triumph and survival

I have cleaned my room.  I am forty-one years-old, and this is a moment of personal triumph.

 As I think I have mentioned before, I have had this arrangement with God; I get my house in order and He will give me the password to move out of crisis mode. We came up with this plan as long ago as May of 2012, perhaps it was longer. God is more patient than I am.

It got worse before it got better, as things so often do. Over the previous months I had worked to contain the majority of the disorder to the top floor, specifically my bedroom and the girls' room.  In December I took my eyes off the prize. I believe they were reasonable distractions.  First--Christmas.  Second--Christmas carols.  December annually means I take another stab at playing the Christmas hymns with some degree of adequacy, and that takes time away from laundry.  And so the piles in my room grew, and when the girls needed to find just the perfect pair of pink stretch pants, rather than diving in, and risk getting lost in the piles themselves, they flung and flung, this way and that way, and soon the floor became a less than lovely collage called what-to-wear. And that's how things stayed, even though, as you know, guests arrived.  That welcomed chemical messenger, who creates just the right balance of warm hospitality and defensive pride-- that makes the need to clean just before guests arrive feel particularly urgent, stepped out the moment I stepped in my room. It was as if God needed the mess to be there a little longer.

If it is any consolation to my guests, the whole scene gave me nausea on a daily basis as well. And the worst of it, the little pests that torment  me even now-- since even though the crisis has passed the family still refuses to go naked, or even just barefoot--were the socks.  There were hundreds of them, white with green toes, white with blue toes, black, off black, Christmas socks, Halloween socks, even Easter socks, mismatched and scattered all about. At one point I had them basketed and earnestly anticipating some kind of reconciliation with their long estranged partners.  Then, one day, Sophie discovered the joy of recreational flinging, and like confetti they flew.

I think it was conquering those little socks that gave me the courage to finally overcome the mess, that and the grace of God.  After months of just feeling too depressed about the mess to even face it, we cleared one path and then another... me and the angels, and the Elmer chocolates in the little heart shaped boxes stashed way back in the corner of the top shelve in my bedroom closet. It was as if God had decided the time had come.

So January was folding socks and surviving this. Cold.  

And there were other triumphs.  Sam and Ben, and their friend Steven produced a short film for the LDS Film Festival twenty-four hour film contest.  I was proud of them for working together so well and creating a film in such a short period of time.  Sam also went to drama camp and enjoyed watching several plays at Westminster college in Salt Lake.

 Olivia and her friend Emma, and Mary and her friend Joey entered the school science fair.

 I was grateful to spend two Saturdays with our dear friends from Beijing, the Carrillo family. They invited us up to their new home in Draper for lunch one week and the next week the little kids and I enjoyed celebrating Diego's birthday at Chuck E. Cheese.

pumpkins and prophecy

Wednesday, October 3, I was grateful to attend Kyle's first choral showcase of the year. His choir performed the first song, a Latin piece called Jubilate. Then, several all-girl choirs sang upbeat Americana songs, each with a handful of solos.

 I usually watch with empathetic nausea when I see a soloist step down from the choral risers. Some tip toe timidly to the microphone, and others strut forward with bravado, neither is really an indication of what sound will follow. I have always felt that choir solos were a cruel form of torture. Too much responsibility in too few measures seems unfair to me. Sometimes you imagine the eyes of the choir on the back of your neck transmitting supportive, loving thoughts, and other times you are sure you can hear barely audible, better-not-blow-this snickers from behind.  It feels like an eternity stands between you and the two or three measures that must pass before you turn around and face the choir behind you. Will you feel triumphant or defeated?

  But this time, right in the middle of something completely untypical of inspiring deep thoughts, O Susanna,  or something of that genre, I started to imagine a new scenario. What if this life is really as brief as a three measure solo, and death is like turning around and rejoining the choir, and when you face them, everyone you see, begins to sing again...please let it be a South African gospel piece for me... and the choir is made up of everyone you know and love and some of the people are people that you just met in passing but you are surprised at how comfortable they are, and how you feel like you have known them forever. I have had dreams like that where familiar people appear but in different roles..which makes it seem to me that if life is so short why not live it again and again until you get it right, sometimes taking on a slightly different role, and sometimes doing something drastically different.  It seems to me as if we are doing that, and some people are on a much more advanced verse than I am.   

