Washing the dishes

When Garry and I had been married about 18 months, we moved into an old, small apartment on BYU campus. Our new digs boasted cinder block walls, industrial grade carpet, and closets without doors.  A bonus: no dishwasher.

Our life circumstances were in no way unique, but as full-time students and part-time employees, we felt busy and stressed. When we weren't working or studying, we just wanted to relax. This mentality led to a sink full of dirty dishes.  Neither of us liked washing them and we gradually let them stack up. After a week (at least) we had a pretty big mess on our hands. That's when our home teachers wanted to visit. Every Mormon on the planet probably cleans the house (at least the visible living areas) a bit before a home teaching appointment, right?  In order to avoid some embarrassment, we stacked up all of those plates and bowls and cups and pots and pans...and hid them in the oven. That's right. The oven. That way no one else would know our dirty little secret.  It was quite satisfying at first, but pretty soon the facade of cleanliness gave way to guilt. So, finally, we started washing the dishes.  It took quite a while to wash and dry and put everything away, but after that we never got too far behind on the dishes.

Today I shared this story during Primary sharing time.  As I did, I pulled out lots of dirty, sticky dishes and displayed them on a table.  Some had fresh maple syrup dripping, some were covered with ketchup and mustard, and some had the remnants of sandwiches, pasta, and rice.  I had cups with crusty milk in the bottom or green smoothie on the sides.  I displayed a bowl and a casserole dish leftover from German pancakes, and a small frying pan from the omelet Garry made this morning. I also placed a big handful of dirty silverware among the dishes.  The kids gave lots of "gross!" and "ewww!" exclamations as I perfected my little display.

When I got to the oven part of the story, I stacked up all the dishes and put them in a plastic drawer I had brought along.  When I closed the full drawer, the kids were shocked!  Some even had their hands over their mouths.  They couldn't believe the crazy thing I had done, especially because I had really put dirty dishes in an oven before.

That's when I asked the group what dirty dishes had to do with our Savior, Jesus Christ.  Hands went up quickly (even in Junior Primary, where the oldest kids are seven).  The kids drew the parallel I was looking for: dirty dishes are like our sins, and the Atonement provides a way for us to be clean again.  We talked about our responsibilities in the repentance process (we have to do work to receive forgiveness) and also that repentance isn't possible without Jesus' help (without soap, our efforts are pointless).  We talked about the need to repent (wash our dishes) every single day. Sometimes we have larger and more painful sins (big, dirty dishes, like the mixing bowl and casserole dish) that we can't wash ourselves. Our bishop can help us overcome those struggles.

I shared another real-life story to make this point.  Quite recently, Zachary had dish duty at our house.  He steadfastly refused to complete the chore, even though we have a dishwasher!  With a family of seven, the dishes stack up very quickly, and after a few days, he faced a literal mountain of dirty dishes.  He was very overwhelmed.  Wouldn't you be?

One day while he was at school, wanting to help with the work but not take it away entirely, I washed all of the pots and pans. When he came home that night, the mountain was smaller and the task more possible.  While a bishop can't actually do the scrubbing, he makes the repentance process possible in more serious situations.

That's when I invited a few children to wash some dishes.  I dumped a few pitchers of water in the same drawer I had used as my "oven," squirted some soap in the tub, and offered a sponge.  While the three kids took turns washing a dish, I showed some pictures of Book of Mormon scenes that represented a person or groups of people who had significant repentance experiences.

My favorite story on the subject is that of the group of Lamanites who converted to the gospel and thereafter called themselves Anti-Nephi-Lehies, or the people of Ammon.  They had been ferocious warriors in the Lamanite army and had spent much of their lives slaughtering the Nephites.  When they heard the gospel of Jesus Christ, they were sorry for all they had done and underwent what must have been a very difficult repentance process.  As a token of their covenant not to fight anymore, they buried their weapons of war in the ground.  I love that story, partly because of the physical, symbolic act they took to remind them of their desire to be clean.

