Four of five kids at home; lovin' every second of it!

Our kids, other than the oldest and youngest, are at that point where they sort of come and go. They go to college. They come home. They go on missions. They come home. They move out. They move back. They get married. They come back with their spouses. It's perfect! In the midst of all this, I find myself thankful for two things: First and foremost, that Seth is not one of these transient people, but rather he is right here under our roof, full time, for at least the next 4-1/2 years. Thank heavens! And second, that for a number of random reasons, four of our five kids are living here right now. I cannot begin to tell you how wonderful that is. I think they should probably just stay forever. Because I love my life so much more when they are here.

As most of you know, Eli returned from his mission just over a week ago. We are all taking every opportunity to love on him just as much as possible. Goodness we missed him. And now, we can't get enough of him. We missed his sweet personality, his positive attitude, his adorable sense of humor, his infectious smile. We are so delighted he opted not to return to school until fall. I don't think we could be ready to part with him any sooner.

Now I knew Eli he would be here, and of course I knew Shulamith would be downstairs, but I did not know we would be blessed to have Isaiah with us too. Woo hoo! I know it's only temporary, but for the time being, he is here, right here, working on his senior programming project. It's due April 11th, and he still has much to do, the result of a bit of procrastination on his part as well as his stupid job scheduling him to work practically every waking hour that he's not in class. So a few days ago, he realized he needed to focus full time in order to get this done, and the best place to do that is here and not his apartment near campus. So he scheduled himself off work for two weeks, moved in with us, and is working diligently (well, mostly) on this project. Today he went to the graduation fair at Westminster and brought home his cap and gown. What a thrill it will be to see him graduate May 31st!

Part of why I enjoy having them all here is watching them interact. I love how much they care for each other, what good friends they are, what good friends we all are. It wasn't always like that. They were little kids once, perfectly normal little kids. And they fought like little kids, oh, how they fought. I remember Luke and Shulamith showing me the teethmarks from where they bit each other, but bad as that sounds, I think Isaiah had it the worst. He and Eli are just 23 months apart in age and different as night and day. To look at them, you would never peg them as brothers. They look nothing alike, and their personalities are polar opposites as well, both wonderful, just different.

Isaiah was the easiest child to raise--calm, quiet, undemanding. He liked order. With the utmost precision, he would line up all his cars from largest to smallest, in a straight line from one side of room to the other. This would take him hours, only to have the whole thing demolished in a matter of seconds by "the wrath of Eli." There was nothing calm or quiet or undemanding about Eli; he made his presence known always. And as much as we delighted in Isaiah's methodical brain, we rejoiced in Eli's passion. Isaiah was not nearly so impressed. In a moment of sheer desperation, he asked: "Mommy, can we just get rid of him. Sell him in a garage sale? Put him on a table, so somebody will come take him away?"

Now they are the best of friends. Their opposite personalities somehow complement each other. Or maybe it's just that they share so many memories. Or maybe it's just a matter of love.

An hour ago all four of them were right here in our small family room. Shulamith and Eli were watching "The Voice."  Isaiah was working on his project. Seth was bothering Isaiah with gaming questions. I was reminding Seth not to distract Isaiah from his work. It was so great! Now, they are all gone. Shulamith is downstairs with Matt and Swen. Isaiah is at his night class. Seth is at Scouts. Eli is at a Young Single Adult missionary night, where they pair up with a "companion" and go out visiting less active members. Eli felt he would be really good at this.  :-)

I am here alone. It's very quiet. Quiet can be okay sometimes. For a little while. But I'll be glad when the boys are all home again.

Four out of five kids at home; lovin' every second of it.

"You came home. You really came home."

Where do I begin?

Where do I begin to describe the emotions surrounding the homecoming of our Elder Webster two days ago, from two years of faithful service in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission? Let me first try some adjectives: joyous, tearful, exciting, wonderful, ecstatic, jubilant, heartwarming....all true!

Still, none of that fully captures how it was. Not really. Because there are just no words for it. No words to describe the feeling inside my heart when I saw him coming down that escalator, Book of Mormon in hand. Or when I ran into his arms and held him for the first time in two years, right there in the flesh. All I could say was "You came home! You really came home!" How silly. It's not like I didn't think he would. I knew he would. But then when it happened, it was so surreal that I felt almost surprised by it.

