Five for February

Pictured:  the kids spent 40 minutes watching the ice cream solidify.  best pre-dinner activity EVER.

First of all, I want to thank you all so much for your comments and emails on my last post.  I really appreciated the thoughts that you shared (and the affirmation that I'm not the only one who feels like this sometimes!).

On that note, I've felt lately like my blog is a lot of complaining.  To some extent, I find it refreshing when someone admits that their life isn't perfect, because blog-dom can really give that impression sometimes (raise your hand if you've closed your Google Reader feeling a little glum because it feels like everyone else is doing really awesome, beautifully photographed, and carefully styled things with their well-behaved and immaculately groomed children in their Anthropologie-furnished home).  But what's the appeal in reading about that day in and day out?  I usually don't have much time to blog, so it seems like I only sit down to post if I'm on an emotional high or low.  I've found myself focusing on the negative a lot lately (is that easier to do in winter or is it just me?).

So in February, I am going to commit to posting every day about five good things.  Not big things, or huge miraculous things, but just five good things that happened in my day.  I used to do this on my own when I was editing a book about this topic, but after I finished the project I got out of the habit!  And I'm not going to post underhanded "good things" like I occasionally have done in the past, like, "I'm grateful that the washing machine broke after I finished all the laundry."  I want to focus on the little magical moments and make those what I remember about the day when I'm rereading my blog posts--the time cuddling in my bed with Abigail reading stories to me, or the note she handed me last night reading "I LOVE YOU MOMMY," or the miracle of making a dinner that everyone actually eats.

Anybody want to join me?

(And as long as I'm trying to improve myself, I am not going to wear pajama (yoga) pants to drive the carpool anymore.)

drained

The last few weeks/months/years we have been really struggling with getting our children to be obedient.  I've reread years-old entries on my blog where I mention in passing that we are working on this, and the hopeful tone of "I think we almost have it worked out" is so disheartening in retrospect. 

This week has been particularly hard.  Case in point:  both Neil and I were asking the kids over, and over, and over to fold their arms for family prayer.  They continued to sit at our feet laughing and giggling and completely ignoring us, until we finally started in with the raised voices, the threats of "bed right now," etc.  No response.  None.  They ended up going to bed without a bedtime story, where they proceeded to scream and yell and fight for the next two hours (I wish I was exaggerating). I've been pleading in my prayers for more patience, more love, and to somehow know how to motivate the children to want to make good choices.  Every day it seems like it's getting worse; today I dropped the children off for a playdate feeling like my last shred of sanity was almost gone.  When I picked them up two hours later, they threw a tantrum that was so far beyond anything that has happened before that I was absolutely humiliated.  Driving home, I explained to them how disappointed I was in their behavior, and Abigail told me, "Well, we were just fine at their house, because YOU weren't there." 

I probably don't have to tell you that I cried the rest of the way home. 

I honestly don't know what to do.  I feel like I'm bending over backwards to be kind to people who ignore my efforts.  I know part of this is just that they're children, but I feel like we've made no progress in the last four years.  Some days I can be really upbeat about this, but today I am defeated.  I just feel utterly empty of any desire to keep on mothering.  Of course, today is a day where Neil won't be home until well after the kids are asleep, and I honestly don't know how I'm going to do it.

So here is my reality truthful post for the week:  today I just want to close my door, go back to bed, and not do it anymore. 

more informed

Today while I was running, I read through the first half of the Hypnobabies home-study course (kindly lent to me by a friend so I could look through and decide if I wanted to buy it for myself).

You guys, I finished my run absolutely IRATE. 

When I was pregnant with Abigail, I had very specific ideas about what I wanted for her birth.  I shared these with my doctor, who nodded and agreed.  I took a Lamaze class and planned on a natural childbirth.

When I was 41 weeks pregnant, my doctor told me that they had to induce.  I was dilated to 0 cm.  I had experienced no contractions.  She had not dropped or engaged.  My body was doing nothing to signify that it was ready to have a baby, but my doctor was very insistent.