As each Primary child cleaned a dish today, he or she held it up for all to see.  The dish was shiny and bright.  The kids were thrilled.  I bore my testimony about the Atonement and the Savior's gift of repentance.  I also challenged the children to think about repentance every time they helped their parents wash the dishes.  That's a symbolic reminder they can see every day of their lives.

Kate learns a lesson

On Wednesday afternoon,

I was being a good little mama

and painting my girls' fingernails.

Neighbor Lucy was over,

and I was working on her nails

when Kate's hysterical scream

pierced my eardrum.

I turned to see what was happening

and she was standing there

with an open bottle of nail polish in one hand

and its lid and brush in the other.

Her eyes were squeezed shut

and she was screaming

like I've never heard her scream before.

After what seemed like 10 minutes

I finally understood:

she had painted her eyeball.

I imagine she was attempting to

"put on mascara"

or something

but whatever her attempt,

it failed

and she was in serious pain.

I tried to open her eye

but she screamed louder.

I tried to wipe her eyelid

but she screamed louder.

Finally, I did what I knew needed to be done.

I wrapped her in a towel,

laid her on her back on the counter

with her head over the sink

and turned on the water.

Oh, the screaming.

The memory makes me sick.

It was kind of hard to hold her still

and maneuver the hose on the faucet

so it sprayed right in her eye.

I had to open her eye with one hand

and spray with the other.

It was awful.

Awful, I tell you.

But then, when I was done,

she sat up

and I dried her off

and she stopped screaming.

She was still crying from the trauma

but calming down

and opening her eyes.

It was over.

I hugged her for a long time.

She kept begging for a band-aid.

Of course a band-aid makes everything feel better!

I tried to explain that it wouldn't help.

She didn't believe me.

Because I wanted to do anything

for her to stop hurting,

I opened a band-aid and stuck it on

from her eyebrow to her cheek.

I laughed out loud.

She loved it,

and she wore it for about 10 hours.

I'm not sure

why it was so comforting,

but it was.

Silly little girl.

Kate was pretty traumatized

but I think she learned

that putting nail polish in her eye

isn't a good idea.

Here is the story in her own words.

And a photo

in case you can't see the video.

And also because it's cute.

Sorry that I laughed, baby.

After all the tension

I had to let it out.

I mean,

who paints her eye with nail polish?

You have to admit

it's a little bit ridiculous.

Waaaa....

This is me today.

Oh wait.  It's actually Kate today.

But it could be me.

Waa...

I try really hard not to go to this place.

The one where I feel sorry for myself

and only see negative things

and get hurt by things people say

(or things they don't say).

I see myself going there and yell to myself:

"Don't do it!"

But, much like my defiant children,

sometimes I don't listen.

And so I mope

and cry

and eat too much

and hide under the covers

(I really do that)

and yell at the kids for minor infractions

and then get mad at myself for being ridiculous.

And the cycle repeats.

Today was one of those stupid, dark days.

It didn't help that

I woke up too late to exercise

and

I have this cough/cold/sinus thing that won't go away

and

when I had to do something for my calling at the church

the girls ran like wild animals

and Kate ended up on the podium in the chapel

and

Kate wouldn't nap (third day in a row)

and

Lexi had the mother of all tantrums and fell asleep on the floor at 4:00 p.m.

and

Gavin ruined lots of the Valentines Day cards for Lexi's class

(which she needs for school tomorrow,

and I have to go to the store to replace them

because we had just enough the first time)

and

Zach came home from school extra surly and was very mean to me

and

I inexplicably threw up my lunch (what?!) and it got in my hair

and

it is laundry day, which is strangely very overwhelming

and

dinner was lame.

None of those things would usually bother me much.

(Well, except the mean child.)

But today, they did,

because I let them.

Today I cried at the dumbest things.

Today I had to remind myself about unconditional love

in the church parking lot

so I could go into a Court of Honor,

support my rank-advancing son,

and not embarrass myself with a breakdown.

Today someone else's problems made me really sad.

Do I recognize that my problems are

100% superficial?

Absolutely.

I have friends with major money problems.

I have friends struggling with infertility.

One friend is an alcoholic

and has lost custody of her son.

Another (my age) has cancer.

I have friends with children making bad choices,

and I see their heartache.

