The question becomes, "How could I not?"

So how is it having your missionary home?

It's an obvious question, and I get asked it a lot. Almost every day. And the expected answer is 100% correct: It's amazing! Really. Eli has been home five weeks, and I find myself more grateful each day that he had the opportunity to serve. My non-LDS friends frequently ask me how a mother can stand to part with her child for two whole years with such limited contact. "I really don't know how you do it," they say. But here's the thing: When you witness the incredible growth, the maturity, the increased faith the testimony that a mission brings, it is so clear. The question becomes not "How could I send him?" but "How could I not?"

Many of my ALRM mom friends will welcome their missionaries home soon; a whole slew of them return July 29th. It's gonna be a rockin' party at the Salt Lake City International Airport that day. So today, I thought I'd tell you a little about our experience this first month with our returned missionary. Not that yours will be exactly the same; it won't. But parts of it could be. Especially if you have elders. And even if it isn't the same at all, missionary moms just love to read about other missionaries. We eat this stuff up. And lastly, my anxiety is dang high today, so I need to write. Writing, for me, is the absolute best stress reducer. I know...I'm weird. We've already established that.

For starters, our returned missionary brought home the most perfect combination of humility and spirituality. He has learned so much, yet he is not boastful or proud. Instead, his desire is to lift us and make us better than we thought we could be, and he does. I am astonished by his knowledge of scripture. He has so much committed to memory, and what he doesn't know, he can find in only seconds. I wanna go on a mission, so I can be this good at it. Last week I was preparing my Relief Society lesson, and he asked what Conference talk I was using. "It's called 'The Moral Force of Women,'" I replied. "Oh, D. Todd Christofferson, October 2013. Great talk!" What?? How does he know all this stuff?

The other thing the mission has developed in Eli is an attitude of altruism, the honest desire to put others' needs before his own. Not that he wasn't a helpful kid before; he was. But not like this. He constantly seeks opportunities to serve, and if he can't find any, he asks. "What can I do to help you today, Dad?" For real. The other day he helped his baby brother shave the peach fuzz from his upper lip for the first time. I stood in the next room, eyes filled with tears. It was a "moment."

At the same time, I want you to know that he is still our Eli. In every way. He is still so funny and adorable. He makes us laugh. He jokingly calls people "piles." This is apparently mission lingo, and I don't think the term is complimentary. But now our 13-year-old is also calling people "piles," for better or worse.

Our house has changed a bit now that he's back. Did I mention in an earlier post that he has lots of stuff? Yep! And that stuff is, well, sort of everywhere. Yesterday we had this conversation: "So Mom, do you like having my stuff all over the place?" My answer: "I like having you home."  :-) At this moment, on the kitchen counter, are his watch, two pairs of sunglasses, a Nintendo DS, Chap Stick, keys, iPod, institute pamphlet, server apron and book, Garmin GPS, cell phone, a pack of 20 pens, and his scriptures. Ha!

Also, our TV habits have changed. Shulamith and I are WAY behind on our favorite shows. This is mostly because we'd rather talk to Eli than watch TV, but also Eli has a bunch of faves to catch up on, so the TV is often unavailable.

Now I almost hate to mention this... almost. But you are all my friends, right? I don't usually talk about such things, so don't judge me. The most annoying thing about living with only boys for two years is that apparently one forgets one very basic rule of etiquette: Bathroom seats go DOWN. Ahhh! I know I trained my son about this concept; I know I did. Let's just say we are going to have to do some re-training.

Lastly, I will tell you a little about determination. About discipline. About goal-setting and follow-through. Eli developed many of these character traits before his mission, and the mission only strengthened them. This is evidenced by his commitment to losing the weight he gained. According to our friend and former senior ALRM missionary, Tom Boatman, the average weight gain in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission is 40 lbs over the course of two years, the result of gracious Southern hospitality, which often includes fried "everything." Eli was pretty close to average, gaining 45 pounds in the two years. I knew he would want to lose that weight, but I thought he might wait a little while before beginning a weight loss plan. I was wrong. Literally the day after he came home, he started. That was five weeks ago, and I'm proud to report that he has already lost 25 lbs. He's over halfway there.

How is it having my missionary home? It's crazy wonderful. If I could go back two years, would I send him all over again? In a heartbeat.

How could I not?

Have you already started pooping?