At this very moment, I'm sitting in the living room listening to him sing in his bedroom as he unpacks and organizes his new life. Oh how I've missed that beautiful bass voice! We have had the blessing of doing pretty much whatever we wanted since he got back. Missionaries are not used to being alone. They are with a companion 24 hours a day, within sight and sound of each other, nearly all the time. So I have assumed the role of Eli's "companion" these first few days as he moves through the transition to regular life. It's perfect.

Leaving the mission was hard for him, very hard. Bittersweet. Much like sending him was for me. He had to leave behind people he loves, true friends, eternal relationships, not knowing when he might see them again. I had to say goodbye to a kid that I love more than life itself for a whole two years. I think it felt a lot the same. He is adjusting pretty well. Some missionaries struggle more. Often, they are just a little "weird" right when they get back. But Eli seems just like Eli. It took him less than a day to don athletic shorts and skater shoes and jump back on his long board. "Since I know you won't wear a helmet, PLEASE be careful. You haven't ridden in two years."

Next week we will tackle the future, or at least the near future. He will make decisions about where he will work, which ward he will attend (singles ward? family ward? both?). He will settle into a routine that will be his life for the next five months until he returns to college. But for now, we will enjoy the calm. We will talk and laugh and hug and talk some more.

Yesterday was transfers in the Arkansas Mission. When I read on Facebook about so many of the elders and sisters moving here and there, getting new companions, taking the next steps in their missionary journeys, I was reminded of my dear friends, the other Arkansas Little Rock Mission moms. You, my sweet sisters, are close to my heart. You have been my support here in the valley where I don't really have any close friends. I will forever feel connected to you. I hope to see many of you April 13th for Eli's report, and I will show up for as many homecoming reports as I possibly can and rejoice with you when it's your turn.

For now, let me post some of the highlights of two days ago.

Because he came home.

He really came home.

The waiting......

With Mom and Dad

Meeting Shulamith's baby, Swen, for the first time. Swen had a sign that said "I've waited my whole life to meet you" and wore a shirt that said "My uncle is hot...and single!"

Ready to take him home!

"If you were really Mary, you'd be dead by now."

So with just 17 hours until Eli's flight is scheduled to touch down at the Salt Lake City Airport, I am in desperate need of a diversion. Like truly desperate. And what does any self-respecting missionary mom do in this situation? Why, she gets her hair done, of course. And she goes shopping for a new outfit to wear to the airport. And she blogs.

Allow me to tell you a story from yesterday that will make you laugh. At least I hope it does. I'm still cracking up each time I think about it. So my Sunday was fairly busy. Each week I teach our ward's Gospel Essentials class, but once a month (4th Sunday) I also teach Relief Society, and yesterday was the 4th Sunday. Most people would find it stressful to teach two lessons in a row, but I actually love it. I stay busy, I don't get bored, and I have fun. It's a win/win all around. I often joke that the only thing that could make the 4th Sunday any better would be if I could also speak in Sacrament Meeting. Except I'm not joking.

Early in the week, our primary president called me to ask a favor. She wanted me to prepare a 5-minute monologue portraying Mary Magdalene just after the resurrection and come present it to both junior and senior primaries. Now I know it would have made sense to tell her no because I was already teaching in both the second and third hours of the block, but seriously, how could I pass up an opportunity like this? To do something this fun? She needed me right at the end of both the second and third hours, so I figured I could just leave five minutes early from both my classes and run down to primary and do this monologue. And it worked out perfectly. Like clockwork. No problem at all.

So here's the hilarious part. When I was in junior primary, the children were super quiet. They sat perfectly still and seemed to hang on my every word. I was fairly shocked by this, truth be told, but it made for a lovely atmosphere, and the whole thing went very well. Before I began the actual reading, I explained that I would be pretending to be someone else, kind of like acting. Even though my name is Terrianne, I would be pretending to be a woman named Mary. They seemed to understand, but who really knows what goes on in the minds of children that young? I love their innocence, their faith, and their concrete view of the world. I'm saddened at times when I see parents become angry because their young children tell "lies." Honestly, people this young live right in the moment, and they have little understanding of the line between fantasy and reality. They are incapable of lying because they can't consistently tell the difference between what is true and what is make-believe.

Not knowing for sure the extent to which they would understand my "pretending" to be Mary, I went ahead with my monologue, and as I said, they appeared to be mesmerized. Then I ran out, grabbed my stuff out of my Sunday School classroom and headed down the hall to relief society. About half way there, a junior primary teacher had her little class lined up at the drinking fountain. One of the little boys (I didn't recognize him) looked at me and said as emphatically as any six-year-old could:

"If you were really Mary, you'd be dead by now."

