"I do set my bow in the cloud...

...and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth" (Genesis 9:13).

The summer between my 7th and 8th grade years, a nice lady named MaryAnn knocked on our door and asked my mom if I would be interested in joining the International Order of Rainbow for Girls. A new group, Kellogg Assembly #92, was being formed, and MaryAnn was recruiting girls of the right age (12-20) from the neighborhood.

Little did I know what a defining moment that simple act would turn out to be. My mom asked me, and I said "yes," and the rest is, as they say, history.

This past Saturday evening, the group of six former Rainbow girls pictured above gathered in the same building that was once Farrell's Ice Cream Parlour, the very place we had gathered so many times, so many years ago, following various Rainbow activities. We talked. We laughed. We reminisced. We caught up with each other's lives. We laughed some more, literally to the point of tears. Some of us had not seen each other in over three decades, but that didn't matter at all. Rainbow sisters are sisters forever.

At one point Dorene (far right in photo), said, "Terrianne, you were very serious about Rainbow." Haha, I can't argue with her. For better or worse (and it was probably a bit of both), I took the whole thing very seriously. Nancy Rae (second from left) remembered me telling her she wasn't sitting properly while wearing a formal gown. According to Lorrie (fourth from left), I had listened to Mrs. Davis (stunningly beautiful older lady with white, sculpted hair, who was our Grand Deputy), who had taught me that a lady backs into a chair, until she feels the chair touch the back of her knees; then she floats gently down, knees together, and crosses her ankles. Honestly, I don't remember any of this, but I don't doubt for a second that it's true. Nancy Rae, will you accept my apology all these years later?

From the time I was 13 until I graduated and left for college, Rainbow was pretty much my life. It wasn't just one extracurricular activity; it WAS my extracurricular activity. At one point I had 27 formals hanging in my closet, which I wore 3-4 times a week to installations, initiations, and other Rainbow meetings. And it was grand! That said, the whole thing is sort of hard to explain to people who are unfamiliar with it. Like my kids, for example. "But what did you actually do there?" Well all sorts of things. We walked around in squares, bowed, memorized long sections of text and recited them (so fun!), wore formal gowns, and for four months each, served as Worthy Advisor, where we got to wear a crown, pound a gavel, and tell others what to do and where to go, whether east or west. Can you even imagine? I was totally in my element!

More seriously, though, the main purpose of Rainbow is service. Each Worthy Advisor chooses a service project on which to focus during her 4-month term of office. Jackie (second from right) chose to raise money to help support a child in a developing country. Dorene raised funds to provide seeing eye dogs for the blind. My service project? I can't remember. But I'm sure it was a good one, whatever it was.

In addition to service, Rainbow girls must raise money in order to function, and in Kellogg Assembly, the principal fundraising project each year was a Christmas gift wrap at Fred Meyer. We wrapped presents all of November, right up until Christmas Eve. I learned all my gift wrapping skills from the moms who chaperoned us, especially Mrs. Collmer, mom to Cathy (far left). I remember late one December night her teaching me how to make sure the crease of the wrapping paper goes right down the center of the package. To this day, I'm still ever so careful about this every year when I wrap my Christmas gifts.

The highlight of the year in Rainbow was Grand Assembly, when Rainbow girls from all over Oregon gathered on the campus of Oregon State University in Corvallis for what might loosely be defined as a huge, 3-day slumber party. Along with attending the state-wide meetings, the Kellogg girls did a few other things, including the "Order of the Pillows" (don't even ask) and an entertainment competition. The year we won, we created a circus to Three Dog Night's "The Show Must Go On." We had lions and lion tamers and jugglers and acrobats, and I was the ringmaster, who carried a whip and lip-synced the song. Good times!

Our mini, impromptu reunion, though small, was a riveting success! I only last week decided to go to Portland, and Nancy Rae put this all together at the very last moment. Next time we will provide more notice, so more people can attend. Our dear Mother Advisor, MaryAnn, had planned to be with us, but she got sick, unfortunately. We missed you, Mrs. Frack! But be assured, you were not forgotten. We talked about how you short-sheeted our beds at Grand Assembly and fed us refreshments out of cat food cans! We will always love you.

And each other. We will always love each other. Because rainbow sisters are sisters forever.