I know, right? Many of you are thinking, "I could NOT have read that correctly. Terrianne would never in a million years say that word, let alone put it in a blog post, and certainly not in the TITLE!" And even now, I'm thinking, "No, I can't really post this. Right on my blog. I can't." But if you're reading it, that means I did, so we will see. Ha!

Let's be clear: I DO NOT like that word. It's awful! I don't like any of those bathroom words that begin with the letter "P." I think they are all disgusting and inappropriate, and I'm pleased to report that all five of my children became successfully bathroom independent without any of us EVER using any of those words. "Do you need to use the bathroom?" Yep, that all we needed. Whew!

But today I just really needed a laugh. Not that it's a bad day. It isn't. It's an okay day. But everyone needs a laugh occasionally, the more the better, really, because laughter is so good for us. So I was sitting here thinking I should go clean the bathrooms (yeah, for real!), when this text came from Shulamith:

"I forgot to shut blinds again. Have you already started pooping?"

WHAT???????????????????????????????????????????????????????

First, while Shulamith does not share my loathing for these terrible bathroom words (where did I go wrong?), she is kind enough not to say them to me. So I think to myself, hmmm, she must have meant this text for Mathew. And my mind begins to imagine: Matt is in the bathroom downstairs, the one that does not have a lock on the door, and Shulamith remembers that she didn't shut the blinds, and she's worried Swen will walk in (which he does all the time), leaving an undesirable view from the window?

Okay, it makes sense. Sort of.

But I don't make any assumptions. I text Shulamith back and say:

"What????? Disgusting!"

To which she replies, "LOL, that was meant for Matt [I got that part right!]. It was supposed to say 'CLIMBING.' I'm texting under blankets while trying to get Swen to nap."

So I got my much-needed laugh for the day. Hope you did too.

Dual Celebrations

Let me first be clear that I don't love dual celebrations. I like parties, so I prefer to celebrate every single event all by itself. No sharing! That said, with Isaiah's ridiculous schedule right now and his 23rd birthday falling right in the middle of it, followed by Easter five days later, a dual celebration was all we could accomplish. Isaiah is about two weeks away from finishing his undergrad computer science degree. He just spent two weeks slaving over his senior programming project and presented it to faculty Friday. Now he has just a couple papers to write and two finals, and he will be done. Woo! Since he generally works five nights a week and is in class the other two nights, we were so grateful he had last night off, even though it happened to be Easter.

The result: A dual celebration! Whether I like it or not.

Let's backtrack to the start of the weekend. Thursday afternoon, he was able to fit in lunch, so we took him to Texas Road House, where he feasted on rolls and ribs. He sat on a saddle so they would give him a free sundae, but then Shulamith's baby Swen ate it instead.

Friday morning, Eli and I began our Easter celebration by attending the Mt. Timpanogos Temple together. It was the first time I'd been back to that particular temple since Shulamith's wedding over four years ago, and the memories were joyous, especially standing outside the brides' room and remembering her and me that special day.

The rest of the day Friday Shulamith and I were busy bees and got all our Easter prep done, leaving us Saturday to relax. That is not usually the case for me. It seems like every year, I'm running around all Saturday trying to be ready for Easter. I specifically remember 1991, the year Isaiah was born. With a newborn, I had done absolutely nothing to prepare. Keep in mind that I am very much an attachment mom. I don't leave my babies, even with Gerald, when they are new. But here we were, the day before Easter, with nothing for Luke and Shulamith, who were 6 and 4, respectively. So I put one-week-old Isaiah in his daddy's arms, promised to return within 45 minutes, and ran out to get baskets and candy. Ahhh! The year 2014 was much calmer.

Saturday was lovely. Other than preparing my Gospel Essentials lesson, I had very little to do. The best, best part of Saturday was at 4:00 p.m. when Gerald got Skype set up for Eli, so he could witness the baptism of a man he taught the last six months of his mission. No one wanted to be in Tennessee more than he did that day, but thanks to the miracle of Skype, he almost was. He got to say hi to several of his missionary friends and see Brother Welch, whom he loves so much, make his baptismal covenants.

Easter Sunday itself was really fabulous. Eli sang in our ward's choir at 9:00 and then came home and ate before he headed to the YSA ward at 1:00, where he also sang in the choir. Our meetings were all good; a brand new couple in the ward attended my Gospel Essentials class...so fun! I often lament the fact that my youngest child is 13, and I miss having tiny ones. That is ever true. If I didn't love having young children, I would not have had five of them spread out 15 years, oldest to youngest, right? However, some things are decidedly easier when your youngest is 13, and one of those things is Easter morning when your church block begins at 9:00. You can simply save all the "bunny" activities for after church. Small children would not buy into this. No way.