So I started to get teary eyed in the middle of the American numbers-- even before the combined choirs sang A Simple Song of Peace, with American Sign Language and everything, which made Grandma Martha and I both teary, and ready for the election to be over.

 And just to be honest, when the concert choir came on stage after the other choirs, I immediately noticed that the strength of the male section made their choir stand apart from the others.  Then I recognized a bass voice, that managed to blend with the other singers, but filled out and colored the sound. It was a particularly familiar voice that I'd heard often-- mocking my opera music-- or booming at his sister, and was now on stage making me particularly proud. Kyle it is a blessing to hear you sing.

 This photography doesn't make anyone proud. You'd think I'd know enough to switch on the auto focus. I can't even see which one is Kyle.

 This was Saturday afternoon. The girls had a great time at a sleepover at Grandma Martha's, so our house was particularly quiet for the Saturday sessions of General Conference. Ben made his favorite treat, which I have insisted he commit to memory, so we don't have to dig the recipe out from the remains my favorite cookbook, which is so loved, the pages have left the ring binder and are terribly out of order, and I just have to use my intuitive fingers finding skills to pull the right recipe of the mess of flour crusted pages. I have absolutely no self control around Ben's Blondies.

Saturday evening I loved watching the three big boys walk across the yard dressed in suits to meet Granddad for the priesthood session. It is somewhat of a tradition in the LDS church for men to attend this evening session for men with their sons, grandsons, friends etc, where the Prophet and other leaders give talks on strengthening faith and family. This must be hunger inducing for males because afterwards the local fast food restauraunts, particularly in Utah, are swarmed with suits.  I happened to be in the freezer section at Smith's at around 8:30 and met up with a hoard of hungry men elbowing their way towards the Rocky Road ice cream.  We escaped with two boxes of Neopolitan and Brownie Fudge.

But before that the girls and the younger boys and I took a ride out to storage. I had no idea the ninety bucks a month I pay to have a garage again would also serve as part of the entertainment budget. The kids were so excited about the errand that when we piled out of the van Sophie, who had caught their contagious enthusiasm, raised up her arms and shouted "Yea!! Garbage!!"  Enthusiastic but confused.

It is true that our storage unit is in a particularly beautiful part of town, the southwestern most area where there are small farms and horse fields, right before you get to Utah lake. It was a gorgeous fall evening, the type that seems to give off a delicious and spontaneous scent of something toasting. Storage happens to be next to a KOA campground so this particular cool, breezy, autumn leafy evening, the air was so filled with the scrumptious smell of campfire that I was almost overwhelmed by the romance of it.

And combined with this view, which is so exciting to the OCD side of me...stuff where it belongs...it was a wonderful moment.

The kids' excitement had more to do with getting stuff out, than putting it away however, as is usually the case.  This time we were gathering Halloween decorations, winter coats, and sleeping bags for our upcoming road trip, so there was a lot to stir emotion.

Sunday we enjoyed watching the second day of conference talks on television in our home, after the fighting that arose after I suggested we clean up all the stuff we brought back from storage died down. I was impressed by one idea that seemed to be repeated throughout several talks:  follow the inspiration to serve others. We have been blessed so often as people have followed inspiration on our behalf.  Saturday it was a delicious box of cinnamon rolls that a friend brought by our home.  They became our traditional conference Sunday cinnamon roll breakfast. I was grateful for a little less work. 

In the evening Grandma Julia came down for a visit.  She brought a trunk full of pumpkins from her garden, and each child was able to choose one. 

Sophie's naming the porch 'the pumpkin patch' was prophetic after all.

garden shadows

Wednesday September 12, in the afternoon I went to McCourd's nursery for the .99 cent sale on mums.  In the evening our ward held the tenth annual neighborhood Salmon Bake in the park. It was our fourth year. There are not that many annual activities that we have attended four times. That almost seems excessive. This activity is highly anticipated however, by Sam and Kyle for the fish, while my other kids fantasize about free reign of this table.

 Granddad helped serve the salmon this year.

Thursday morning  I went out to the garden

to say goodbye to some of my tired petunias and relieve them with red-orange and yellow mums, and purple and white pansies. Sophie kept busy tilling the soil, picking tomatoes (unfortunately she preferred the small green kind) and decorating the kitchen floor with shredded cheese.

