Pumpkin patch through Hallow's Eve. 2011.

Lot's o' pictures comin' your way in this here post. I mean, this blog here is also our family history. So I have to talk about... our family history. I mean how would my posterity feel reading about great great grandma's bushy brow if that's all I wrote about here? Maybe they won't think it's that great. Maybe I'll have some great great grandkids who are real sticks in the mud. So I have to be versatile in my posts you see. Hey now, hey now, don't go gettin' all upset and panicky on me. I do indeed still plan to update you on the eyebrow situation. Just calm down! And sit back down while you're at it! I know just now you got up from your computer in outrage and started throwing things when you thought maybe I wouldn't talk about my eyebrows anymore. And I love you so much for it!

I LOVE Autumn. It is my favorite. I love the smells. I love being in scarves and sweaters and boots. I love the colors. I love being inside all day looking that the balmy skies without feeling guilty about it. (I always feel guilty about being inside all day folding laundry during the summer). I love butternut squash soup and bread bowls. I love hot chocolate more than just about anything, and I make a mean hot cocoa. I love the anticipation of the holidays. The anticipation of the holidays might even be better than the actual holidays themselves. But either way, I love it all.

First we'll start off with some pics from a couple weeks ago when we went down for an afternoon at the pumpkin patch.

Pretty sure something like this happens every time we tell Lucy to "give Scarlett a hug".

I love Utah. Indeed.

And then a few days later, when we got to carvin' these babies up. I haven't done this for some time; it's been longer than since last Halloween. And I don't know if it was the pregnancy or what but gutting these pumpkins was making me dry heave repeatedly. Pulling out all the seeds and muck and stringy wet goop. And then when we got into a pumpkin gut fight and started hucking it at each other's faces, lots more dry heaving ensued.

Another favorite part was when Jason finished off carving two pumpkins by the time I was half-way through with mine, he turned and gave me his little switchblade he'd been using and said, "Here, use this knife for the rest of yours, it cuts WAY easier and it's so much easier to maneuver." I felt like Harry when Lloyd revealed he had two pairs of gloves the entire time. I think I said something like, It makes sense that you didn't offer this to me earlier and that you've been watching me with my sweaty brow trying to carve this pumpkin with this butter knife, since I'm a lot physically stronger than you anyway.

And here's our happy pumpkin family! Minus Scarlett. Her little baby pumpkin never got carved. She never even asked about it either. I promise yours will make a showing next Halloween.

Halloween Day:

Need I say more? Okay, well we needed to say more to just about everyone we ran into, so if you can't tell, we are Alice and Jasper Cullen. No, we're not Twilight obsessors but it was just an easy thing to throw together. In fact, it may have been the easiest "costume" I've ever had; I just threw in some contacts and put on a little pale make-up. So we were sortof lazy this year. Jason got all ready and went to work all day as Jasper on Friday:

And I couldn't stop taking pictures of him. I just love him a lot. Because he's not too cool for school. I mean, he is too cool for some things, like being unfaithful to his wife and squandering our family savings, but the things that really matter, like looking silly for the sake of a holiday? Not too cool for school at all. Except someone in his office asked if he was Edward, and that threw him off his Jasper game a little. Now, we took no offense at this and don't feel any attachment to Edward or need to defend his perfectly messy bronzey-brown hair, but even Jason was like, What?! Edward? You gotta be kiddin' me?! and he brushed his golden locks right outta his face, turned around and strutted away. I think it happened just like that.

At the office partay:

Love our little pirate and moo cow more than anything on earth.

Look at these munchkins. Edible.

Lucy was set on being a princess actually, had been talking about it for months. But she has princess dresses and can dress up as Cinderella whenever she wants. So we tweaked it. And it turned out being a princess pirate really was what made all her dreams comes true. She was yelling, Aarrrrgg! Ahoy mateys!!! all day long. Scarlett was slightly less ambitious, but you tell me where would we be in this world without dairy cows? She knows she really matters and that a lot of people depend on her.