Sometimes I even think I feel my friends' heartaches

a little too much

and take them on as my own.

Hopefully even though I am

shallow

and insecure

and wrapped up in my own sad things

that aren't really important,

it's OK to take a day

and be frustrated with my life.

So tonight

I am going to bed early

and hoping that tomorrow is all sunshiny.

A girl can dream, right?

Baby Kate and her babies

Kate has a big imagination.  Sometimes she forgets because she loves TV (and I let her watch too much), but when she plays with her dolls she is so fun to watch.  One night I walked in on her as she was singing to Grace, her birthday doll.  Of course as soon as I began recording her, she got shy, but my mother heart still swoons at her darling voice and the sentimental value of sharing our bedtime ritual with her dollie.

I am not normally wistful about my kids growing up.  I like them as they are and look forward to the stages ahead (number one on my list is for Kate to be diaper free).  But recently something triggered my thought (wish? impression? who knows) that we'd end our family with a little boy.  He is probably a figment of my imagination, but for some reason I've been thinking about that figment a lot lately.  The door to more babies must remain closed (a decision that was rather wrenching for me), but I find myself wishing my body was capable of growing just one more human.  Since it isn't capable, and since it would be irresponsible to try, I am soaking up Kate's cuteness and being happy with the beautiful kids I have here and now.

My current thought is that Kate will grow up and marry the boy in my dreams...and he'll be the boy of her dreams, and we'll all live happily ever after!

What I Did Right

When I look back at 2013, my natural instinct is to see all the ways I fell short.  I didn't do this and I meant to do that and I was a total failure in these 500 ways.  This is my knee-jerk life view: the glass is mostly empty, and I am just not good enough.

I was thinking about this as I vacuumed the floor at about 10:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve.  We had just watched a "family classic" Christmas movie that turned out to be really inappropriate, despite its PG rating, and I felt it had ruined the spirit of the evening.  I was mad at myself for sharing with the family a movie I had not screened, and then not turning it off when it wasn't a good thing to watch.  I was negligent in the first place and then a poor example to my kids.  Lame, lame, lame, lame.

But then a voice came into my head: It's OK. You haven't ruined your kids' lives.  You didn't even ruin the evening. They loved dinner and they loved the pillowcases you made for them, and they loved that you shared your precious Candy Cane Oreos with them, and they loved the Christmas songs you sang as you tucked them into bed.  I realized that despite my mistakes, I had also made some great choices, both that night and throughout the year.  I had done some things right.

With this perspective, I look back on this year and offer a list of 13 Things I Did Right in 2013.  It was really hard for me to come up with this list, but here it is for all the world my blog readers to see.  I know that in the future I will need a reminder of my successes this year.  So, in no particular order....

1. I completed (or will, in the next few days), a daily journal. I only wrote a sentence or two each day, but I already treasure the snapshot of my life.  I'm look forward to daily entries for the next four years, all in the same book.

2. I shared my love of the LDS Church with friends.  My testimony of Jesus Christ is something near and dear to me, and I always love the chance to share the joy I feel in the gospel.

3. I tried my best to be a good Young Women leader.  Despite some difficult setbacks in my own life, I think I was always "there" for my girls and my fellow leaders.  I learned a lot as a teacher and made some treasured friends.  I look back fondly on my year of service in that organization, and I miss my girls.

4. I advocated for myself in a number of ways.  It's so easy for me to just do what people tell me, especially medical professionals and people at church, but I am learning to set boundaries and be brave enough to quit or change something that just isn't working for me.  That's a skill set I hope to keep developing.

5.  I blogged a LOT.  I'm happy that I am keeping a good record of our family life, both the good and the not-so-good. I love the therapy that blogging gives me and the validation I get from all of you that I'm not alone in this crazy world.  And it helps me find humor in everyday situations.

6.  I nurtured my marriage.  Garry and I have been on more dates this year and attended the temple together more often than in years past, and finally took a trip together.  I tried to connect with him more and put his needs first.  I'm certainly not great at any of this, but effort counts for something.