  

I waited all summer for the alyssum to bloom. They seem to be loving the cooler weather, and now the garden smells sweet like I hoped it would.

I found this picture of our backyard that I took at Easter time. The backyard didn't look like this when we moved in.  Jackie, the previous renter, had a beautiful garden...so that added to the stress and guilt I felt everytime I walked out to this neglected space. 

 A year ago we had just moved from a  townhouse facing the park, to this more permanent home that we rent from Granddad and Judith. I was heading toward finals in massage therapy school.  Our house was filled with more than a hundred boxes from the three separate shipments that arrived in July. Each shipment was from a different period of our life: Maine, Ecuador, Beijing. 

When school ended in October I told my classmates I was going to go home and take two weeks to unpack the boxes before I started thinking about working. That's funny now.  My goal: get family life in order, make the house clean and functional, as if I could do that in two weeks.  Most days I felt so discouraged. It seemed like I would never be able to keep up with day to day life and carve out even an hour a day to unpack the boxes, but by January I felt like I had made enough progress that I could start building my private practice.

 As spring came I became increasingly grateful for the days that I had no work and could focus on the family. Everything in my life felt like that neglected garden.  I started with the farthest corner of the garage and worked my way outside to the garden, down to Kyle and Grant's room in the basement, and then upstairs to the kitchen, just hoping that I could make our home feel organized and functional. I think that is so important to me because I have some form of ADHD...real, imagined, or just brought on by my chaotic circumstances.

This was the garden in June. It was my therapy every morning to go out there before anyone else was awake, and tend to it, or sweep, or write in my journal.  I know it looks humble here, but it was so symbolic to me of the blessing of persistence, the joy of improving upon my own circumstances.  Seeing the garden change changed how I thought about myself.

This is the garden now in late summer.  My tomato plants have turned in to monsters. I know you are not supposed to water them everyday, but I just don't think it is fair to starve the leaves to make better fruit.  The tomato plants and I have an understanding. We've had plenty of beautiful cherry tomatoes without having to make any leaves look ugly.

Sunday night we made ham and besciamella lasagna from fresh tomato sauce. We used some of our cherry tomatoes and some fresh store bought tomatoes. This was how the sisters in Padova taught my mission companions and I how to make it.  It brought back happy memories of P-day cooking lessons.

So I have been stuck on the homestretch of my cleaning/organizing project for months now: my bedroom and the girls' bedroom.  I started to pray for help that I could find the energy or motivation or time..whatever it was that was keeping me from finishing so I could move on to some other goals.  Last Sunday I left Sophie in my room watching Wallace and Grommit on my phone, and when I returned, as anyone might expect, it was gone.  All of sudden I was overwhelmed with the beauty of God's wisdom.  That was the two fold  answer to my prayer.

I could feel His gentle chastisement. It was true; I had become a Twitter junkie, obsessing over election commentary in a way I never reveal here, or anywhere outside of immediate family, lest I loose all my friends. I just see my phone and my hand reaches for Twitter like a big bowl of gourmet kettle corn. So there was the motivation and the time. I stayed up until two in the morning hanging up and folding laundry hoping to find my phone under the next pile of clothes.

 My room has been ground zero for months. This is so depressing.  

There is nothing fashionable about this solution, but it is better than all over my floor, and I feel so happy to go into my room now.  Ben said my bathroom looks like a hotel.  Happiness!  So after I made this improvement still no phone. I had to move on to the next disaster, the girls' room.  Friday afternoon I found my phone tucked purposefully in a Dora the Explorer shopping bag.  After a week of no phone there were an underwhelming amount of messages.  Thank goodness for the dentist, or I would have questioned my existence entirely.  The upstairs is still a work in progress, but I am finally considering asking the universe for my next chapter.

troupers

We had a little bit of winter weather this weekend.  But first, Friday.  I was back to Olivia's classroom.  She was celebrating her half birthday, since her real birthday is in August.  I took in Uhura the hamster so Olivia could talk about her as part of her VIP presentation.

Friday night Sam, Ben, and Bethany went to see The Unknown. They had a good time but weren't over impressed. Ben said it was too much like the Jason Bourne movies, one of his favorite series.  Kyle spent the weekend with a friend.  Saturday they went to Kyle's second Monster Truck Madness show.  I'm jealous. Grave Digger was there.