So that's what we did. We did not get up early to hunt for eggs; instead, we slept. But once we got home, let the hunt begin!

The culmination of the Easter egg hunt is always the baskets. Here are three of my very favorite people in the whole world:

Next on the agenda was dinner. No one in our family ever likes to eat the same thing, so Gerald kindly grilled to order whatever people wanted. Isaiah and Seth ate brats, Shulamith ate a burger, Gerald and Eli ate veggie patties, and I ate marinated chicken breast. Since I did none of the cooking, everything turned out great.

Even on Easter, mealtime at our house is always casual. So Swen fits right in. From so high, it's easy for him to throw Kitty bites of food. Happy Swen. Happy Kitty!

And then it was time to celebrate Isaiah's birthday with presents and cake before he left us to go back to his studying.

Right before bed, Eli played a church video about the resurrection as we read the scriptures together. It was the perfect way to end the day, grateful for the Savior and all he did for us.

Happy birthday, Isaiah. Happy Easter to all.

Dual celebrations.

Mission Accomplished

As of today, Eli has been home from his mission three weeks, but because of an early Fast Sunday and then General Conference last weekend, he didn't report in our ward until this past Sunday. It was lovely in every way. He sang "Nearer My God To Thee" and accompanied himself on piano and then gave a heartfelt talk, bearing pure testimony of the Savior and the importance of missionary work, that others may come unto Christ and experience charity in their lives.

So many people came to welcome Eli home. I was truly overwhelmed with gratitude. Elder and Sister Smith, a senior couple he served with in his first two transfers in Blytheville, drove up from southern Utah to be here. Sister Smith and I are forever bonded, as she is the one who had the unfortunate task of calling me from the emergency room when Eli was bit by a Brown Recluse Spider! After Eli's first three months in the field, he was always the senior companion, so most of his closest buddies are still serving; however, one former ALRM missionary showed up unexpectedly, and I know how pleased Eli was to see him. Several of my friends came, including eight of my fellow ALRM moms: the moms of Elders Bluth, Draper, Randall, Armstrong, Petty, Bennett, Ludwig, and Oveson.

We had brunch at our home following Sacrament Meeting, thanks to Mathew's mom, Dawn, whom you can see slaving away in the background of this photo. Along with Matt, she literally stood there well over an hour making delicious crepes, one after the other, for all our guests. Shulamith and I made a breakfast casserole to go with the crepes, and then we had Costco cake for dessert. I think we had around 30 people here; it was a wonderful party.

Eli has had three weeks to re-enter civilian life. That is always an adjustment. Missionary life is like no other. The structure is relentless and constant, and there is almost zero down time from 6:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. six days a week. Yes, P-day provides a slight change in routine, but it's equally busy considering missionaries must do all their grocery shopping, housework, laundry, emailing, letter writing, along with tending to any individual needs they might have, all on that one day.

It's different at home.

So different.

Every morning Eli asks me, "What are you doing today, Mom?" And more often than not, I have absolutely no idea. While my life is full and busy just like everyone else's, I don't have a missionary planner to guide me through every hour. Eli has had all the obvious post-mission appointments: dentist, eye doctor, TB test. He is catching up on his favorite TV shows and has taken Seth to see a movie each Friday night since he got home. He is staying up later in the evening and sleeping later in the morning. He is reconnecting with friends on Facebook. He has found a Young Single Adult ward (much to our Bishop's disappointment) and is already a home teacher and involved in all sorts of activities. Transition.

And today, he began work. My kids are fortunate in that they never have to actually apply for jobs. Shulamith started working at Macaroni Grill nearly nine years ago when she was a sophomore in college, and as a result, they seem to be willing to hire any of my kids without so much as an interview. Eli worked there as a host, briefly, before his mission, and Isaiah has worked there for the past three years, initially as a host and now as a server. Today, Eli began server training. He was a little nervous (actually, he was a lot nervous), but both Shulamith and Isaiah were there with him, and reports are he did awesome.

So with "mission accomplished," he makes his way back to real life. With increased maturity, increased testimony, and increased love for his fellow human beings, he steps forward. So much is yet ahead. So many of life's richest blessings still await him. And yes, some trials for sure. But nothing he could have done these past two years could prepare him any better. And nothing could have made these two parents any prouder.

Someone actually wants MY recipe?