7. I tried to make new friends.  Is it normal for this to be hard for someone my age?  Well, it is for me, but I worked on it a lot, and I am pleased to report some improvements.  I learned that friendships come and go, that some people just don't fit well together, and that it's usually not personal when someone else just walks away.

8. I wrote a song and arranged a couple of others.  I like experimenting with this new, creative part of my mind.

9. I completed full 72-hour kits for each member of my family.  It's time to update them again, but still...

10.  I did fun things for holidays and birthdays with my kids. I often refer to this as earning "cool mom points," but really it's more about making happy memories together.

11. I spent some of my time serving others, which is and always will be one of my favorite things.  I plan to make a tradition of doing random acts of kindness on my birthday.

12. I realized that my limitations don't have to define me.  I recently learned that someone I love has a heartache I know all too well.  I look at her and see how fantastic she is and all that she can be and do, despite her struggles.  That made me realize that when people say positive and encouraging things about me, they are true.

13. I read The Book of Mormon twice.  I listened to dozens of sessions of General Conference while I worked out at the Y. Feeding my soul with the good word of God is one of my top priorities, so it definitely needs to make this list.

...

In my favorite Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, Calvin complains to his father about being cold in the house one winter.  His dad explains the cost of running the furnace, which Calvin thoughtfully considers and accepts.  Then, as Calvin walks away, his father says, "...and being cold builds character."  Ha!  Of course there is always an uncomfortable lesson in every cold part of our lives.

I'd be mixing my metaphors to talk about under-performing furnaces and half-empty glasses, so I'll just end with this: Here's to a warm and full 2014!  

Oh, Kate...

"Don't look at me, Mommy."

This is what she says as she stands naked behind me, covering her privates with one hand and her eyes with the other.

This is what she says several times a day after she takes off her poopy diaper somewhere in the house and attempts to clean up the mess.

This is what she says after she raids the purple nail polish for the umpeenth time and drips it across the wood floor, the granite counter tops, her back, and her face.

This is what she says after she drenches herself with milk, thus soiling the fourth outfit of the day.

This is what she says after "nap" time, during which she empties all of her drawers and her toys, then pushes her mattress to the floor and strips it of sheets.  And then strips off her clothing, just because.

And this, my friends, is what Hurrican Kate looks like, in a frog costume, approximately three seconds after we start driving.  Being two must be utterly exhausting for this child.

I definitely yelled a few times today, and she definitely spent more than a few minutes in time-out today.  But there were also many moments today when I reflected on the nightmare that was my pregnancy with her, and then remembered what a gift of a child she is.  How lucky I am that we have this time together after such a treacherous beginning.  So then I look at her in her various disheveled states, and then hug her and kiss her and tell her I love her.

And then I get her dressed.  Again.

Self-reflection

Recently I participated in a two-week study on all things digital--my tools and devices and social networks--that I use on a daily basis.  Participating in this research made me much more mindful of the way that digital communication dominates my life.  Things like Facebook and Instagram and blogging and texting connect me to people in ways that feed my sense of belonging and help me be part of others' lives that isn't possible any other way.  For a long time I have justified my addiction to such things, but I am starting to re-examine my behavior.

Another thing that has been on my mind is my need for validation from my peers.  When I have a little experience or thought, whether frustrating or funny or strange or happy, my immediate impulse is to share it on Facebook, through my blog, or via text to a friend.  When I don't get a response, or don't get one that I am expecting or needing, I feel frustrated or hurt or even embarrassed for being vulnerable in such a way. Why is that?  Why do I feel such a need for feedback from friends and acquaintances through social media? What does that say about my confidence and self-worth?

And then there are the big experiences.  Sometimes I share too much and feel the sting of regret (my Oct. 31 post is the perfect example).  People just don't need to know about my mental status or when I lose my temper.  Some of the dark corners of my life are better left in the dark. I can be honest without over-sharing. I need to work on that.

I think this behavior and attitude extend into my non-digital life.  There have been many times in the last couple of years when I really wished someone would reach out to me on a bad day instead of me soliciting some form of help.  I have never understood why that hasn't happened in my hour of need.  Yesterday a friend who knows about those feelings told me that there is danger in such an expectation.  I tend to agree. Perhaps there are times to be alone instead of surrounded.  Perhaps there are times to be still and private instead of expressive and public.