Swen and the art of buying whatever he wants

Yesterday, I took Shulamith's 4-year-old son, Swen, to the store. Shulamith is recovering from surgery and was napping with her daughter, Kennedy. We went to my least favorite store in the world, Wal-Mart, because I needed several different things.

Swen needed only one thing: a car. He has millions of cars already (okay, that might be hyperbole, but maybe not?), but he always wants more. He reminds me of a younger Isaiah, who once upon a time looked up at me and said, "Mommy, I know I already have a lot of these cars, but I just love them."

I told Swen that as soon as I gathered all the stuff I needed, he could pick out one, $.97 Hot Wheels car. He agreed.

I found everything I needed, and we headed to the toys. I spotted the $.97 Hot Wheels cars. "You can pick out whichever one of those that you want, but only the ones that say $.97." He quickly selected a yellow Hot Wheels car, and we were off to check out. It seemed strange to me that this whole choosing process went so smoothly. Usually, it takes hours (hyperbole again) for him to decide, as he continues to ask for bigger, more expensive cars. Not this time.

I paid little attention when we were checking out. I usually watch every item ring up, but I was a bit distracted.

Later in the day, Shulamith asked me why I bought Swen a color-changing Hot Wheels car. "Those things cost over $4.00!" I told her I didn't, that I told him to choose a $.97 Hot Wheels.

"Well, he didn't," she replied. "He definitely bought a color-changing one. Didn't you notice when you paid?"

Nope. I sure didn't. But my subsequent conversation with Swen is the part that inspired this post. He is so matter-of-fact and so funny.

Me: Swen, did you buy a regular Hot Wheels car today, or did you buy an expensive color-changing car.

Swen: I bought a color-changing Hot Wheels.

Me: But Swen, I told you to choose a regular Hot Wheels.

Swen: Her, I don't really like the regular Hot Wheels cars. I really only love the color-changing Hot Wheels. So that's what I bought.

How do you do five (without any alcohol)?

One time, years ago, I was standing in my brother's kitchen attempting to get a glass of water for some child (don't know which), while holding a newborn in one arm as two little boys hung one on each of my legs and an older kid was screaming a question to me from another room. My brother looked at me in dismay and asked, "How do you do five without any alcohol?" Keep in mind that he, himself, is the proud father to three lovely daughters so no stranger to parenting, but in that moment, my situation must have looked rather ominous.

It was not the only time I have been asked a similar question. My dearest and longtime friend, Lorrie, has posed that same question (minus the alcohol part) to me many times through the years. She is the devoted mother to two beautiful daughters, so the idea of five feels rather daunting to her. My answer to the question varies depending on the moment. Often I say, "I can't imagine it any other way; it just feels normal." Other times, a different, but equally truthful, answer comes to mind: "I focus my attention on the one who needs me most at the time, and the others sorta take care of each other."

That's how it's been this past week. Focusing on the one who needs me most at the time.

Newlyweds Eli and Amanda have been blessed with the most wonderful opportunity. Amanda landed an incredible job as an apartment manager at The Ridge, the very property where she and Eli lived when they met. It all happened quickly, though, and there was much to do. They had to find someone to buy out the contract on their old apartment and then move to the new one at The Ridge, all in less than a week. This job provides a lovely, spacious apartment with two giant bedrooms, all free of charge with utilities included. See what I mean about it being an incredible blessing?!

They asked if Gerald and I would be able to go to Rexburg last weekend to help them pack up and move. We were so excited to see the new apartment (and them!!) that we happily agreed. I was just grateful it wasn't the following week when Shulamith would be having surgery (Remember: focus on the one who needs you the most at the time). We drove to Rexburg early last Saturday morning and spent the day packing and moving. Their apartment is seriously so, so great; I sorta wanted to move there myself. Sunday, we cleaned the old apartment and helped the new family move in before we all drove back to Utah late Sunday night. Amanda had three days of training here in Draper Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. We enjoyed some good "Eli time" while she spent three days absorbing copious amounts of information related to her new job. Amanda, you're gonna be great!

In the middle of all that, Shulamith and I prepared 24 freezer meals, 12 for her in preparation for the upcoming surgery recovery, and 12 for me in hopes it might motivate me to eat at home more. Yeah, that won't happen, but it sounds good.

