The Sunshine In Our February

Due to a past traumatic experience, it's been awhile since I've braved a children's museum. Having the support of my Mom, we ventured out to a nearby museum this morning. I was super impressed and delighted by each of the exhibits but quickly learned that it was essential to have my Mom with us as my children's attention was captured by different activities at different times.

For example, while Eliza and my Mom played doctor at the Teddy Bear hospital, Henry spent his time repeatedly sliding down the anal shaped slide (see below).
I couldn't help but hear Andrew's laughter as the exhibit made loud, flagellant vibrations each time a child climbed the steps of that charming slide.

The real hit of the day was the water play area created for the enjoyment of children five and under. It had been up to them, we would have spent our entire day there.

My Mom's winter trip to the South has been filled with ups and downs. For the sake of laughter, the few downer moments include:

• the haircut my Mom received at the hands of a teenager with a purple mo-hawk,
  
• Henry breaking her reading glasses and
  
• the cancellation of our trip to Biltmore (largest home in America).

(Speaking of being a downer...)

The "up" moments, which are far more common, deserve a more detailed remembrance, but currently my Mom is cleaning out my dirty microwave for something to do - which is surely a sign of... what... charity? boredom? Clearly I need to wrap this up :)

But I will say this; we made it to Wicked!! Three days later and I'm still searching for a superlative(s) worthy of describing my immense enjoyment of that show. I have to ask. Has anyone else had the great pleasure of having their Elphaba portrayed by the insanely talented Marcie Dodd? Let us gush. She was phenomenal. They all were.

(Not Marcie Dodd)

(my gorgeous child)

We've enjoyed good health, the season premier of Survivor 20 (heroes vs. villains) and dodged a load of nasty winter weather. I'm relishing in her presence and am trying to ignore the sadness that is creeping into my heart as I realize that her departure from the South is imminent. To my Dad who misses her and to my brother who is frustrated that she isn't around to help him find his check book, oil, vinegar, etc; thank you for sharing your piece of sunshine with me and my family.

A Sports Review From the Athletically Challenged

After a fairly intense round of Candy Land, the air was charged with competitive anticipation.

(Eliza and her favorite board game)

Having adopted a team to support an hour before kick-off, my Mom and I readied ourselves for the Super Bowl. At the conclusion of the national anthem, (With the exception of that last painful note, I'd say Miss Underwood nailed it.) Andrew shuttled the children upstairs for their bath.

When it comes to watching football, I average one game per season. My husband, who is not a sports enthusiast, averages 0.3 games per season. He doesn't even feign interest when were out with friends whose husbands "live, sleep, breath" football. It was quite problematic when we moved here as I feared that we'd have a difficult time attaching ourselves to new friends.

"Andrew likes fishing!" I interjected on his behalf following his 'big reveal' regarding his lack of interest.

"He played football in high school. Once. And then quit. So he could wrestle." I continued. "Um...." (crickets chirping. awkward silence.)

Future wrestler? The idea scares the crap out of me.

You see, he will sit by me on the couch (maybe) during a game, but his attention is entirely devoted to something else. It's not until I'm literally jumping up and down like an intoxicated monkey that he fancies himself a look at the television. When the play is over, he returns to his aforementioned activity.

Last night he asked,

"Does it make me less of a man that I don't care for sports?" Lovingly I replied,

"Based on the amount of gas you release on a daily basis, nothing could put into question your insanely high level of manliness." He seemed satisfied by my reassurance.

If I have a team to root for and the game isn't a blow out ( is it sad that an image of a full diaper is suddenly filling (pun intended) my mind?) then I'm happy. The biggest issue is that I tend to forget the rules. Lucky though, my Mom was here to enjoy last night's game with me. She was throwing out football terminology left and right. When I had a question, it was directed to her, not Andrew (I love you, babe).

Seriously, Mom? A turnover? That's just not an Arby's pastry? She was amazing.

And then there are the commercials which, last night, were mostly disappointing. My favorite, since you care, are the ETRADE baby commercials... the love triangle - milkaholic - one especially.

After consulting with the Blaser family and hearing of my brother's deep affection for Peyton Manning, our choice to cheer on the Colts was made easy. After some fellow named Tracy Porter caught an impressive interception, my personal alarm for my beloved team increased. Regardless of the sad outcome for the Colts, the game entertained athletically challenged 'ole me.

Not to mention, seeing a tearful Drew Brees holding his infant son moments after their win pretty much stole my (pathetically weak) allegiance away from the Colts. Peyton Manning may in fact be a brilliant player and devout fan of the Oreo cookie, but seeing that Father/Son interaction was pretty heart warming.

Congratulations, dear reader, for enduring my first ever (and possibly last) sports related blog. My Mom and I returned to our feminine ways this morning with a trip up to the outlets where I have to say, I inflicted severe damage to my bank account.That game was good, but shopping was better.Note to Mom: Thanks for being here!! We love you!

Yay!

She's here! I love my Mom.

Something Wicked This Way Comes!!!

After years of waiting, I'm finally a week away from seeing Wicked, the musical. And do you want to know what the best part is?