We have already established I am a terrible cook. Don't believe me? Just ask Seth.

Mom (pleadingly): Seth, why won't you eat anything I cook?

Seth: Because you're a terrible cook.

Or Eli.

First letter from the MTC two years ago: "All the other missionaries are complaining about the food here and saying how much they miss their moms' cooking. But honestly, this is the best food I've eaten in my entire life!"

Convinced? Good.

So it's always shocking when people ask me for a recipe. I mean why would anyone want to cook the same crappy food that we eat here?

Occasionally, though, there is an exception, and this is one of those times. A year or so ago, Shulamith and I were visiting my mom in Portland, and she made us this yummy breakfast, a casserole thing with eggs, cheese, sausage, and tater tots all mixed together. It was delightful. She told us how "easy" it is to prepare, to which I replied, "I've heard that before. Cooking is never easy. Never!" Still, she wrote down the recipe, and it didn't look terribly difficult, so we tried it.

And it actually worked. Crazy!

So this breakfast casserole has become a staple at our house for all holidays and other special occasions. And we made it yesterday for Eli's homecoming brunch. Several people asked for the recipe, way too many for me to remember, so I decided it would be much easier to just post it here for anyone who wants it. Here goes:

12 eggs (beaten slightly)
2 C. cheddar cheese (grated)
2 C. swiss cheese (grated)
1 package frozen tater tots
1/4 C. milk
1 package frozen, fully cooked sausage links (sliced)
salt and pepper

Grease 9 X 13 glass baking dish. Dump in frozen tater tots. In a large bowl, mix eggs, milk, cheddar cheese, sausage, and salt and pepper. Pour over tater tots. Top with swiss cheese. Refrigerate overnight. Bake at 350 degrees for an hour. (Ours took a bit longer than an hour to get done.)

There ya go, my friends. Enjoy!

The Rest of the Story

As a very little girl, I remember my dad listening to Paul Harvey, a radio talk show host. I have no idea what the man talked about. None, whatsoever. I just remember riding in my dad's smoke-filled truck, country music playing in the background, until it stopped and Paul Harvey took over. And at the end of his remarks, he always said, "And now you know the rest of the story."

So the other day, Shulamith and I were in the car and I was lamenting about the tornado that is currently my house and how I will need to get it all cleaned by Sunday, but not too soon before Sunday because I wouldn't want to give my family opportunity to destroy it again. As I've mentioned before, I am the only person in my family who values a clean house. Well, Shulamith does, but she has her own house downstairs to keep up, so she can't worry too much about mine.

In the midst of my complaining, she said something like, "You just wrote a blog post about how much you love having nearly all your kids living with you; you really should tell everyone the truth, or least the rest of the story." Indeed, I'd never want to be accused of writing a typical Mormon Mommy Blog, filled with only sunshine, roses, and laughter, but ignoring the other realities of life. I want to be straight up with y'all, so here you have it: The rest of the story.

First, let me say that every word of that former post is 100% true. I do love having everyone here. Love it! I would be thrilled if all of them would stay forever. Really. But at the same time, going from six people living in this house to eight, does change the dynamics. First, we only have three bedrooms upstairs. One is ours. One is Seth's. And one is the piano/computer room, which we prepared for Eli before he came home. But as I explained in the earlier post, Isaiah is here with us too, working on his senior programming project. Where would we put him? I decided that he would need privacy to work, so with every parental manipulative bone in my body, I approached Seth. "Seth, I need you to be very mature with what I'm about to tell you. [Side note: Seth just loves to think he's mature.] I need you to give up your room for the next two weeks, so Isaiah will have a quiet place to work."

Success! He bought it hook, line, and sinker and graciously agreed to move to the living room couch, and there he has slept for the past 13 nights. Of course, along with him came many of his things: blankets, pillows, clothing, video games, headphones, backpack, homework, even his laundry basket, all sprawled across my living room. Picture it. No wait, don't.

But one thing he can't bring down to the living room is the piano. It's still up in Eli's room. Now you should know something about Eli. I won't exactly use the word "hoarder," but let's just say that Eli is sentimental. Practically everything has sentimental value:

Mom: What are all those empty pill bottles?

Eli: Souvenirs! These two are from my Brown Recluse Spider bite, and these other two are from my stomach abscess.