So there I was doing my motherly and wifely duty and taking lots of pictures of daddy and his girls in their Halloween costumes so I gave the camera to Jason and asked him to take a few of me and the girls. "Here Jason, take a pic of me and Scarlett together."

Photo 1:

And photo 2:

I was delighted to see that these two shots were the final product of my photoshoot with my little cow. He handed the camera back to me and said, Yeah I got some good ones of you two! Glad that daddy got some really good mommy/daughter shots. I'm being serious. I cropped this second picture NONE.

Scarlett kept getting really confused and hugging onto random men's legs thinking they were here dad's. This is the second time it happened actually. Hopefully not something that happens when she's 18. That little moo cow was stunned and shocked every time upon realization of her grave error.

And trick or treating. I have a feeling this is going to get more and more fun as we have more munchkins.

We ended the night heading over to our friends Dave and Allyson's for their annual Halloween bash. The kids were already pretty tuckered out but they were close and we knew we couldn't miss out on their homemade root beer, cream soda and ginger ale. Um let's not forget homemade donuts. I was already pretty full when we got there so I requested a donut hole instead of an entire donut, but I must have ended up eating me about 16 donut holes. All in all, I felt like they were less caloric. I want some more now, too. Yum. You Frankmans are amazing!

It was a fabulous day. One of the real highlights for me was a guy I met at the party wanting to analyze Alice's character with me every time I'd turn around. So you're the one who has the futuristic premonitions... I mean it's not like she sees for certain what exactly is going to happen... the premonitions are conditional on other factors, right? or, So it that your real skin complexion? What about your hair? Or So you're a vegetarian vampire, that why your eyes aren't red... I had to quickly clarify that I wasn't a Twilight crazy... but that didn't deter him much. Hubby and I had a good laugh about it on our way home.

Today is rainy and cold. So it's consisted of mostly rooting through Halloween candy and pilfering the good stuff. Have you had a blue raspberry ring-pop lately? It's simply delicious. No wonder Scarlett threw a fit when I took it out of her mouth and put it in mine. I mean, I thought she was just being stingy.

Whew. That was a long post. Loves to all and happy fall! Give me a call! Let's go to a ball! Okay I'm done... ya'll. I can't stop. at all.

Two unrelated, random mysteries in my life

~Run away eyebrow~

Now e'rybody, this is a sensitive subject. But I'm willing to disclose it here, because this is the circle of trust as we've mentioned before. All public blogs are. Here's the thing: I have a run-away eyebrow. Never comin' back. Wrong way on a one way track. Really. I don't have any time for plucking. And while I'd like to believe I make it in to get my brows waxed on a regular basis, I'd say it's more like every 3 months on average. However, what I do do, is look in the mirror on at least a semi-regular basis. I try to give at least a glance in the mirror's direction every time I'm to be seen by human beings who aren't legally bound to me. What makes this mystery that I'm divulging so fascinating, is the fact that I've never been able to spot this run-away eyebrow in the mirror. It's never had the courage to face me. Example:

This is not a great quality picture. And the mystery of it all has nothing to do with my hair here. This hair is what happens when you don't wash your hair for several days and your sister twirls her fingers in it. I enjoyed every second of it Bethany.

Now let's have a closer look at the real mystery:

That brow is on the fritz people. Don't even try to tell me it's not. Let's see if I can find a better example.

Okay okay, here's a good one. This photo was taken around the time I discovered this brow-gone-awry. Summer of 2010, in Idaho with my sissies: (Wow, you don't even have to zoom in to see the fritz in this one).

Let's still have a closer look:

(Gasps and screams of horror permitted. You're excused if you need to vomit. Or soil your drawers.)

It's like nothing I've ever seen before. And I'll grab the camera after a photo's been shot, look at the pic, zoom in a little and scream. And if I'm with one of these two ladies shown above, they'll say, What?! And I'll grab them and pull them in and say, Look at my eyebrow!! And they'll scream and gasp along with me. Except Vanessa. She will laugh cruelly and menacingly. And then I'll whip out my little compact mirror, and much to my dismay, everything will be completely harmonious upon my face. Nothing astray. Nothing awry. This has happened several times people. Not kidding. And I CANNOT. FIND. THE. BUSHY. SONOFFABEECH. TUFT. IN. THE. MIRROR. Last time I got waxed, I even disclosed this mystery to my waxer, and she laughed and said she couldn't see anything. But this top photo was taken since then. So that means the next time I go in to see her, I'm gonna just have to ask her to wax both eyebrows off completely. And have her grab her eyeliner and color me in some nice brows like these.