So we went ahead with the induction, which was started by a dose of cervical gel.  I went home and proceeded to get very sick.  I went back to the hospital at midnight for the next dose, and had the most awful, ripping, horrific contractions.  They checked me (3 cm), monitored me for an hour, and sent me home (please note:  I was lying on the floor crying while they looked down at me and said, "You have to go home").  I spent one of the worst nights of my life at home, and came back to the hospital at 6 am, where they hooked me up to an IV, gave me pitocin, an epidural, catheterized me, and stuck an electrode into Abigail's scalp to monitor her.  The doctor appeared 12 hours later, draped me with plastic sheets so thick and hot I started sweating, gave me a routine episiotomy (explicitly forbidden by the birth plan I'd discussed with him, and which later expanded into a 3rd-degree tear), decided I wasn't pushing effectively enough (after 45 minutes), and pulled Abigail out with forceps. I was not allowed to hold her for almost an hour (which is how long it took them to stop the bleeding and stitch me up).  She was whisked away to the nursery where they tested her for diabetes, because she was "too big" (8 lbs 13 oz at 41 weeks).  I was not allowed to eat or drink anything from the time I was induced until after she was born (22 hours).  I had problems from that delivery that lasted until Juliet was born, when the doctor surgically corrected them. It was a classic case of intervention after intervention after intervention.  I'm happy to say that my next two deliveries were much, much, much better. 

So here's the thing.  I know that Hypnobabies has their own agenda, and there are places where I chuckled and shook my head as I was reading along (and I don't know what version I had, but some of the research was definitely outdated).  But as I read an article about all the standard hospital procedures that take place during childbirth, along with an analysis of their benefits and risks, I felt so angry, both at "the system" and at myself.  Why didn't anyone bother to tell me about this when I was pregnant the first time?  Why did I walk into that hospital feeling so blithely confident when I was so hideously unprepared?  Why am I only reading something this informative prior to my FOURTH baby--and believe me, I read a gazillion of the "standard" pregnancy books.  Why have I never known enough to speak up for myself?

a little catch-up

When I finished my run today, I found Juliet asleep on the couch in the library, cuddled up under an afghan crocheted by my sister-in-law Monica.  Her little hands were curled up by her rosy cheeks, which were decorated with kitty-cat whiskers drawn on by Juliet herself (we only stock washable markers 'round here).
I am in love with this little girl.

I have so many things to blog about, but my camera batteries are recharging, so I have no pictures.  The children spent the night at a friend's house on Friday and Neil and I stayed up l.a.t.e. painting various bits of our house and playing music very, very, very loud.  Nothing like blasting the Beatles at 11 pm to make you feel really daring and reckless when you're the parents of small children.  We tried out a couple tasty restaurants, ran some errands, and just luxuriated in being together.  It was a lovely 24 hours.

I don't really know what else to blog about--I feel like I haven't written in a long time, but there isn't much that I can think of, despite what I wrote just a paragraph ago.  Want to hear my stream of conciousness?  I need to go start bread for dinner.  Running felt great today but this baby is killing my hip joints (I am having to talk myself into getting on that treadmill every single time--despite depressing myself the other day by reading about all these women running marathons when they're 5 or 6 months pregnant.)  I feel old.  I want lots more babies but can my body do it?  (I worry about this constantly).  My ten-year high school reunion is this summer.  So really I am not that old.  But some days the aches and pains make me feel like it.  And some days I feel like I am so young, because I have SO much to learn.  I wish I had more self-control (not doing so hot AT ALL on the getting-up-early goal, mostly because I stay up too late reading).  But I've been listening to relaxation scripts at night lately because I'm going to try hypnobirthing with this baby, so that is helping me to get to sleep at a more reasonable hour. The laundry just stopped so now I'm done. 