Yes, yes I would be.

The 104th and Final Letter

This is a mailbox near my house, just your everyday mailbox really, except this one has special significance. Every Tuesday for the past two years, I have come to this mailbox to mail off Eli's weekly snail mail letter. The letter has to be in this mailbox by 4:00 p.m, the final pickup, to ensure it will get to Eli on Friday. This is VERY important. You see, missionaries are only allowed to send and receive email once a week on Monday p-day, and once a week is just not enough for a missionary to hear from his family. Plus, every Friday, I knew Eli would be expecting a letter. I couldn't stand the thought of him reaching his hand into that long, lonely mailbox and not finding anything. So for the past 104 Tuesdays, I have moved heaven and earth to make sure his letter was safely in this mailbox by 4:00 p.m.

Now it really shouldn't be that difficult, right? And usually it wasn't. But some weeks it seemed nearly impossible, as I found myself racing around in a frenzy as the clock moved closer to 4:00 p.m. Other times (many times, actually), I'd take the letter with me as Shulamith and I went out to do our daily errands. And then I'd forget about it. Then I'd remember just as we were pulling into our driveway, so she would have to turn around and head back to the mailbox, and because of its location, make a somewhat inconvenient U-turn in order to get me positioned where I could drop the letter in from my car window. She hated this. So much. But let me just say that it can't possibly be as annoying as sitting at the drive-through ATM while she attempts to deposit copious amounts of cash (Matt's tips), and then watching as the machine spits the cash right back at her because it's really a stupid machine! That's way worse than the mailbox routine; trust me.

Shulamith could never understand the critical importance of getting that letter mailed by 4:00. "Why not just mail it later? He'll still get it. Just on Saturday." NO!!!!!!! She doesn't understand. Eli is expecting it on Friday. I can't disappoint him. She will understand one day, just not yet. While she knows what it is to be a mom, she does not know what it is to be a missionary mom. But in about 16 years she might. Betcha the two of us will be scurrying around like mad women to get a letter in the mail for Swen. Yep, I think she will understand then.

So here we are with just six days to wait. How am I doing? Uh, well, let's see. First, I'm not sleeping well. Not at all. For the past three nights, Gerald has had to rub my back and talk to me about waves splashing on the beach in order to distract me enough that I could fall asleep. My mind is racing! Second, I'm just a bit scatterbrained. This morning, I drove right past the exit to my school. Keep in mind that I teach three mornings a week, and I've done so ever since we moved here nearly three years ago. I KNOW HOW TO GET TO MY SCHOOL. Except not today. Third, I'm an emotional mess, even more so than usual (for those of you who were thinking "What else is new?"). A friend from Memphis posted a video of Eli singing "Nearer My God to Thee" and accompanying himself on the piano at today's zone meeting. I sat here and cried. And cried. And cried. Why am I crying? He's coming home! I can get him to sing this for me in just six days. What a dork.

And there you have it. The 104th and FINAL snail mail letter sent off to Eli yesterday. I won't likely send another one of these for over four years, when Seth serves his mission. And that will come soon enough. Let's not rush things, okay?

Crunch

"If it lasts even one year, you will have your money's worth. But if it could last two years until you graduate, that would be amazing!"

And it did. Almost.

Nearly two years ago, my friend Lindsey was selling her sweet little white car. Isaiah was in the market for his own transportation, so we figured this was a great match. Lindsey and David had kept the car in awesome condition, but as with all older cars, one never knows how long they will last. Turns out this one was a wonderful. Other than routine oil changes, this car hasn't cost Isaiah a cent in nearly two years. It provided him safe, reliable transportation to and from school and work. We are thankful.

But as you can see above, he had a bit of  a problem a couple weeks ago. He was on the freeway and noticed a semi moving into his lane. Instinctively, he swerved the other way and hit another car. Most importantly, no one was hurt, and the other car suffered no damage at all. Isaiah's car, though a bit crunchy, was still drivable, though it's a good thing he's so skinny because the driver's door only opens about six inches. But then this other thing happened.

I was sitting here grading papers when his text came:

"Uh, the hood just popped up on my car when I was on the freeway."