At the moment I don't have answers to any of my questions, but I do think I will be stepping back at least a bit from my digital life.  I will continue with my blog, as I enjoy the family history it creates.  I feel a connection to my posterity, those who might learn something from my experience or at least get to know their ancestors--my little family--in a somewhat meaningful way.  But that exercise will be just for me.  If you want to join my journey, I'll enjoy your company.  You just might have to tell me in person that you're coming along for the ride.

I am enough

Some things I learn about myself the hard way.

Yesterday was just another day.  Got Zach to school at 7:00. Shoved Gavin out the door with Tyler at 8:00. Skipped a shower for myself (hat day isn't just for school spirit) and helped Lexi get ready.  She was too comfortable on the couch and steadfastly refused to put on her fantastic costume for the preschool Halloween party.  Kate was happy to costume herself and happily frogged to the car.  I finally gave up the battle and let Lexi wear a play dress-up, leotard, and boots.  She looked cute.  Yay.

I spent preschool time at the piano.  I've had a hymn humming through my brain and decided to write a women's arrangement out of it.  Kate played with a piano app on my phone.

Between feeding and monitoring her, the time flew and I was late picking up Lexi. We zipped home for lunch before ballet lessons, which also included a Halloween party.

After a quick banana and bowl of mac and cheese (for the girls--how do they like that stuff?) we were out the door.  I got the girls back in the car and ran back for my purse, keys, and sunglasses.  You might imagine what happened next.  No keys.

What you might not have imagined is the temper tantrum I had while looking for them.  A quick search became a frantic one as the minutes ticked by.  Lexi was going to be late.  I was an idiot...we'd only been home 25 minutes. I yelled (not mumbled) at myself as I retraced my steps and looked in awkward places. The self-deprecation spiraled down from there. After 30 minutes of searching it was clear that ballet lessons were not happening. I apologized to Lexi, who gave me a sweet hug through her tears because I was crying, too.

Kate and Lexi ran off to play, but I couldn't let it go.  This wasn't about the keys anymore.  I was a loser, a dumb mom who couldn't hold it together for 25 minutes. It's bad enough when I do something stupid that only affects me, like buying an ill-fitting pair of jeans at a store 45 minutes from my house.  But making Lexi miss a party and a dance lesson that she anticipated all week long? Who does that?  I kept yelling (not mumbling) at myself and finally put myself in time-out in my closet.  I paced in that tiny, crowded closet.  Feeling claustrophobic made me angrier--so much so that I kicked a hole in the wall.

Great.  Real mature, Heidi.

That little act of anger was a reality check.  I finally got a hold of my rational self.  I cried some more, this time out of shame and sorrow.  I am so frustrated that I can't be the kind of person and mother I want to be.  I am upset with myself for reacting badly to a very minor and normal stress of life. I am also a little mortified that I am sharing such things in a public format.

Here's why. No one is perfect.  I am trying to be my best self every single day, just as I imagine you try to be your best self every day.  I have physical and mental limitations I really don't like but those things don't have to be a detriment to my happiness, and they are not an excuse for my bad behavior. I need a better outlet for my emotions. Perhaps that should be my next project, because heaven knows stress comes my way rather often.

For example, around 4:00, while I was sitting at the piano again, Kate got into the nail polish.  She painted her toenails a pretty pink and purple.  The attendant casualties were her clothes, face, hair, and her bunny, plus my pillowcases, sheets, and duvet cover.  Apparently painting toenails is best done in Mommy's bed.

Well, I didn't throw a fit.  I calmly changed Kate's clothes, let her scream in her room for a while, and tried in vain to remove the stains from all that fabric. And later, when Gavin and Lexi found my keys ON THE HOOK WHERE THEY BELONG, I cried a little, composed myself, and then made dinner.