The Great Purge of 2011 (as Neil dubbed it)

Earlier tonight Neil and I were talking about our weekend plans.  The debate:  do we paint the laundry room, or the master bathroom?  We decided to see how hard it would be to pry off some of the trim and remove it prior to painting, rather than taping it all off.

As Neil, hammer in hand, looked up to the laundry room ceiling, he frowned. 

"What's that?"  he asked.  "It almost looks like a cocoon."

You don't even want to imagine the ensuing three hours.

Remember a month ago when we found a little yellow worm in the orange juice?  And we chalked it up to one of those horrible but isolated incidents (curse you, Minute Maid!)

Ahem.  No.  (Minute Maid, we apologize.)

You guys, our pantry was INFESTED  with little yellow moth larvae, happily cocooning away.  Nowhere visible.  Just, oh, on the inside of the tin foil tubes in a glued-shut-from-the-store box.  And between individual freezer bags, also in an unopened box..  At the bottom of the sealed box of creme brulee mix.  Inside bags of black beans.  Hidden in the folds of a rarely-worn apron.  We finally found the culprit that started the whole awful mess:  a bag of brown rice, at the bottom of one of our sealed 5-gallon buckets (note:  the larvae were all over the threads of the bucket seals.  Note to self:  be more careful about actually putting those on straight.)

Fortunately for me, my husband spent two years living in the Philippines as a LDS missionary, where this was kind of run-of-the-mill, so when I started screaming and dropping things to the floor and gagging, he took over.  (I had cold chills and was shaking the entire time we were cleaning. My arms and legs were covered in goosebumps; every time a wisp of hair touched my neck I jumped about a mile.)  We developed a good system:  I removed everything from the pantry, checked to see if it had larva or cocoons on it, and handed it to Neil for cleaning.  We threw away so much--our pantry is almost completely empty (pretty much the only things that survived were canned beans).  Worst part: a toss-up between trashing a 5-gallon bucket of steel-cut oats, and the larvae that we vacuumed up "splatting," as Neil put it, against the clear plastic wall of the vacuum chamber. 

So.  That is how we spent our Wednesday night:  cleaning our pantry like it has never been cleaned before.  (Sadly, it was Neil's basketball night, and he missed out.) I am SO hoping we caught everything--from what we read online, the larval stage is about 40 days, so we're going to scrub down our laundry room Friday and hope for the best. 

I am just so grossed out by the fact that it was the PANTRY.  The food that I feed my family.  It's just...so wrong.  From now on, every grain or sugar product that enters my house is going in the freezer for four days before I use it or put it in the pantry.  Consider this a public service posting! 

And now I am going to go take the hottest shower I can stand.  Aaahh!!

PS--Mom and Dad, we are super excited to have you come visit next week.  Aren't you?  :-)

neti pots and molasses candy. because that pairing makes sense, right?

We had a fast/slow weekend around here:  a crazy burst of productivity on Saturday followed by the misery of colds all 'round on Sunday.  Can I just say again how much I love my neti pot?  For all you unbelievers out there (MARY BETH, I'M TALKING TO YOU!!!) it is the most amazing thing ever in helping stave off entirely (or just cut the duration short) of those beastly winter colds.  When I woke up, I felt like my head was going to explode; a quick session with the neti pot and I felt ready to take on the day (although I had to give myself a little pep talk--out loud, for reals--to run.  Head colds and running just are not fun friends).  I had to chuckle when I overheard Neil fervently testifying to his dad about the effectiveness of the neti pot--they are just awesome.  A little weird-looking, but awesome.

I'm thinking for treats after family home evening tonight we may make this molasses snow candy (think Little House in the Big Woods).  Hopefully it will restore my credibility as a cook with the kids:  we tried 3 new recipes last week and 2 of them were total duds (Neil and I liked the third, but the kids did not). 