Gasp! (Calm yourself, Terrianne. He just sent you a text message. That means he's not brain dead.)

And in case you were wondering, here's yet another reason to carry duct tape with you wherever you go. He was apparently able to pull off on the shoulder and use duct tape to secure the hood. He took side streets from that point, drove slowly, and made it safely home. Whew! This photo doesn't show the totally shattered windshield caused by the hood popping up. It's quite a sight, really. People even stop by to admire it when they walk past.

This lovely car lasted Isaiah nearly two years; he graduates this coming May. Who knows how long it might have lasted if this accident hadn't occurred?

Let me leave you with this thought. If you think parenting young children is stressful, you are mistaken. If you think parenting teenagers is stressful, you are mistaken. I've done both and am still doing the latter. But parenting young adults is hands down THE MOST STRESSFUL EXPERIENCE EVER!

Crunch.

I Can Do Hard Things

...and when I can't, I can find lovely people to do them for me.

To backtrack, about a month ago, I made a list of all the things I wanted to accomplish before Eli comes home from his mission March 25th. Some of these things are fairly easy: shampoo the carpets, get Eli a cell phone, assemble his letters into a binder. Others, though, were just a bit more challenging, and the most challenging of all was creating this photo gallery on a wall in my kitchen. As most of you know, I don't have a single artistic bone in my body; my only creativity comes in the form of speaking, teaching, or writing. So generally, I just don't do stuff like this. I know better. At least I should know better.

But when I saw this photo gallery at a house I visited, I became obsessed with the idea. I desperately wanted one like it in my home; consequently, it went on the "Before Eli Gets Home" list, and by far the most difficult item on the list, it became a top priority. I already wrote about the first steps here, so I won't repeat. I didn't think anything could be as hard as painting those stupid frames, but once again, I was mistaken. Turns out getting the things nailed up on the wall in an eye-pleasing design was at least as difficult. This time, fortunately, I wasn't alone. I had Shulamith beside me to help. But neither of us really has any artistic ability OR patience, both of which would help greatly with such a project.To add to the stress, her baby was asleep downstairs, and we really didn't want to wake him, but we also just wanted to be done, so we had to try to hammer quietly (I know, right?), or if not quietly, then quickly!

First we had to nail the little picture-hanging thingies to the back of the frames. Then we turned all the frames over and laid wax paper on top of the whole display, so we could mark with a Sharpie exactly where each hole should go. Then we taped the wax paper to the wall and began to hammer nails. Now this should have worked perfectly, one would think. It looked perfect when the frames were on the table. But no, somehow we managed to have a big gap between pictures in one place and a smaller one in another. So weird. Ultimately, we moved things around, re-hammered a few nails, till finally it was what we wanted. And here it is:

I think it looks lots better in person than in this picture. I actually love it! But keep in mind that I love all the people in the photographs, so that's probably why. I still have two photos that need frames, and they will go to the right of the current display.

I can do hard things.

...and when I can't, I can find lovely people to do them for me.

Like yesterday. Another item on my "Eli" list was to put a white shirt, tie, and missionary name tag into a shadow box to hang on the wall in Eli's room. I know, I know, this is yet another bad idea for a non-crafty person like me. But it isn't Eli's fault that he has a craft-challenged mother, and I wanted this for him. Luckily, I belong to a wonderful group of women called the Arkansas Little Rock Missionary Moms. Ours is a Facebook group that spans the country, but quite a few of us live right here in the Salt Lake City area. We have gathered several times in the past two years, once last summer with our husbands here, and another time this past fall with just us moms. And then again yesterday at Cindy's house. Our goal yesterday, other than socializing, was to share ideas to welcome our missionaries home. I'm the one with a kid coming home soonest (23 days from today!), so they are all very jealous. And I was so careful not to rub it in at all. No, not at all. I would never do that.

One project we undertook was the framed missionary shirt I mentioned above. Now all along I knew this would be way, way beyond my ability. However, I have lots of experience finding people to do for me what I cannot do for myself. In our ward in Montana, I had good friends who were crazy talented, and if I whined enough, one of them would always jump in and make my project for me (Hi Celeste and Lisa and Lindsey. How I miss you!). I wasn't sure how well this strategy would work here, however, here where I don't really have any close friends. These wonderful missionary moms don't know me that well. Would one of them come to my rescue anyway? If I whined sweetly enough?