My Mom will be coming with us!(!!!!!!!!!)

She will be here this week! I can hardly stand to think about it because when I do, time stops.

things of a spiritual nature

Considering our climate, I haven't been in the market for a sled. In fact, I was sure our tobogganing days were over after bidding Salt Lake and her snow-covered hills 'farewell' in January. So, when Mother Nature proved my assumption incorrect, I found myself scrambling for an alternative. Ta-dah!
After spotting an empty storage container, the kids were in business!

On Saturday, Andrew and the kids met up with friends (who kindly shared their sleds) at a nearby park for an afternoon of sledding. I skipped out on the activity so I could prepare for our babysitter (squeeee!!!). We had a sitter scheduled so we could attend the evening session of Stake Conference, which ended up canceled due to the ice rink our area had transformed into. Andrew and I kept our plans with the sitter and went on a date with two other couples.

Being with my husband, eating that salad and laughing with those friends did my soul good. Speaking of my soul, Sunday was a spiritual feast.

Stake Conference was broadcast to our area (South Carolina, Georgia and Florida) at 1:00 p.m. It was a new and special experience to hear directly from President Eyring, Elder Perry and other Church Leaders in SLC via satellite. I felt comfort in knowing that they are aware of the Lord's Southern saints and the unique challenges we have. Busy keeping two children quiet, doesn't permit one to take notes. Please allow me a moment of reflection before the highlights of their words leave my brain permanently.

Faith and fear can not co-exist. Cultivate faith through righteous living. Take heart when faced with trials, the Lord has prepared the way and endured that struggle already. You are not alone. When persecuted, you find yourself in the same company of the early saints. That thought gave me strength. I have to say, I've experienced nothing but kindness and respect from my Southern neighbors. Still, the misconceptions surrounding my faith, at times, is palpable and I can only hope that friends will have the courage to ask rather than turn to a false or incomplete source.

Elder Eyring talked of our responsibility to rescue our kin through family history and missionary work. He noted that throughout the Church he has seen a surge in the efforts of young families raising children. As we follow the council to implement daily prayer, home evening and scripture study, our young children will recognize the feelings of the Spirit, benefit from that peace and be equipped to reject evil. We won't have the need to rescue our children if we do our part now. He said that. That is a promise I will cling too.

They testified of the authenticity of the Book of Mormon. I echo their sentiment that it stands as tangible evidence of the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It's a companion to the Bible. Paired together, they stand as a solid witness of the divinity of Jesus Christ. When the Book of Mormon is studied and prayed over, the experience that Joseph Smith had at the tender age of 14 can not be denied.

The experience of the 'first vision' is one I shared while out walking with a non-member friend last year. And I have to be honest, I probably sounded like a total crazy person. As I spoke, I was simultaneously praying to be articulate, to have the Spirit penetrate her heart, etc. I went inside feeling like I had compromised a budding friendship. I felt like I failed and doubted my decision. The good news is, we're still friends :) .And I feel that before they (or anyone else) is allowed to label us as 'crazy,' they have to first act on our invitation to ponder and pray about that book. The feelings I have for the Book of Mormon is what I fall back on when being a member of the Church is hard. I regard Joseph Smith as a Prophet of God; so do 13 million other people (see LDS/Mormon statistics here). All that we do as latter-day saints, hinges on that.

Alas, I've diverted.

My words don't properly convey the beauty of the messages shared, but I have to tell you that my testimony has been strengthened while being here and that my gratitude for the ward family we know and love is great.

Entertaining two children (in a dark chapel, mind you) was tricky when you're doing your best to pay attention. Not to mention, it was Henry's nap time. The last 45 minutes, he passed out on the bench; which left me optimistic for a happy afternoon.

(Henry, post-nap)

It took him a long (emphasis on the word, long) while to recover from waking up an hour and a half too soon. For Andrew, his tears were unfortunate considering the lovely lighting of the day. He wanted to take some photos when we came home. This is what Henry thought of that idea. Eliza was happy to oblige his request. I did my best to distract Henry from the cruelty that is exhaustion.Cheer up, Henry! It's February!

Ice Castles

After enjoying weeks of blue skies and warm temperatures (high sixties), it SnOwED!!!

Oh, the excitement!! Eliza was bouncing up and down. I was thrilled that I was able to locate snow gear for the three of us; with the exception of my gloves. My dearly beloved, who spent last night in a tent camping with the Scouts, kindly borrowed mine.

All was well when I located his winter mechanic gloves in a tool box. Disregarding any thought of grease, I placed them on our couch while I suited up the kids. At this moment, I'm crossing my fingers that the oxy-clean will work its magic on that unpleasing spot his gloves generously left.
And we're off!
The snow wasn't ideal for making snowmen, so Eliza suggested we play, 'Follow the Leader'When that got old, we busted out the beach toys (hence the title of today's post, cleverly thought of by Andrew).Despite the inability to form snow angels or create snowmen, Eliza was satisfied with the experience.
Proof that their kind Mother orchestrated this winter experience for her dear children.We missed our Daddy and are eager to hear how his night of camping with the Scouts went. When the weather forecast predicted a snow/sleet/ice storm, talk of canceling their campout abounded. Andrew would hear none of it.