Onto my next mystery.

~Peaches~

Actually, the title of this mystery is a bit misleading. Because peaches themselves don't puzzle me in the slightest. Though I do wonder how they can be so tender and juicy and how it can be when holding one I contain all my hopes and dream with my very mitts. The mystery is about my husband. Jason doesn't. like. peaches. He abhors them in fact. And it nearly drives me to a loony bin. I mean I know I've talked about this before. But it's such an issue in the well-being of our union and consequent family that it's worth mentioning again. I've oft times tried to slip him a slice when he's not looking, because I'm in simple denial. Especially this time of year, when I've purchased my big box of locally grown Utah peaches and love them so much that I could mush them up and roll around in them for a while, laughing maniacally the whole time. I guess it's just that all my life as a little girl I had visions of my prince-to-be one day and I walking through a peach orchard... picking the ripest sweetest and juiciest peaches right off the trees and sharing them together... you know, the way Lady and the Tramp share spaghetti... meeting in the middle. Something like this... but peach trees I repeat. PEACH TREES. And that'd be peach juice in his hand! And a bowl full of sliced peaches! Peaches I say!

I had grand visions of finishing up Sunday night dinners and my sweet rugged husband would look over at me and say something like, "What's for dessert, mama?" and I'd smile sweetly, gently shaking my head as if to say What on earth am I going to do with you?! I just love you so much! and then I'd put my apron back on and casually throwing together some exquisite peach cobbler and serve it with home-made vanilla ice-cream. I always had visions of sitting at a park bench on summer trips to the lake and ordering a large peach-raspberry milkshake at the local diner with not one, but two straws and sipping on it together while we ogled over each other.

You see how he's ruined my life and dashed all my dreams to the ground.

I guess I just keep expecting him to see the error of his ways. I mean, who doesn't like a ripe juicy peach?? Remember that song peaches and cream? Or that other song that was like, "Millions of peaches... peaches for me". Or how about the fact that you can call someone a peach because they're just splendid and pleasant? I don't like mushrooms. I don't like the texture, I'm sorry. And he does. But at the same time, I don't know of anyone writing a song about mushrooms, unless they're talking about drugs. Or if someone really thinks someone is the cat's meow, saying, "She is just such a mushroom!" So you see the logic of my thinking. He's wrong and I'm right about peaches. He has no right to dislike them when the rest of the world feels the way they do about them. It's just that simple.

I think I'm gonna start a club. A Peach Lover's Club. Because I can't even enjoy a peach with anyone. And to have the person you love sitting next to you while you're eating one, juice running all over your hands and face, and they don't share the same affection for the blessed fruit, it sucks the wind outta your sails. And I'm sick of it. SO, my club. The PLC. Maybe we can eat peaches and peach cobbler and peach smoothies together. And we can talk about how as children we read James and the Giant Peach (not to be confused with the creepy movie) and that how the way James describes tasting that succulent peach just made our mouths water. And we could all go around the room sharing the quality about peaches we like most. Is it the flavor? The texture of the flesh? The juiciness? I mean there are just so many things we could talk about, so many places we could go together.

How can he just not like them? And not at least be willing to try them again for my sake? He hasn't even tried them since childhood. If I can just get one itty bitty piece into his mouth... even if I have to shove it in there while he's sleeping... muah ha ha ha.. maybe this mystery can be done away with. And it can stop keeping me up at night. And causing my husband and I to feel so much resentment towards each other.

Okay that's all. I'll let you know when other things crop up that seriously perplex me.

In defense of my Christianity.