In the immediate wake of kicking the wall, I had confessed, via text, my bad deed to a friend. I knew she would validate and understand my situation.  She did, and later she jokingly suggested that I find some low-hanging art work to cover the damaged wall.  Instead, I have decided to leave it exposed and unrepaired.  I need a visual reminder that nothing is important enough to lose my temper. I am stronger than my emotions, and I can start again today at the impossible task of being my best self.

Brene' Brown is one of my favorite authors.  Through her books she has started a movement to embrace the gift of imperfection and vulnerability.  I need to remember these truths, so I am doing as she has recently done: remind myself that despite my weakness, I am enough.

Even when lost keys make my child miss a party.

Love thy neighbor

Garry woke up at 6:15 this morning to shovel our snowy driveway.  Later he shared with me this sweet story.  It needs to be part of our family record.  The following is in Garry's words.

...

I had a great pay-it-forward experience this morning.  I went out early to shovel the driveway since it snowed overnight.  I got an early start and was feeling good so I just kept going. I did the sidewalk all around the neighborhood and then started on the neighbors' driveways.  Just as I was finishing the second neighbor's house, the dad from the next house in line stepped outside and started on his own driveway.  To put it mildly, our relationship has been strained.  Our kids just can't seem to get along and the parents have basically told their kids to stay away from our family.  I considered asking if I could help him with his driveway, but was afraid that would just give him the chance to refuse.  So I just walked  right up and started shoveling alongside him without saying anything.

At first he didn't acknowledge my presence or assistance, which was just fine.  We quietly shoveled side by side until his driveway was done. I wished him a good morning and started walking to the next house. Surprisingly, he said, "I think I'll join you for a bit."  

And so we continued around the cul-de-sac, one house at a time.  I kept expecting him to bow out and go back to what he had planned for the day.  Instead, he kept right by my side the whole time.  It was only eight degrees outside, but we were both sweating and working hard.  We probably said fewer than 10 words to each other during the 45 minutes we shoveled side by side, but it was good work and I felt like I was doing something positive to both serve my neighbors and repair the ailing relationship between our families.

When all was said and done, we'd finished six houses together.  I thanked him for joining me, since I honestly hadn't expected help from anyone.  He responded, "No, thank you!  Your good deed was contagious."  

I know our kids won't suddenly become best friends, or even begin to get along.  But I hope that at least we can be friendly toward one another and I also hope they know we harbor no bad feelings about them. Additionally, it was great to provide a service to my neighbors and to be joined in that endeavor by someone who probably wouldn't have ever considered doing it on his own.

The eighth floor

My psychiatrist's office is on the eighth floor of the Wells Fargo building in downtown Colorado Springs.  This was my view out of his window today.

In addition to a new prescription that I'm scared to take, Dr. McClure gave me a lot to think about.  All day I've been pondering a comment a friend made recently: "Hope is the opposite of despair.  Despair is crippling and not functional.  Hope is understanding that whatever you are wanting could really happen."

Tonight I choose to hope.

Spontaneous Therapy

I have to pick up my kids at school in 30 minutes, and will likely not have time to edit and ponder this like I probably should.  This is an experiment in spontaneity.

I saw my therapist (yep) today, and I came home frustrated.  It's not Trudy's fault.  It's mine.  Here's why.

We talked about my weaknesses.  I knew this was coming; last week we talked about my strengths and she warned me that today might not be so pleasant.  According to Trudy, figuring out who I am and what I want is this super-exciting journey full of wonder and amazement.  I can be whoever I want to be!  I can do whatever I choose!  

Guess what?  I don't want to change or discover or invent or whatever.  I'm a big fan of my comfort zone, thankyouverymuch, and my comfort zone involves doing exactly what I've been doing for forever.  I've spent almost a year experimenting with vulnerability, with opening up and sharing my heart and exposing my soul.  While it has been a teensy bit liberating, I mostly hate it.  Being vulnerable means having expectations that those you are vulnerable with will offer you what you need.  In my experience, that's a bunch of malarky (aren't you proud of me for saying something so benign?).