This is completely random, but I have really been enjoying selling textbooks and old magazines on eBay and Amazon lately.  It's nice to get money back from clearing out things that you don't want any more; even better when you can get rid of old books and fund a closet makeover!  Which was our project on Saturday.  Pictures to come!


ps...Mary Beth, I love you.  :-)  But really, try out your neti pot. 

Wishing for skiing

I must admit, this summer Neil and I were seriously contemplating flying out to Utah for a week of skiing. The baby changed that plan (we couldn't really justify putting off our family for the trip, and the last time I skied while pregnant I got altitude-sick), but today the girls were asking me when we were going to go skiing, and so we looked up some Youtube videos--and this one honestly made me feel a hollow pit in my stomach that I was NOT on the mountain. (Solitude happens to be my favorite resort.)

I am not the best skier ever, but Neil is nothing short of amazing. Like really, truly, outstandingly phenomenal. But what is even more phenomenal is that he very patiently taught me to ski a few years after we were married--one winter we were ski bus chaperones, and he spent the whole season teaching me to fall and get back up. It is a testament to how wonderful his teaching is that I skied Honeycomb Canyon (a double-black diamond run) on our fourth day. (But I did cry most of the way down--I was totally terrified. He stayed right with me and was encouraging and patient the whole way. The next season I was doing black diamonds with much more confidence, even though I am nowhere near the skier he is. He searched for months and bought me some fantastic parabolic skis, which helped a lot!)

Skiing is my absolute favorite thing to do with Neil. Running is sort of in the same league, but skiing is just pure joy. I can't even describe the perfection of a day spent on the slopes with my sweetheart. It is the neatest thing I have ever done--there is something about sitting on that chairlift, grinning at each other, and then skiing off and onto the snow, swooshing through the trees...aaah, I have to stop now before the longing gets worse!!

Eighteen months

My baby is eighteen months old.  (And so busy that out of the dozen pictures I took, this was the only m
More than anything, Isaac LOVES to dance (in this picture he is just about the change the recorded pre-set on the piano to his favorite dancing song.  Lots of percussion). He is a fantastic jumper--we've noticed that while he isn't as quick with verbal acquisition as the girls were, he is way ahead in physical skills.  (And mechanical ingenuity--he has figured out how to open and maneuver just about anything in our house.  Which is cute sometimes, and scary sometimes when he opens up the dishwasher, drags out a box of detergent, and coolly proceeds to fill the soap dispenser and start the dishwasher.) 

Isaac is super into snuggling, not sharing his adult's lap, scooting cars around the house and making "voooom" noises, going for rides in the laundry basket (thanks to the girls).  He loves to give and receive kisses, is OBSESSED with dogs and ducks to the point where he makes frantic animal noises whenever he sees either one, and refers to everything other than Mama, Dada, and Choo-Choo as "dauk."  Which means dog/duck/unknown object, as far as we can tell.

He went to nursery for the first time last week (they let him go a week early, yay!!) and was happy as a little clam.  And this is the first child I can say this about--he really, really, really loves going to bed.  If we say, "Time for night-night, Isaac!" he will grab his blankie, giraffe, and fox and run for his room, where he will giggle the entire way and stand bouncing up and down by his crib until someone puts him in (unfortunately he is also equally vocal about wanting to leave his crib when he's done napping).  I can say unequivocally he is the easiest baby we've had yet.  (Please let baby number four be the same way!)

We love Isaac SO much--as Juliet says, " we love him one hundred."  He is the snuggliest chuggliest little boy ever.  He makes me want to have half a dozen more little chubby-cheeked boys just like him (they will all be this darling forever, right?)

Wordless Wednesday: Isaac's favorite game EVER

 Every morning after breakfast, Isaac runs into the library, stands right next to the bookcase where I keep the games, and reaches up both arms and says, "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" until someone finally gets down Hungry Hungry Hippos. 

Words cannot express how much this kid loves this game.  Fortunately Juliet (in an ensemble of her own choosing, because she is 3 like that) is always happy to play.  