I have a husband who is very interested in politics. I happen to go on spurts with all of it. Sometimes I'm there with him watching every debate. Other times, I just can't muster the energy for it. Don't get me wrong. I think it's important that we are involved. We enjoy far too much in this nation to afford ourselves apathy. However, judging by my recent posts, take a wild guess which spurt I'm on as of late. I'm just tired folks. I can't stay up and watch debates with him when he DVRs them. All three babies of mine (yes, the two inch long little worm makes 3) have me collapsing into bed by 8:30 pm. Not kidding. And maybe there's some women out there who have more kids, and who have a full time job, and who are also running for public office. Maybe you use a thigh master at your desk while you're typing important emails. And you're reading this and making the tsk tsk tsk noise at me me because I'm telling you I don't have the energy to be super into it right now. But I just can't afford to care very much about your opinion if you are thinking that.

Truth be told, I don't want to talk about politics today. I want to talk about my Christianity.

It puzzles me that this issue is again being brought up in the sphere of politics. This whole, "He's a mormon, not a Christian! He's a cultist and going straight to hell!!!" or "A vote for a mormon is a vote for Satan himself!" It just seems preposterous to me that anyone is saying that about anyone in such a public forum. First of all, you're not doing Christianity any favors in the eyes of the rest of the world. You sound creepy and fanatical. It all really surprises me. Because I can't imagine having the audacity to say that about anyone, and I guess I just like to view the majority of Americans as being decent and fair and civil. And then when a religious leader says something so blatantly poisonous, especially in a venue where it has absolutely no right to be, it's just startling to me. There have been numerous people standing up to it, stating that politics is nowhere for such talk and someone's religious belief is simply irrelevant as a qualifier for the oval office. In fact, this article by Joe Scarborough is masterfully eloquent. I love every single word of it. And I agree wholeheartedly. However, I am not running for public office. So I'd like to address the fact that the people making these statements are judging me personally along with 14 million plus members of my faith worldwide who very much believe in Jesus Christ. Not as a prophet. Not as a great humanitarian, but as the Savior of the world and Redeemer of mankind.

I don't know how anyone could take it upon themselves to feel that they have the authority to tell someone who professes Christianity that, "sorry, you actually don't make the cut". Let me set the record straight. I don't pretend that my blog is nationally known or important to really anyone. But if there is one single person who reads this, who isn't sure whether they classify me or any other latter-day saint (mormon) to be Christian, I need to clear the air. Too many thoughts have been swimming around in my head about it.

Jesus Christ, who was born in a manger in Bethlehem to Mary, is my personal Lord and Savior. He is the Redeemer of all mankind. Nothing means anything in my religion without Him, His teachings, His gospel, His unspeakable suffering in the garden of Gethsemane and upon the cross at Calgary. Everything we do is centered around Jesus Christ. The temples of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints that now dot the earth, found in more than 40 countries, teach us about God's plan of happiness for His children and center on Jesus Christ. I know that it is only through His infinite atonement that I am ever to return to live with my Father in Heaven. I know that without Him I am nothing, nor could I ever be anything. He is my elder brother. He is my Redeemer. He is the prophesied Messiah. He volunteered himself to die a horrific death because He loves us and knew we would all be lost without His redeeming blood. And He will return to the earth with great glory one day. I think about and look forward to that day every single day of my life.

Some believe that we are not Christian because we don't believe that it is solely through the grace alone of Jesus Christ that we are saved. We believe that the Lord requires something of us. This is not to say that His grace is not sufficient; it is. But he taught while He was on the earth what is expected of us. Why would the Lord give commandments at all if he wasn't asking us to keep them? Why did he tell Peter and thus, all of us, three times to feed His sheep? He taught that we must accept His gospel and strive to live by his teachings. He taught us to try to be like Him and to love one another. So, no, as a latter-day saint, I don't believe that there is anything I can do to "work my way into heaven." It is by the grace and infinite mercy of Jesus Christ that I am able to have the opportunity to strive to be like Him. I know I will never be worthy. I know that perfection is not possible in this life. But we are here to progress. We are here to overcome weaknesses and to refine ourselves. We are here to conquer the carnal; the natural man. And this requires a great amount of exertion on our part. I do know however, that after we have done all we can do, His grace is what rescues us from a fallen state.