Eli and Amanda returned to Rexburg Wednesday night, and very early (5:30!) Thursday morning, Shulamith and I drove to the hospital for her surgery to remove a hematoma from her uterus and to strengthen and repair the uterus sufficiently to support future pregnancies. I have been to the hospital with each of my five children at one time or another. Still, I'm not used to it. I worry. I worry lots. My own dumb anxiety kicks into full gear. It is what it is.

One very fun thing happened, though; I got to wear this name tag:

Yep, I got to be "Shulamith W." for the morning. And it was pretty cool. You see I love the name "Shulamith." It's probably my favorite girl's name in the whole world. And my name? Can you really think of anything more lackluster than my name? I try to glam it up a bit by combining "Terri" and "Ann" together as one word and even adding an "e" on the end, but really, let's cut the crap: It's a boring name. "Shulamith," on the other hand, is properly glamorous, and I loved wearing this name tag and pretending it was mine. Truth, though, in the surgery waiting room, the friend or family member waiting for the patient in surgery wears the name tag of the patient, so when medical personnel come looking, they can easily spot the right person to talk to.

The surgery took about 1.5 hours, but she was gone an hour longer because her doctor had to go deliver a baby just as she was being rolled into the OR. I did pretty well (for me, that is) waiting. Let's just say my anxiety has spun way more crazy at other times, so I felt proud to keep it somewhat under control for the 2.5 hours I sat in that waiting room, wearing my "Shulamith W." name tag. I was even able to distract myself with a book about a girl who hit her head and lost her memory of the past 10 years, which included the births of three children and a marriage breakup. It's good; you should definitely read it.

But you can't begin to imagine my relief when I saw Shulamith's doctor walk into the waiting room looking for me. He was smiling from ear to ear, so happy to report the excellent news. You see, this whole deal has not been at all normal. Placenta accreta in the first trimester and post miscarriage never happens, never. So this nice doctor really had no idea what to expect when he began the surgery. But his exact words to me, once we moved to a private area, were, "This is absolutely the best possible outcome we could have hoped for." As tears poured down my face, he explained that he removed the golf ball sized mass (probably a hematoma and old pregnancy tissue) from the outside of the uterus and strengthened and reinforced the old C-section scar three times over, and in just a few short months, she would be in the clear to get pregnant again.

My baby can have another baby! She can have the family she has dreamed of. This nightmare is over, and everything is okay. I texted Matt immediately with the news and told him I was being my wimpy self and crying from relief, and I didn't even care if he made fun of me because I was just so happy. I had to wait another 30 minutes to see Shulamith and tell her the great news. She stayed in the hospital overnight and most of yesterday. When I think of the very best part of all that, two things come to mind--(1) the unlimited Diet Coke on tap just about five steps from her room and (2) when Matt brought their two kids to visit. Her oldest, 4-year-old Swen, was mostly interested in watching the cars out the window and twirling around in the privacy curtains that hang from the ceiling, that is until a nurse came in to check Shulamith's vitals:

"Wa, wa, wa, wait. Wait! What are you doing to Mommy?" he boldly asked the nurse. Protective of her already, he is. As the mom to four sons, I get this. And I love it. Then there was 2-year-old Kennedy, who just wanted snuggles.

We came home about 5:00 p.m. just in time for me to help Isaiah do laundry and get ready for three weeks on the road (Focus on the one who needs you the most at the time). He got all packed, and I drove him to the airport for his 10:30 flight. He will attend the DotA international tournament in Seattle this coming week (vacation!) followed by a week in San Francisco and a week in Vegas, both for work.

About the time I returned home, Seth texted that he had finished his shift at Mac. Grill and needed a ride. Ahh, Seth, the fifth and final. I feel like he's gotten only the leftovers this past week, and there hasn't been much left over. Grateful for a super cool Young Men's President, who took him out Pokemon catching one night and for the fact that Seth is honestly the most mature, responsible, and independent 16-year-old I know. As one blogger put it, "You are the last great love of our lives."

And there you have it. One week. Has it really only been one? I'm sitting here in my recliner blogging. I hear raindrops outside, which means it's time to go for a quick run because those precious drops never last long. Then I might even take a nap. Or finish my book about the girl with amnesia. Or wait for gymnastics to come on the Olympics.