I'll be honest, I hate being alone at night. I'm pretty good company and all, but I scare myself silly. At 4:00 a.m. this morning, I was certain that I heard the garage door open. I assumed it was Andrew coming home early from the camp out. After several minutes of waiting, his continued absence alarmed me.

I finally convinced myself to 'check things out' - which I bravely did. All was in deed calm as the ending of this story is mundane. I imagined the noise. That's better than an alternative ending involving an intruder, right?
The activity concluded with this mess (which I'm so looking forward to cleaning up).
As well as a cup of hot chocolate.

Had this storm fallen on a week day, Andrew would have had a day off from work. Seeing as it's the weekend, both stake conference and a wedding reception were canceled as a result of this storm.

The Truth Princess

In the book, Dora's Fairy-Tale Adventure, the heroine is on a quest to wake her best friend Boots from the deep sleep the evil witch has caused to befall him. At the end of her journey, Dora has become a 'true princess,' which is required before she can wake (with a kiss on the cheek) her drowsy monkey friend.

Eliza, who added this book into her daily reading repertoire, soon adopted the title for herself; except, rather than announcing herself as being a true princess, she'll exclaim in a breathy voice,

"I'm a truth princess."

As Randy Jackson would say, "She made it her own. Dawg." And like so many other 'isms' our children create, I haven't felt a need to correct her because I get a kick out of hearing her say it her way. Now that I've documented that happy memory, I can try to tie in the fact that she is at that stage where she frequently asks,

"Why, Mom?"

Some topics I try to tie up quickly while others, I realize, deserve thoughtful explanations. For instance, the other day she walked in on a friend (a boy) who was using the bathroom. We totally respect and encourage the privacy of her playmates, but alas, the door had been left open. Soon after I closed the door, Eliza exclaims,

"I want to go potty standing up too!"

"Sorry, Eliza, you can't."

"Why, Mom?"

Parenthood.Is.Awesome. That particular subject has surfaced a lot lately. And depending on where we are and who we are with, I either offer a rain check on that conversation or maturely provide a sufficient, yet simple, answer. When I hear the word, 'why' over and over; I try to tell myself that she's asking, "teach me" instead... because for whatever reason, it's less annoying.

When explaining the realities of what a stranger is or why we have smoke detectors (another hot topic), I feel concern that I may have caused unnecessary fear or worry. I do my best to say just enough to get the point across and then offer reassurances of love and safety. Like I said, some topics are easier than others. She's almost four and she is a sponge, so I'm trying to take her seriously.

So when she asks the difference between truth and lies, I take my time. When explaining or sharing examples of dishonesty, I fear that I may be feeding her a bad idea or that perhaps as a result of this conversation, I will have unintentionally inspired a future misdeed. Tricky stuff, right? Hopefully, the need to maintain her status of being a 'Truth Princess' will continue to hold some weight in her decision making process.

For the most part, Eliza has been forthright in acknowledging personal blame when it comes to making mistakes (both accidental and intentional in nature). After hiding a broken ornament, as I mentioned in a recent post, she bravely tattled on herself when I first noticed it had disappeared.

The other day, her bladder was given the green light to 'go' a moment before she was completely settled on the potty. A light urine splatter to the floor ensued.

"Mommy!" She hollered from the toilet. Making my way toward the bathroom I reply,

"Yes, Liza?"

"I did some pee pee on the floor." Patience, having been on my side that day, blessed her with a kind,

"That's okay, sweetheart." As I began the clean up process, she leaned down from the toilet where she was still perched and asked,

"Was that telling the truth, Mom?" I felt a mixture of surprise and pleasure. Another thirty second lesson (filled with a load of praise from me) about what it means to tell the truth followed. Eliza has wisely learned that her Mom's heart is quick to soften when she's the one to remind me that she's telling the truth. She's not always off the hook, depending on the offense, but the effect of her reminder has me stifling the urge to let out a sigh of deep frustration (among other weaknesses).

During an afternoon snack yesterday, she spilled the remaining juice from her cup of peaches.

"Uh-oh Mom! Look!"

"What is it?"

"I spilled my cup all over!" Sure enough, the peach juice had fallen onto the chair and was dripping its way onto the floor. It really wasn't a big deal. I mean, lets be honest, I spend most of the day wiping various surfaces: counters, bums, noses, etc. I wasn't seriously fretting as I came to investigate, but perhaps I did offer up a small frown. Cue Eliza,

"Mom?"

"Yes honey?"

"I just told you the truth, right?" Instantly, I'm smiling.

"Yes, Eliza" Reinforce this positive behavior, I tell myself. Praise her for making a good choice. Before I can do this she says.

"Great. Now clean it up!" And with that, she give her hair a slight toss and whisks herself out of the room; leaving me with my mouth ajar. Now that we're squared away on the importance of telling the truth, we'll soon be tackling the "everyone helps clean up" lesson.