Others believe that we are not Christian because they say we worship the prophet Joseph Smith instead of Jesus Christ. This simply is not true. The name of our church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. We believe Joseph Smith was a prophet called of God in order to restore the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ to the earth again. He is important to us, as are all of God's prophets. I love him. He gave his life for the work of Jesus Christ.

I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Do not tell me I am not a Christian.

Do not tell me I am not a Christian when I have personally exercised faith unto repentance for my sins and have felt the redeeming love and cleansing power of the atoning blood of Jesus Christ. I have felt those burdens lifted and removed from my soul. I have been made whole many times over because of what He sacrificed for me. No one could ever tell me that the miracles I've experienced in my life because of my faith in Jesus Christ are not real.

Do not tell me I am not a Christian when the church that I belong to quietly comes to the aide and rescue of millions of brothers and sisters of all different faiths who suffer from natural disasters, hunger and poverty. The church I belong to clothes the naked and feeds the hungry as the Savior instructed.

Do not tell me I am not a Christian when I taught so many as a missionary, have taught in Sunday School and now teach in Relief Society (the sisters organization of the church) and it is made very clear to me through the promptings of the Holy Spirit that the most important thing I've ever done as a teacher, ever do or ever will do is to testify of Jesus Christ; that He lives, that He is our Savior, that He knows each and every one of us and every trial or sadness we will ever know in this life and that He gave His life to redeem you and me.

Do not tell me I am not a Christian when upon finding my older brother who passed away in my house, the only words to bring comfort and solace that my father offered to his quaking daughter that night on the telephone were, "to muster all the faith you have in the Savior. Mera, you've just got to muster absolutely every ounce of faith and trust that you have in Jesus Christ, and know that everything will be okay." Those words and my decision to in turn act upon those words was the source of strength that pulled me through the darkness that filled the months that followed of dealing with the trauma of that horrific day.

I could go on and on.

But I feel a lot better. In all reality we are all trying to better the world in whatever way we can, and it's sad to see things that could divide people of faith anyway. Some of my very favorite and best friends on this planet are not of my faith, nor of my political party for that matter. We should be focused on our commonality and drawing strength from it. Even with those who profess no religion whatsoever, there is much more common ground than we sometimes tend to concentrate on. Now I have that song, "Come on people now, smile on your brother everybody get together try and love one another right now" in my head... You know the one. But I feel better getting some thoughts out of my brain and into text. I can get off the computer now and respond to my 3 year old saying over and over again, "Mom, remember chocolate milk?" as if referring to a long lost friend we used to throw parties with all the time. Thanks for reading.

Hoboken sisters trip

On Sunday we got back from a little escapade to the east coast. Me and a little lassie named Bethany both left our hubbies and babies behind and went to visit a little philly named Vanessa. We planned the trip months ago before I knew there'd be a bun in the oven and though I did call Bethany crying on Monday, telling her I didn't know if I should go because my personality sucks right now and I'll just want to lay around, my gallant husband was the one to persuade me into still going and getting away from everything for a few days. He's a lovely man that one. The trip did not disappoint! Well, most everything didn't disappoint. The canolis at Carlo's Bake shop may have disappointed a little. But Bethany is a faithful viewer of The Cake Boss so it was everything her dreams were made of. Here she is in all her cake boss lovin' glory.

What a good girl she is.

Wait wait wait. Let me back it up a second. I'm getting ahead of myself. Do you know Hoboken? It's right across the bay from Manhattan. Within swimming distance. We just strapped on our wetsuits when we wanted to head into the city. No no we didn't. But it's gloriously close! (or miserably close, if you're Vanessa, and so sick of city life you can vomit at will any time, any place. Just kidding. Sortof.) Ugh. I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts. Can you tell? You better not say yes. The thing is, my kids are playing/fighting right next to me on the floor with a package of stickers and princess barbie dolls. So I'm typing with one hand and hand wrestling with the other.