I spent another Saturday cleaning.  The girls and Grant and William wanted to go out for a walk in the rain just to use their umbrellas.  It was easy to convince Sam to go as well.  I love Sam's gadget love, even for umbrellas.

Sunday we woke up to snow.  Bethany was getting picked up early because she was going to sing in Stake conference with the activity day girls. I wasn't sure that I should take the van out, due to fact that it was still snowing and remembering the last time when I had to abandon the van up the street.  Sam volunteered to walk up to the Stake Center so that Bethany would have a family member in the audience.  I felt grateful that he is such a good older brother.

I felt like spending the day at home with nothing to do would be under stimulating, so I took the willing, made the unwilling babysit Sophie and we all hiked up the hill together.

Sam's Sunday creation.

Monday was Presidents' Day. I didn't have the heart to make, what we declared last year, would be our traditional meal. Two birthdays and a funeral  was one of my favorite posts of 2010.

I have been looking at the mountains all winter and hoping for Spring to come so we could go to the canyon again. I decided it was springtime enough. So after a morning of more cleaning, we loaded up the van.  First stop was haircuts for the boys, picked up Grandma Martha, then to the car wash, always worth the money for the excitement of the sprays and brushes alone.

Then we went up to the canyon for our survivalist picnic. It's always colder in the canyon.

I took this picture right before the kids, with remarkable politeness, requested that we finish lunch in the van.

Ben took these pictures.

counting catching corners cupid

My house has so many corners, the cluttered shelf, the moldy edges of the sink, the disorganization in the garage, stories waiting to be read together, projects unfinished, so many opportunities to improve.  Meanwhile, I look out the window at the sun on the mountains, hoping that before the end of the day I'll go out and breathe in it's beauty, relieved. I say wait there I'm coming, but by noon, I start to feel desperate because I know it won't wait.

It's Valentine's day and absolutely the most beautiful morning of the year, warmth, sunshine, blue sky, white mountains.          

Driving to school today Caitlin asked,"If it's Valentine's day why is Cupid not shooting arrows in the air?"

Sam replied, "He is.  He's just invisible."

I dropped William and Sophie off at Grandma's, then Caitlin and Grant off at the preschool.  Grant's class was already out at the playground, but on the classroom carpet were bags decorated with red hearts and each child's name, already filled with surprises, lined up in neat rows.

Valentine preparation has been the industry around here lately.  Counting, collating candy and cards.  Some spreading their goods out carelessly on  the carpet, then screaming with horror to find William tearing in to their lollipops.

I went to the store to buy Valentine cookies, frosting, sprinkles for Olivia's class.  Found some beautiful hyacinths to give away. I love the smell of hyacinths..like Easter.

Came home, walked in to the off-to-the- bus- clutter...it was extensive and all throughout the house.  Determined to leave it and sit down to write. About what? Accepting the limitations of the day.  Learning happiness that way.  Because Saturday, while I spent the day cleaning I kind of had this idea that it would make Monday easier. But here I am again.

So I even left the bags of groceries on the floor.  Looked down to see the enormous pork loin that was half price still lying on the carpet, slithering out of the bag like an anaconda.  I have to find a zen focal point and let the rest go.

Keeping this blog is a way of reminding myself that this is about more than catching up. I've already arrived at the day.

And here were some things to celebrate.

Thursday, February 10, I was grateful that we were able to pull together Olivia's science fair project. Proud of her for wanting to do it and for keeping me on task.

Bethany made a Valentine's day box to take to school. 

Friday morning, Ben invited me to come to the Middle school to see his musical theater class perform a one-act play.  I think Ben has a future in physical comedy.

Friday at noon, the preschool kids had open houses for me to attend.  Caitlin is serious and detail oriented about her artwork.

I got to frost cookies with Grant.

Friday evening, on the pizza pick-up the kids and I stopped by Petco.  I was planning to buy a new companion for the Dwarf Hamster.

"Not gonna happen," the Petco guy responded when I told him we were looking for a new cage mate.

Apparently, once they've tasted independence they can't be paired again.

But he did give us some advice about  how to catch a Dwarf Hamster.  Here it is.  There's an apple, her favorite snack, there at the bottom.

Sophisticated as this may be, Julie the hamster is still at large.

Saturday cleaning.

Sunday warm and beautiful. I went to the park with the kids. It was great to see them playing with their neighborhood friends outside.