I love this about him; I love everything about him! But just imagine a smallish bedroom with a queen bed, piano, and computer desk. Add to that two packages he sent home earlier with a Memphis family that was visiting Utah. Add to that the contents of two large, extended suitcases and another carry-on. Add to that a 45-lb box he shipped here before he left the mission. And there you have Eli's room. He has so much stuff! Seth needs to enter that room daily in order to practice the piano, which brings us to last evening's conversation:

Seth: Eli, your crap is all over my piano. How am I supposed to practice?

Eli: It's not your piano.

Seth: Yes it is.

Eli: No it isn't. It's Isaiah's piano. Grandma bought it for him.

Isaiah (from the family room): It's not my piano. Grandma bought the piano for herself, but then gave it to Mom so her kids could take lessons. It's Mom's piano.

Seth: And I'm the only kid left taking lessons, so that means it's mine.

Bahahahaha! How I've missed the brotherly bickering. The three of them honestly love each other so much. It makes my heart glad. Seth just today remarked, "I'd sleep on the couch forever if it meant Isaiah would stay." Ahhh. I wish that too, even in the midst of the tornado that is my house. Keep in mind that in addition to the five of us sharing limited space upstairs, there's also this calculating toddler who lives downstairs but comes upstairs often. He is so incredibly skilled at tearing apart a house. I don't think I've ever seen anyone do it so fast or so thoroughly, and I have five kids of my own, so that's saying something. I am beyond impressed.

Rest assured, fellow Utahns who will be here with us Sunday to celebrate Eli, along with those of you who are coming from out of town, this house will be clean by then. I promise. It will be clean and shiny and sparkling top to bottom. We can't wait to see you. And just as a tease of what's to come... this very second I hear Eli playing the piano and singing a beautiful hymn, practicing for Sunday; yep, he will be providing the intermediate music. Yay!

And now you know the rest of the story.

"I just want you to know that I hated this class."

Today was the last day of my spring semester. I know, I know; it's barely spring. We forgo spring break at my school in favor of finishing really early, and it's about the best idea in the history of ever. I am so done. Ahhhhh!

On this final day, there was not much to do. Students needed to turn in their last essays. I asked them to check their grades online to make sure everything looked correct; it's much easier to clear up issues face to face than later through email. As one would expect, most students were eager to get out of there. The sun was shining. The atmosphere was filled with the relief that only the last day of the semester can bring. "School's Out for Summer." (Please tell me someone reading this is old enough to remember Alice Cooper and that song.)

I left the room, myself, for a bit. I went to the bathroom and then downstairs to the bookstore to get a snack. When I returned, these four were still sitting there.

"Do you need me?" I queried.

"No. We just can't leave," one girl replied. "It's too hard to say goodbye." They went on to explain that they had spent so many hours sitting right there at those computers, agonizing over their essays, that now they couldn't bring themselves to leave. So they didn't. They stayed another half hour. They each wanted a picture with me, so they took turns taking them on their phones. Nope, you don't get to see those. This was not just a "bad hair day"; it was a "non hair day," as in I got up, sprayed on some dry shampoo, fluffed my hair, and left. Really bad. No, it never once occurred to me that students would want to take pictures. Blah.

As we finished our photo session and they prepared to leave, the boy in the blue shirt said, "I just want you to know that I hated this class. I hated it because it was so hard, and I had to work so much. But I also loved it. I loved it because I learned so much. I am so grateful."

Score!

You see, I have a bit of a reputation at my school. Every student has to take English 101, regardless of his or her major, so the grapevine of discussion among students often includes talk of which ENG 101 instructor to take. A former student once told me how he contributes to such discussions: "If you want an English class where you can just slide by like you always have, not work too hard, but still pass, you probably don't want to take Sister Webster. But if you want to learn, if you want your writing to actually be better at the end of the semester than it was at the start, then she might be the one for you." Ha!

The problem is not enough students fall into that second category. Most consider school, especially their General Education classes, just a series of hoops to jump through. Yeah, they might be willing to work a bit in classes related directly to their major, but Gen Ed requirements, no way! And especially not English. Are you kidding? English is supposed to be easy. Math? Now that might require some effort. They might need to listen to the teacher in order to learn how to do the math problems. But writing? No. They have been writing since they were young children. They already know how to do that just fine.

Except they don't. At least not usually. Writing, good writing, requires work. Hard work. Lots of it. So I am thankful to those students, though they may be a minority, who are willing to put forth the effort to improve. I love to see their growth. I love to see their pride (the good kind of pride!) that accompanies a sense of accomplishment. It makes me happy.

"I want you to know that I really hated this class."

 I don't think I've ever felt more complimented.