Yes! Meet Carlene. Her son has been in the mission just over a year (it's all downhill from here, Carlene!), and she took pity on me in my ineptitude.

Just look at her working hard on Eli's frame, with Lisa working on Elder Draper's in the background. And here it is:

As always, our time together was too short. Too short for all the stories we had to tell, too short for all the friendships we had to renew, too short for all the love we had to share. We are missionary moms, after all. And not to rub it in. Because I would never do that. Next time we meet, I will have Elder Webster with me. Just sayin'.

I can do hard things.

...and when I can't, I can find lovely people to do them for me.

Whined and Dined

When our kids were younger, Gerald and I just loved taking them out to eat in restaurants. Because who doesn't enjoy being "whined and dined"? And if the alternative was eating my cooking, well you get the point. So yesterday was a very whiny day for me. Seriously whiny. You really have no idea. But if you'd like to find out, and especially if you enjoy being "whined and dined," go grab yourself a delicious, high calorie snack, and read on.

After painting my white kitchen wall with relative ease, I thought spray painting 24 picture frames black would be a piece of cake. I couldn't have been more wrong. Originally, I assumed Shulamith would do this with me, but then we read that spray painting is the worst kind of painting for pregnant women because of the mist of paint fumes spreading everywhere, so I was on my own. Whine. First, I had to dismantle every single frame, carefully bending back those little metal things and then removing the glass. Then I laid out all 24 frames on large plastic garbage liners on our deck. By this point, I was already pretty much over this whole project, and I hadn't even begun to paint. Whine.

It was too late to turn back, so I grabbed the can of paint and began to spray. Of course that's exactly when the wind picked up, so paint was flying everywhere, everywhere it seemed except on my frames. It was just so hard. And then I looked down at my hands. Gasp! Black paint was everywhere, running down my fingers, underneath my nails. Ugh! I ran inside and tried to wash it off, but no. This must be like permanent paint? So gross. Can you hear the whine? Before I even had one coat on half the frames, I ran out of paint. Well of course I did; most of it was on my hands, and the rest was on my deck!

I washed my hands as best I could and headed back to the store to buy another can. As I arrived at the store, it occurred to me that not only did I resemble The Bride of Frankenstein, I didn't have shoes on. Nope, only socks. And the socks didn't even match because earlier I had been wearing boots. Guess I was so frazzled trying to get the paint off my hands that I didn't notice? So did I go back home to get shoes? Absolutely not. I didn't see a sign saying "No shoes, no shirt, no service," so I walked right in, stocking feet and all. What did the people in the store think of this crazy girl with no shoes and unmatched socks? I honestly have no idea.

Second can of paint in hand, I drove home, trying to obey traffic laws but still hurry. The weather forecast for late afternoon/early evening was for rain! Now those of you who know me, know how much I love rain. There is just no better weather. But if that lovely rain were to arrive before my frames were painted and dry, this whiny mom could potentially turn into....well, let's not go there. Just as I pulled into the garage, I got a text from Shulamith: "I see rain clouds. Hurry!!"

Back outside I ran with my new can of paint to finish the other half of the frames and then spray a second coat on the first half. Have I mentioned that this is not fun? Why do people do stuff like this? More importantly, why didn't you, my friends, talk me out of it? Why didn't you remind me that this kind of thing never ends well? Whine. Whine. Whine. Then came the waiting, the seemingly endless cycle of waiting for paint to dry, checking for spots that needed more paint, finding them, and then waiting some more. Would it ever be over?

The answer is no. If I wanted every centimeter of the frames covered perfectly, I'm certain it would never be over. Finally, as the rain clouds hovered lower and thicker in the sky, I had to declare the project done and bring the frames inside. But here is what they looked like just before that:

Now they sit on my kitchen island counter top, and if I look too closely, I see little spots where more paint is needed. And I want to cry. So I try not to look too closely.

The next step is emailing selected photos in the proper sizes to Costco (much cheaper than Walgreens, we discovered) to be printed. Shulamith tried to do this last night, but the site kept changing them all back to color, even after she edited each picture to black and white. Frustrated, she gave up and said I'd have to do it myself. And I will. At some point. Certainly not tonight. Probably not tomorrow. At some point in the future, once the trauma of this spray painting ordeal fades from memory or at least decreases in emotional intensity, I will muster the energy to tackle ordering the prints.

I hope you have enjoyed this "whining and dining" experience. Stay tuned for the continuing saga. If you want.