Jules the yogini

Juliet is soooo into yoga right now.  She has always been more enthusiastic about it than Abigail, and she's been doing it right along with me the past couple of months.  For Christmas, my mom got her a YogaFit Kids DVD, and she is in love with it.  (I found her in the bathroom today doing the "Lion's Breath" pose at the mirror.)

This morning I got up early so I could fit in a little quiet yoga before everyone else was up.  It was peaceful and serene and quiet; snow was falling in a steady blanket outside in the moonlight.  I closed my eyes and eased deeper into the poses.

Then I heard a noise next to me.  I opened my eyes and there was Juliet, in downward-facing dog next to me, grinning happily through her sleep-tousled mop of curls.  She whispered happily, "I heard yoga happening!  So now I am up!" 

Nutcracker ballet

Last Saturday, Neil and I gave the girls their last Christmas gift:  we went to see a matinee production of The Nutcracker.  (It was full-length.  Whew!  Abigail was there too, but she did NOT want to pose for pictures, for some reason.)

One thing I really like about where we live is the wide range of accessible cultural experiences (Chicago museums, anyone?).  The girls really enjoyed the ballet, although I think we all would have been happier if it was half an hour shorter.  Abigail's favorite was the Dew Drop Fairy; Juliet was really impressed by how high the Sugar Plum Fairy's Cavalier could leap (he was easily the best dancer in the entire production, and I have never seen leg muscles like that in my life). 

on being an educated LDS stay-at-home working mom

At the start of a new semester, I find myself thinking again about the role-juggling I do as a working and stay-at-home-mother.  This is especially poignant to me as two of my sisters are finishing graduate degrees (Mary Beth a JD in law and Ruth a master's in accounting) this spring, and I have been remembering the transition that I went through five years ago as I left school. 

I come from a line of women who have walked this same fence.  My maternal grandmother was a reporter for the Salt Lake Tribune and Deseret News for years; my paternal grandmother taught English at BYU-Idaho until her retirement.  My own mother finished her graduate degree in English with a baby (me) on her lap; many of my professors at BYU recalled me as the paper-grabbing infant when I returned 17 years after my first stint in their classrooms.  My mother stopped teaching when I was still fairly young (but old enough to remember running between campus buildings in the rain), but has often had something going on the side.

Graduate school was hard for me emotionally.  I loved the intellectual challenge, but I felt isolated from the other women in my ward by virtue of the fact that I was lugging my baby up to campus every day and missing out on all the playgroups.  And I could no longer spend time debating and sharing ideas with my colleagues because I was rushing home from my office so that I could put Abigail down for a nap.  After my first year of graduate school, four weeks after Abigail was born, we moved to a small resort town so that Neil could complete a summer internship.

It was the most miserable time of my life, and I mean that literally.  I was alone in a small apartment (with no internet access or car) in an unfamiliar town, with a brand-new baby who cried all the time and never slept.  I couldn't figure out how to nurse her without distress for both of us.  I spent a lot of my time crying, eating chocolate chips straight from the bag, and reading endless Agatha Christie mysteries. 

Returning to school was wonderful, but difficult at the same time, as I worried constantly about leaving for good. While meeting with a renowed female professor that year, she looked straight at me and told me--very forcefully--that I was brilliant, and I was throwing myself away by deciding to be a mother rather than applying for a Ph.D. program.  She cited the awards I'd received earlier that year for teaching and for scholarship, one of which was given each year to the department's premier graduate student.  She painted a glowing picture of my future in academia.  I didn't know what to say, because secretly I worried about the same thing, despite all the prayers and spiritual confirmations I'd felt about my choice.  I left her office dejected and disheartened, pushing Abigail's stroller in front of me.

After Neil accepted a position as a doctoral student at a university across the country, I contacted the English department and asked diffidently about the possibility of teaching.  I forwarded a resume and was surprised to receive a return email assuring me that they would certainly like me to teach, and would I like to join their full-time faculty? 

