 lbs. 12 ozs. Such a big boy for a fairly small mommy. As I said, hardest thing I've ever done.

But worth every second. I held him in my arms, and all was right with the universe. Time stood still. My heart could barely handle the love that poured forth for this not-so-little guy. He developed infant jaundice, a fairly common issue with newborns, but I was devastated. They kept coming in to poke his poor little heel to get blood to check his bilirubin levels, and I cried harder and longer each time than he ever did. One nurse told me not to worry: "We've never lost a baby checking bilirubin levels and only a couple of mothers."

Finally, we got to take him home to our apartment, where Christmas decor welcomed both him and the Savior, simultaneously. 

Our best Christmas gift ever.

Farewell, Angel House

This week we bid farewell to the house we nicknamed "Angel House" because it's located on East Angel Ct. Three years ago, I wrote about how we came to live at Angel House in an emotional post called "A Whole Lot of Pathos Involved." Now, as we move forward to the next chapter in a new home in Bluffdale, we say goodbye to our Angel House, which has served us well for nine years. 

They say love makes a house a home. If that's true, then Angel House is the homiest house ever!

Nine Christmases filled it with joy and surprises. I will never forget walking down the steep, slippery, spiral staircase that led from our outside deck down to the backyard, terrified I would fall while carrying a large box containing Seth's WiiU. It was Christmas 2013, and those metal stairs were covered with ice, but I needed to get Seth's present from the house down to Gerald's car without Seth noticing. That night, when all the festivities were presumably over, Gerald would ring the front doorbell, and I'd yell for Seth to answer it. And there it would be. In Gerald's arms. Seth's Nintendo WiiU. Ooooh, so much fun!

Six years later, 2019, was Seth's second Christmas in Paraguay, and it worked out that he could video chat with us for nearly an hour on Christmas morning as we opened gifts. His package from us had arrived a couple weeks earlier, but he saved it to open during our chat. Seeing his genuine excitement over each small item I'd lovingly packed into a tightly-wrapped ziplock bag made my missionary mama's heart rejoice.

Angel House hosted two missionary farewells (Eli and Seth) and one homecoming (Eli). Seth didn't get a homecoming party because of COVID, but he did return from Paraguay to a 14-day quarantine at Angel House. Though the circumstances weren't ideal, that time with him, for me, was truly sacred.

Angel House also hosted five Christmas cookie exchange parties, where friends gathered to feast on yummy cookies and catch up with each others' lives.

Shulamith and Mathew brought all three of their babies home to the basement apartment at Angel House, filling it with the unique spirit that only newborns possess, having so recently walked with Heavenly beings. Shulamith's favorite Angel House memories include sitting on her couch downstairs and watching her kids play in the backyard during the summer months, often with dogs running behind them. She also remembers the two of us baking all our Christmas treats in the giant kitchen with the huge island counter.  

After the five Webster-Monsons left, Eli and Amanda moved into the apartment for two years. I asked them for their favorite Angel House memory, and the first thing they thought of was setting up a tent in the living room and sleeping inside it to keep spiders out. Amanda had been painting the apartment and removed a small plastic covering, which covered a hole in the wall, which of course led to dirt (because it's a basement apartment) and spiders!

My memories of Angel House are too many to count, and I might have shed a tear or two this past week as I had to say goodbye. I'm not a fan of change, and it feels like change is all I do these days. That said, as life eventually stabilizes, I'm sure I will regain my sanity or most of it.

Meanwhile, farewell kind and generous Angel House. You were everything we hoped you'd be.