The single most grandiose event of the entire 5 day extravaganza may or may not have been the fact that Ness didn't know I was coming. She was only expecting Bethany. Jason thinks the "Collard surprises" are a little overdone, but we can't help ourselves. We're addicted. And every time we plan to surprise a family member, (someone's arrival is a surprise pretty much every get-together we have), we bring it up like it's a totally original idea that's never been done before in the history of mankind. So Beth and I flew in at about the same time to the Newark airport, found each other, jumped and hugged around together for a bit and then caught a cab to Nessa's. Our cab driver was heavy breathing the whole time and growled a little bit when I sneezed after him and leaned forward to jovially tell him, "It's your fault ya know! Sneezes are contagious!" Literal growl. No words. We had to suppress awkward laughter from that point on. You think that's my best stuff, cab driver? You think I really think that's funny? Because I don't. I was only trying to be polite, not really funny. If I wanted to, I could have you in stitches... and probably make you wreck this cab because you were laughing so hard at my jokes. I just thought we could be friends. Don't you dare growl at me.

So, we get there and scheme up a plan. It's about 9:30 pm. Dark outside. Sam is out of town. Bethany calls Ness from the front of her building. We have to wait for her to come let us in. So I decide to go creep and hide behind some bushes nearby. Except I don't want her to see my little spikey hair and immediately lose my cover, so I have to put my shawl over my head, nativity scene style. After they hug and jump around a bit together, Bethany says to Ness, "Oh my gosh come look at these tiny kittens someone left over here behind these bushes." And Vanessa is a real sucker for kittens; she hates with a passion all baby animals except for kittens. Just kidding. Stop getting off track! So she and Beth come creeping around the corner to see the adorable little kittens and I'm meowing up a storm hiding behind there, she even says "Oh my gosh I can hear them" and I'm there all crouched down under my shawl. And when she rounds the bend, I jump out at her and make a real crazy angry cat noise. And before she knows it's me, I happen to have a billy club in my hands and start beating her on the back with it as she's trying to run away. Just kidding about the billy club. But I think she did scream at the same high pitch note for a solid 12 seconds before we all noticed she had a big wet spot on her pants. And then we all had to ensue the hugging/screaming/jumping around and into each other thing from before. It was rich indeed.

Alright, I'm pretty sure Scarlett has a little canteen of gasoline in one hand and a matchbox in the other, so I've gotta wrap this up. I don't know if I'll be able to afford much more narrating with this post, probably mostly pics. I didn't even bring my camera though so I'm stealing these from Ness. Forgive. But don't forget. 2 cool 2 B forgotten.

And here the little dears are after standing in line for 3 hours at Carlo's bakery, shoving a little canoli here, smearing a little croissant there. I am proud to say I did not stand in line for 3 hours, but stayed home and slept. It was glorious with a capital G. Sometimes, when you're pregnant and have two little monsters at home, you have to fly across the country so you can take a nap.

Keeping the tradition alive with the sisters pedi...

Venturing into NYC for a girls night... this was the view while we waited for our ferry.

Once we got into Times square Bethany was like a kid in a candy shop. First time to NY. And she loved every second. It might have had to do with the fact that when we were all standing there looking at purses at a street vendor's table, the lady selling the purses pointed at Vanessa and in broken english said, "She is not so beautiful", then pointing to me, said, "She is not so beautiful," and then to Bethany and said, "She is most beautiful". Bethany was pretty smug for the rest of the night after that. It was awkward. We had a good laugh. Until we were out of the public's eye and Ness and I had to jump her.

And there's our favorite friend sitting on the ground with us here as we're heading into dinner...

Trinity church... love Leah's face

There's that lady again we all love and adore... (the one on the far right I mean)...

It was fabulous. My favorite parts were just sitting around Nessa's living room talking and laughing. And maybe some new york style pizza. I love my sisters! Sisters cruise is next. I was lamer than I'd have liked to be on this trip, so the cruise will have to be when none of us are pregnant. Which may not be for like 10 years but hey, at least we have dreams and aspirations.