Whatever I do, I will continue to be the mom to five, focusing on the one who needs me most at the time.

Ann and Ericha, incognito

There's something mysteriously appealing about using an assumed name. I can't exactly describe it, but it sort of feels like you're living on the edge, taking a risk. Okay, it's possible this feeling is just the product of my otherwise excruciatingly boring life, but whatever.

Oftentimes, when Shulamith and I are in public places where strangers need to know our names, people whom we will never see again, we assume different names just to make things easier. Shulamith's name is just plain difficult. It's beautiful (well, except when people try to shorten it....grrrr!), but it's super hard because no one has ever heard of it. My name isn't nearly as challenging, but most people aren't used to "Terri" and "Ann" together, so they only hear the "Terri' part, and I really, really don't like to be called "Terri." So when we are ordering food or getting pedicures, etc., we usually use our middle names and say we are Ann and Ericha.

For some reason, this made yesterday even more fun. You see, yesterday was also a make-believe day; it was Mothers Day, incognito. Ever since Shulamith has been a mother (four years), we have celebrated together by taking a day for ourselves and doing fun, girl things, usually the day before Mothers Day. But this past May, she was recovering from her miscarriage and its complications, and the day just went by. We celebrated quietly with family, but without our regular "girls only" event.

We vowed we would have it, though, and yesterday was the day!

There were no movies we wanted to see, so we started with massages. My four youngest kids had given me a gift card back on the actual Mothers Day, which I saved for this occasion. It might have been the best massage I've ever had. So relaxing. My ever-present anxiety all but disappeared for an hour, and every time the massage therapist called me "Ann," I felt like I was in a different time and place, temporarily separated from my real life.

In our calm, relaxed state, we next went to one of our favorite restaurants, The Melting Pot. Bring on the Swiss fondue, followed by chocolate with caramel and candied pecans, into which we dipped brownies, blondies, pound cake, rice crispy treats, and coconut-covered marshmallows. I also ate strawberries and bananas with the chocolate sauce drizzled over; Shulamith doesn't let me dip fruit in the fondue pot, fearing it will contaminate the chocolate.

So it might have been two months late, but Mothers Day 2016 was a true success. Ann and Ericha, incognito.

Once upon a time, I was a missionary.

Okay, not really.

I was just a poser.

But it was still so much fun.

Three years ago, for about a year, we had sister missionaries serving our ward. Many lovely girls were transferred in and out during that year, but three were special. They became more than just missionaries; they became my friends. Their names are Luisa Faumuina, Fernanda Gonzalez, and Laura Peralta, and they were from Hawaii, Chile, and Tennessee, respectively.

I got to go out with them often and pretend to be a missionary, sometimes several times a week, and I loved every second of it: Standing outside in sub-freezing temperatures on various porches, praying someone would let us in; rejoicing when someone actually did let us in; watching these sisters teach and testify with such strength and conviction; seeing lives change.

All too soon, these three were transferred out of our ward, and one by one, they completed their missions and returned home with honor. And not long after, the sisters serving our ward were replaced with Elders, and so it is to this day. I no longer get to go.

But these three girls made a lasting impression on my heart. And today.....today...... I got to hang out with two of them. Fernanda is still in Chile, but Louisa and Laura are right here in Utah, preparing to attend UVU. Today is Laura's birthday, and she chose to celebrate by attending the Provo City Temple with Luisa and me. Just look at me trying to adjust to calling them by their first names! Ha!

I can't tell you how wonderful it was to see these two again, after so long. We hugged and hugged and even cried a little.

It was a lovely temple session; goodness this temple is beautiful! It looks like a castle. I'm so glad these two are both back in Utah because now we can get together whenever we want. And I don't even have to get them home by 9:30.

I missed you, Sister Gonzalez. Wait, no, I can do this: Fernanda. I wish you could have been with us.

Once upon a time, I was a missionary.

Okay, not really.

I was just a poser.

But maybe someday? Maybe someday I will be one for real.

Thank you, Lindsey and Eli and Elders Quorum President, for the impetus to write today!