Teaching helped to ease the transition, but even more, I worked harder than I've ever worked to make friends.  I remember being exhausted every night of our first summer, because I had worked all day to create friendships and attend as many activities as possible.  And the results were wonderful.  I connected with the women in my new hometown through different interests than the friends I'd had in graduate school; through their influence I developed talents and attributes and interests I'd always ignored.  I became a more interesting, compassionate, and well-rounded person.  I was happier with myself and the things I was doing.  I felt confidence in my talents and abilities.  I felt like I could let them speak for themselves, rather than worrying that someone would underestimate my intellectual capacities. 

To be honest with you, it has taken me years to be comfortable in my role as a stay-at-home mother.  Comfortable?  Actually, I don't think I am comfortable yet, because there is always something I need to work on.

But I am fulfilled.  There are days when I really miss the adulation of professors, peers, and students.  And to be honest with you, I still have one foot on the other side of the fence--I am still working. But I don't think of myself as a working mother anymore--work is now something that I do when everyone is asleep, rather than something that creates and reinforces my sense of identity.  What I enjoy--what I look forward to--is the time with my children, where I have the opportunity to shape their minds and personalities and perceptions.  Reading with them, cozied up on the couch, is the very best part of my day.  The glow I feel when Isaac runs up to give me a slobbery kiss, or the confiding way Juliet links her arm through mine, or the beaming smile on Abigail's eyes as she helps me prepare dinner--these give me more lasting satisfaction than any test score or conference publication or positive evaluation. 

I am so grateful for my education.  I like being able to add to our family finances, and I love the security of knowing that if something were to happen to Neil, I would be able to do something to provide for our material needs.  I have never regretted my choice to either pursue an advanced degree or to have a family.  I am grateful to belong to a church that encourages educational pursuits and validates the divine role of a woman as nurturer. 

I wrote this (unsolicited) essay for my sisters.  I hope that they can find the same joy and affirmation in their choices as I have found in mine.

for the new year

I have really been thinking about what I want out of this year.  To be honest, most of my goals are family-oriented.  Neil and I have come up with some things that we really want to implement in our family.  We've been working over the last six months? year? to really be more mindful about our parenting. 

Something I read on Emily's blog a few days ago really resonated with me:  "I am realizing now that strong families don't just coalesce from happenstance and luck - they take a mindful and mighty effort."

That's really where my focus is this year--being more deliberate about the choices I make as a mother and the things we do with our children.

So here are the three things I am focusing on personally this year in order to go along with the bigger family goals we've set:

1) Get up by 7 am every day.  I have gotten out of the habit of being up at 5:45, and it's taken a toll on my day.
2) Pray before I even get out of bed. 
3) More practical sewing:  this is something I really love, and it's my "fun developmental" goal this year.

ps do you like my new blog look?  thanks to the lovely ladies at i.smitten for sponsoring the change!

exercise in pregnancy

It's interesting when I look back at my previous three pregnancies to see the various approaches to fitness.  This is another thing I've been thinking about lately, because I always worry about whether I'm doing too much or too little, and then I end up Googling things like "x weeks pregnant exercise" and then I read that some people are running 7 miles a day and hiking the Alps, and some are saying, "do nothing or risk injuring your child!"  So here is mine, because this is my blog and it's something I'm interested in.  :-)

(1) Abigail:  exercise? what?  I was in my first year of grad school, teaching 3 classes and taking a full course load myself so that I would only have one class left after she was born.  CRAZINESS.  This is how I exercised:  I walked to campus and back.  In other words, I did not worry about it at all (although hiking up the hill to BYU is actually not bad exercise).  But at this stage of my life, I knew nothing about nutrition or exercise.