Okay, and as I'm signing off, I just have to say that pregnancy with baby number 3 is a whole new animal. You think you were off the hook with the pregnancy stuff? This round, I started noticing a thickening of my mid-section before I even took a pregnancy test. I was already thinking things weren't fitting right and I needed to cut back my nutella intake from one jar to 3/4th a jar a day. Didn't cross my mind that a wee one was starting to grow. With your first, you are 4-5 months into it, still teensie tiny and just dying to put your maternity clothes on. Round three it's like my body already knows so well where we're going and knows there's no use in kidding itself. I mean, just look at the difference of before and after shots:

Before pregnancy number 3:

And now, at 10 weeks:

It's so unfair. Don't even tell me you can't see a difference because I'll know you're just lying to try to make me feel better. I'm already pretty much as big as a house. Sigh.

{*P.S. I'm coming back and adding this now... I can't bear the thought of anyone thinking this last part was serious... No, no, no... neither of these bare-midriff pics are legit. haha.}

The good, the bad and the ugly.

It's thundering outside right now. Like, legit, loud, booming thunder. It's so rare here. I'm loving every second of it. Too bad I know it won't last. It's 8:16 AM and I just finished loading the dishes, and then ate a pop-tart. I never buy them. But I had a hankering for one the other day and gave it a whirl. Strawberry, unfrosted, with loads of butter. This was the forbidden fruit of my childhood because my mother NEVER bought them. But our neighbors did. And every time a slumber party took place between me, Nessa, Dana and Daesha from across the street, you better believe we were eating pop-tarts. And they were like manna back then. Sweet manna from heaven. And we felt a little guilty eating them, like "Oh man! If mom could see us now!" It was the same way with sugar cereal. For this reason, every time I went to my BFF Brandi's house, no matter the time of day, I went straight in and raided her corn pops and honeycombs. And she'd try to tell me, "Those are for breakfast". But I would never hear it. And we would share awkward moments while I was shoving her cereal into my face. Because it was such a rare delicacy. The pop-tart wasn't quite as delicious as I remember it this morning. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'll be seeing that pop-tart again after it's been partially digested. I'll go ahead and say anything with that much butter was well worth it nonetheless.

This past weekend was General Conference for our church. As expected, it was wonderful and inspiring and uplifting and always seems to come at just the right time. There is always at least one speaker who speaks on motherhood specifically and pretty much helps us all feel renewed purpose and strength in what we are doing. This year's was Elder Neil L. Andersen. He spoke on the noble calling of motherhood and having a knowledge that we are doing God's will and work as we bring His children into this world. The talk is not available on print yet, but if you'd like to watch it or listen to it, go here. It was superb and much needed. Another talk that was particularly touching to me was Sister Dalton's address to fathers of daughters. She talked about how the very most important thing a daddy can do for his daughter is to love her mother. How she will learn what to expect from a relationships in dating and in choosing a future spouse because of the way she sees her dad treats her mom. Scarlett snoozed through that but you can believe Jason was extra snuggly with Lucy. Neither of us like to think very much about them growing up and dating and getting married and all that jazz. I bawled my eyes out through the whole thing. You can find it here. Worth every second. It was phenomenal. Truthfully there are so many talks that touched me. It is a supreme blessing to receive the kind of instruction and encouragement every 6 months that conference offers us.

I've been thinking about this motherhood thing. I remember when I was getting ready to serve my mission in Paraguay, my teacher in the MTC (who is now one of my very best friends on this planet!) said that for her, the mission was the absolute hardest blessing of her life. At the time that struck me as being sortof an oxymoron. Like, blessings aren't supposed to be hard. But she was totally right. The 18 months I spent in South America knocking doors and stopping strangers in the streets to talk to them about Jesus Christ and the restoration of His gospel to the earth in it's entirety was the absolute HARDEST. BLESSING. OF. MY. LIFE. up until that point at least. It was amazing. I was a part of miracles, regularly. I got to teach the gospel day in and day out, all day long. I knew every single day I was giving it my all and I was making Father in Heaven proud of me. I knew I was touching lives and bringing joy to brothers and sisters of mine. I knew I was giving hope to the hopeless. I loved all people instantly and deeply upon meeting them, and had not a single ounce of prejudice or judgement in my body. And it brought more true joy to my life than any single thing I had ever done. It was a sacred thing to be involved in. A sacred privilege.