Three very separate events happened recently to serve as the impetus for this post. First, my friend Lindsey asked me to edit an essay she wrote for one of her college classes. I'm always delighted to serve in this way because let's face it: when your skill set is as woefully limited as mine is, you don't get that many opportunities to serve. No one wants me cooking. Or singing. Or crafting. Or painting. Or gardening. Or playing games. I could go on. I won't. But when a close friend or family member asks me to edit something, yep, I'm all over it.

Second, yesterday I had the rare opportunity to watch Eli's choir, "From the Heart," sing at two nursing homes, a children's hospital, and finally at a fireside at a nearby church. Let's just say days don't get much more perfect.

Third, in Sacrament Meeting today, our Elders Quorum President spoke about the benefits of holding regular Family Home Evening (a program in our church where families are encouraged to gather weekly to study, pray, eat good food, and play!).

So how are these three events connected? Hopefully by the end, that will become clear. Let me begin with a disclaimer. This blog is by definition a "Mommy blog." A friend once said "You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a mommy blogger," and yes, I am just another one of the hundreds. I love to write about my family and my role as mother to the five best kids in the world. Who wouldn't? Occasionally, though, I write on other topics, sometimes politics (my other passion), sometimes topics related to my church.

This is one of those times. So if church isn't your deal, you might want to skip this post and join me again next time. I won't be mad.

Lindsey's essay was a personal narrative about how she came to gain her own testimony of the gospel. I knew the story already, but reading it in essay form gave it life. I felt what she had felt all those years ago. It reminded me of a similar story in our family, a story of a little boy, faith, and a prayer answered.

The little boy was our Eli, who was six years old. He was hands down our most spirited kid. After three relatively calm children, his energy and passion rocked our world in ways we had never imagined. This morning, when the Elders Quorum President spoke of his memories of FHE in his home as a child, he said, "It starts with a prayer and ends with somebody crying." Yep, that was exactly the case in our family although the one left crying was always me, clueless as to how to get Eli to settle down and listen, while trying to keep two young teenagers interested as they rolled their eyes as if to say "Why can't you control this kid, so we can get this over with?"

Even so, that six-year-old little boy was in the process of developing a faith, pure and simple, step by step. And one step happened as he learned about the power of prayer, just like Lindsey did while camping on a mountain. Back then, we lived in a house whose backyard came up against another family's, with no fence, and in that family, the oldest child was a boy right in between Isaiah and Eli in age. The three were fast and furious friends who were together more than they were apart.

One of their favorite things to do was to play video-games with a hand-held unit called a Nintendo Game Boy. Games for this console were tiny, 2-inch, flat squares. Seriously, the things were practically begging to be lost. The cost of each tiny square? Around $50, depending on the game. Isaiah and Eli traded games back and forth with Jordan, yes, I know, a very bad idea! You guessed it; they lost one of Jordan's games. Ugh! It became a family affair to find that tiny piece of plastic because with a single income and four little kids plus one on the way, we clearly did not have the resources to replace Jordan's $50 game.

We searched. Everywhere. We rummaged through drawers. We crawled around the floor on hands and knees. We moved furniture and swept underneath. No luck. Emotions were high and contention thick. And right in the middle of all that strife, our little Eli declared, "We need to have a family prayer." Gerald turned to me, out of earshot of the kids, and whispered, "I don't know about you, but I don't have that kind of faith."

"Me either," I replied, "but if our little boy wants to have a family prayer, that is exactly what we will do." In a quiet voice (he was rarely quiet), Eli offered a simple plea to his Heavenly Father to please help us find Jordan's game." We all said "Amen," opened our eyes, and not three feet from where I was standing, right in the middle of the floor in plain sight, was that game. And so began a young child's unwavering testimony of prayer.

Eli would go on to offer many more prayers in the 17 years that followed, and while most would not be answered as instantly as that one was, his testimony of prayer would sustain him through whatever came. He would go on to dedicate two years of his life in the deep south and endure sweltering heat, threat of tornadoes, and daily rejection in order to share with others the truth he knows so well and loves so much. He would go on to seek an eternal companion, who would go with him to the Holy Temple to make covenants with God and begin to build an eternal family of his own.

And he would go on to share the beautiful voice God gave him to bless others through song. He would sing for the elderly and for sick children. And for me.