In my experience, sharing with people that I feel broken generally makes them feel sorry for me, and also think that I'm incapable of being a functional friend and human being.  I know I have quite a network of people who will listen to me on a bad day, or who will check on me when they know I'm in crisis, but there are very few (like two or three) who will call just to say "hey."  Or text ME when they are having a bad day.  Or ask me to watch their kids in an emergency.  Or check in just because.  Or invite me to something unrelated to church.  I realize I sound like a whiny teenager.

A couple of weeks ago I made a list of things I don't like about myself, otherwise known as "opportunities for growth" or plain old weaknesses.  Well, at the top of my list--not necessarily because it's my greatest fault, but because I thought of it first--is that I am slow to adapt to change.  (See paragraph four.)  I am the antithesis of spontaneous and carefree.  What I want to know is WHAT'S WRONG WITH BEING BORING?  I just don't get it.  So what if I don't like a scary movie?  So what if I don't like to fly by the seat of my pants?  So what if I crave order and cleanliness and never throw caution to the wind? Who likes wind anyway?

This week my homework assignment is to be spontaneous.  I laughed out loud when Trudy suggested that I be spontaneous by fixing my hair in a new way or taking a different route home from her office. She suggested that I spontaneously invite a friend to lunch or drop in on someone just to say hello.  Well, nothing about my life is spontaneous enough for all of THAT, but I did come home and pull back the bangs that were hanging in my eyes. Maybe I should take a picture of my bobby pin invention and print it out so I get a gold star in my chart next week.

And maybe next week we can talk about my significant overuse of sarcasm, which is second on my list of growth opportunities.

Be still my heart

I was getting ready for a church meeting this morning when Garry ran into our bedroom to grab his phone.  He said, "I've got to hurry and capture a picture before the moment passes."  Curious, I slid into shoes and a coat and followed him out the door.

Outside I saw the most beautiful thing: Zach was shoveling the driveway.  We got a few inches of snow last night, and I knew that the boys were out playing in it, but I had no idea they were working, too.  

And then, the moment Garry wanted to capture came into my view.  Gavin was shoveling our neighbor's driveway. My spunky little five-year-old who didn't want to help Zach shovel OUR driveway wanted to help Katie instead.  Our family hasn't had the best relationship with Katie (naughty kids don't make us great neighbors to have), but Garry and I have generally kept her driveway free of snow in the winter.  Seeing Gavin carry on the tradition made my heart swell with joy.

Maybe the kids are paying attention after all.

Things that make me smile.

Number 1:  Lexi sweeping the floor.  Apparently Kate got into the sugar and made a mess while I was...who knows what I was doing...and Lexi assumed responsibility for clean-up. Gavin also swept up his spilled cereal this morning.  What has gotten into these kids?

Number 2:  Gavin's choice of parking spot.  Good thing I walked around the van before getting in, eh?

Number 3:  Lexi has a new bike.  We inherited a darling little bike a few months ago, which Lexi has ridden with great pleasure ever since.  When one of the well-worn tires popped the other week, Garry couldn't find a replacement tire in any local store.  He finally found tires and tubes online, and they cost as much as a brand-new bike.  So we got this one, which I think is fabulous.  Lexi concurs.

Number 4: Twenty-eight socks without mates.  This doesn't really make me smile, except for the ridiculousness of the whole situation.  After discovering 22 lonely socks in the wash, I went through all of the kids' drawers in search of mates.  I did match several pairs, but also came up with more single socks.  Oh brother.

Number 5:  Kate in the dryer.  This also isn't really funny because of the danger factor, but since I was folding laundry on the floor next to her while she played, I didn't stop her.

Number 6: Gavin asleep in the window seat.  The other night Gavin was absolutely distraught that Garry wasn't home at 6:30 p.m. (he is almost always home by 5:30).  I finally encouraged him to wait by the window and watch for Garry to come up the street. So he did.  And then he fell asleep.

Number 7: New pajamas.  Grandma Bartle sent a fun Halloween package.  The kids are thrilled with their spooky bedtime attire.

Number 8: Fall leaves.  This is my favorite time of year in Colorado Springs.  The fall colors are so beautiful.  And my backyard tree is my favorite in all the world.

Know what else makes me smile?  Comments!  So tell me what makes you smile.  Or something like that.