(2) Juliet: at the gym at least three times a week at 6 am, running on the elliptical and lifting weights.  Biking, swimming, hiking, etc. on all the other days. This was an awesome pregnancy and I felt AMAZING.  I exercised right up until the day I gave birth, then I started exercising again 6 days after she was born (with my doctor's permission).

(3) Isaac: my worst pregnancy yet.  I was SO sick all the time.  I'd never had morning sickness, but this pregnancy was constant sickness.  In retrospect, a lot of it was from the pain I was in from all of the issues with my veins letting the blood flow backwards and all of that awesomeness.  I had been running prior to the pregnancy, but I stopped pretty early on and just walked for about an hour a day because the pain was so horrible (I also spent a lot of time lying face-down on my bed with heating pads all over my body).  After I had surgery at 28 weeks, I felt a lot better, but I had been on bedrest and restricted activity for so long that when I tried to start running again, it was kind of disastrous.  (As in I had shin splints just from walking around my house after all the bedrest.)

(4) I must say that I haven't felt as great as I did while I was pregnant with Jules, but I think it's because I'm older and my body is starting to feel a little more patched-together (surgical site achiness, anyone?!). But running definitely helps me stave off the daily fatigue and ensure that I sleep soundly at night. I ran a 10K at 6 weeks and a half-marathon at 11 weeks (shaving 7 minutes off my PR!), then I was on bedrest off and on for about six weeks.  Right now, at 22 weeks, I'm running 4 miles three times a week (I would love to be running more frequently, but it just doesn't work with my schedule right now, especially since I've slowed down and I'm running about 9-minute miles).  I'm also doing yoga 2 times a week, since my mom's personal trainer told me that would help me run longer.  My goal is to still be running at 36 weeks, when I'm hoping to run my mom's first 5K with her (right, Mom?!).

What about you?  How does pregnancy change your normal exercise routine?

an anniversary post of sorts that didn't start out that way

Last night as soon as the children were in bed, I started working on my course website for this semester.  It was a long night and I didn't get to bed until 2 am.  Midway through my fun night with HTML, I checked my email and saw this picture from Neil, who had been working on his laptop in our room and had gone to bed, but not without sending me a cheery little pick-me-up. 

Today while I was driving Abigail to school, I was listening to an interview on NPR with a man who has just started a divorce insurance company.  He quoted several statistics on the likelihood of divorce in first, second, and third marriages, then noted that the average person loses 77% of their net worth in a divorce (which seemed a little high to me, but anyway).

We've had a lot of people close to us go through divorce lately.  I was thinking about this recently, since Neil and I celebrated our eighth anniversary over the holidays.  I wouldn't say that we are always in perfect agreement on everything, nor are either of us perfect people.  But I am grateful for the give-and-take that we have in our marriage; for the ability of one person to give a little extra when the other is in need (like the way Neil let me sleep in this morning and then presented me with freshly-baked coffee cake when I finally stumbled out of bed).  I am grateful for the way that each of us has learned when to step back to allow the other person to learn and grow, and when to push and encourage.  Mostly, I am grateful for something Neil's mission president told him almost a decade ago:  "unity is more important than who is right."  And I am very grateful for my husband, and for his parents, who raised an incredible man. 

When I sat down to blog today, I didn't really mean to write this post (I was actually going to write about the kiddos), but I've just been thinking a lot lately about how grateful I am for my husband and for our relationship, and all that he does to help our family be stronger.  I was trying to think of a good way to sum it all up, and all I can say is that I am so happy every day because he is in my life. 

it's all fun and games

Our Sunday night game of Sorry! took a brief hiatus after Isaac got the markers out. 

Cropped out of the above picture:  me with the too-realistic-looking-for-comfort mustache that Juliet drew.  (Yes, I am vain.  But it really looked too lifelike to post.)

Oh, I love having church early enough for afternoon naps and happy well-rested people!!  The only downside to the evening is that Isaac got WAY too into the "it's cool to color on ourselves" thing.  We were washing marker out of his cute little ears.