Thank you, Lindsey, for your story of faith that touched my heart and stirred my memories. Thank you, Elders Quorum President, for your honest portrayal of the challenge and the joy of Family Home Evening. And thank you, Eli, for being you.

Fourth Family Fun (and other alliterative phrases to mark the day)

Because why not be alliterative if you get the chance?

Basic Bacon-less Breakfast
July marks five years since we moved here to Utah. In some ways, that makes me sad because five years is a pretty dang long time to still feel like such an outsider. The social scene here is hard to figure out. On the other hand, there is much to be grateful for, and one of those things is the "Celebrate Freedom Breakfast" that our stake hosts each year on the 4th of July. We attend every year, but this year, one significant component was conspicuously missing: bacon! That's right, in past years the breakfast included yummy bacon, but not this time. So Gerald, Shulamith, and I left Matt and Seth at home sleeping and joined others from our stake to feast on eggs, hash browns, and pancakes. Food was just "okay," but it was a good start to our happy Fourth.


Practically Perfect Parade
After breakfast, Shulamith and her kids and I embarked on a brave adventure: the 4th of July parade in South Jordan. We had left our chairs out along the parade route the night before and were overjoyed to find them still there waiting for us yesterday morning. Equipped with iced cold Diet Cokes and plenty of sunscreen, we sat in anxious anticipation.

Parades are super nostalgic for us. We spent 17 years living in quite small towns (six years in The Dalles, OR and eleven years in Mt. Vernon, WA). Small-town parades were the highlight of many holidays. I remember marching in a parade in The Dalles for State Senate Candidate Wayne Fawbush. Wayne carried Luke on his shoulders, and Gerald and I walked beside, carrying signs, pushing Shulamith in a stroller. Several years later, when Shulamith was a Mt. Vernon High School cheerleader, I remember waiting alongside the parade route for the MVHS float to pass by and the thrill of seeing her and the rest of the cheer squad on the float. Only a mom could be that excited over a float full of cheerleaders, but yep, that's me!

This was our first time trying a parade with Shulamith's two kids, and we didn't know what the outcome would be, but it really was practically perfect. It was super hot, but the cool breeze made that tolerable, despite how it wrecked havoc on my hair. The kids were happy; we were happy; it was good. We cheered for cops on motorcycles, scrambled to gather candy, and waved at princesses riding high on top of floats.

Naturally Necessary Naps
All this heat and parade fun made everyone tired, moms included. So after a quick lunch at JCW's (Love me those chicken strips!), we came home for naps all around, so both kids and mommies would be able to stay awake to watch fireworks at night. I only slept under an hour, but it was a good power nap, and I was ready to rock the rest of the day. Sleep has been challenging recently with my dumb anxiety acting up. My guess is a combination of events triggered this fairly severe response: Shulamith's struggles through all of May, a new garden hose that's really long and ugly, and the fact that I know four people who are currently dealing with cancer. Yes, four. Sheesh. Then I feel like such a horrible human being because these four people actually have cancer, and I don't. I just think I do. It's what Mathew calls "fake cancer." Can I just say it again: dumb, dumb anxiety!

Marvelous Mac-shack Meal
As we've established in other posts, all roads lead to the Macaroni Grill, especially on holidays when even one of my kids is working. Seth was scheduled at 5:30, so Gerald and I went in at 6:00. It was dead. I've been in that restaurant dozens (hundreds?) of times, but I'm not sure I've ever seen it so dead. We were one of maybe three tables. We enjoyed our chicken parmesan with alfredo sauce and visited with various familiar employees. It's rather surreal to see Seth working there; a Macaroni Grill legacy he is! I didn't know our server, but once he figured out who we were, he said the standard "You must be doing something right to raise so many amazing kids." Okay, perhaps he was working the tip schmooze (successfully, I might add), but still, it's always gratifying to hear people praise my five babies.

Fabulous Festive Fireworks
And before we knew it, the dark sky surrounded, and it was time to go watch fireworks. And again, the memories! We laid out our blankets on he lawn at Jordan High School and waited with all the others for the show to begin. It wasn't the most spectacular display I've ever seen. It was short and sort of medium-sized. Still, it was lovely and a great conclusion to the Fourth Family Fun!