And while it was the best, it was the worst. The absolute worst. It was so hot. It was like a sauna. We were rejected by so many. We were ridiculed and yelled at numerous times. We had one tiny portable air conditioner that was stuck in the window. In one area, I showered in the coldest water possible before bed, in my pajamas, and then would COLLAPSE into bed in soaking wet PJs in order to fall asleep. So many of the people we taught lived in circumstances that I didn't know human beings could live in prior. I got the stomach flu/food poisoning at least 6 times. I was hospitalized at one point because it was so bad. And being hospitalized in a third world country can be terrifying. I had blisters and one time found a parasitical worm imbedded in my foot. I gained 25 extra pounds, and hey, that's rough on your joints. I have shared this before, but on SEVERAL occasions I stood in the shower with my hand over my heart belting the star spangled banner absolutely bawling my eyes out because I missed my homeland so badly. No one could have ever prepared me for how difficult it was. How draining in every sense of the word the work could possibly be. And members of the church tend to deem South American missions as "easy" missions, because generally the people are so warm and the culture so friendly. There are no "easy" missions, and the challenges are very unique in each one.

Whoooooa. It was all just so intense. For so many reasons. White ankle socks and hideous baby doll shoes? All the sisters wore white ankle socks. Helped with the worms in the feet thing and the blisters thing. When I got there and saw the atrocity of the sisters in their white ankle socks, I vowed I would never ever participate in such shameful behavior. And then ate my words shortly after.

So while serving a mission brought me the most joy I had ever known until that point, I did not "enjoy" every day. Some days I would cry to Heavenly Father and ask in all seriousness why he sent me to Hell to try to teach the gospel. But I have learned that the reason it brought me that true joy was because it was so hard. The two go hand in hand I have learned. Nothing has the capacity to bring you that kind of joy that doesn't require your entire self. You and everything you can possibly muster in every possibly way. Every ounce of spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical energy you never knew you had.

Enter motherhood. I have an air conditioned home now. I haven't found any parasites imbedded in my skin since coming home to America (unless you include 3 fetuses... it's debatable). I am supremely blessed in my life. My husband is supportive and caring and an amazing father. He is able to provide for our family and we have two healthy vibrant children. We have the absolute cream of the crop families and the best friends on earth. We laugh and wrestle and play more than some would think is a responsible amount. I could go on and on and on. However, I do not enjoy everything about pregnancy and motherhood. I do not enjoy being nauseated. I do not enjoy fatigue. I do not enjoy feeling like any and every little thing might emotionally set me off or the every day roller-coasters of my moods. I do not enjoy not having the option of telling my tiny children, "Sorry, I'm taking a sick day" when they are hungry or want "chocker milk" or need to be wiped after going potty or need a diaper change. When I'm debilitated with nausea I do not enjoy high pitched screaming and fighting over toys, or pulling hair or my make-up being used/ruined or the toilet being played in. I do not enjoy that Lucy repeats the same request 1200 times in a row while I'm trying to fulfill that request.

So having babies and raising them now is the best thing I have ever done in my entire life. It has brought me more joy than any other thing, by a long shot. I still don't enjoy everything about it. Would I give everything in the world for these two (three in May) miniature people? Would I give my life for them in an instant? Will I do any and everything to protect them and love them and support them every day of my life? Of course. I do not throw up every day while I'm pregnant, like some. But if I did throw up every single day of pregnancy I would still somehow magically sign up for it again and again to have one of these in my arms:

Scarlett, 6 hours old.

Or one of these:

Lucia at one year.

Or one of these:

A perfectly healthy heart beat at 8 weeks pregnant. This is our third child.

Or to attempt to do housework like this, when two itties both want to be held:

Must have found this comical for some strange reason while passing by the mirror on my way to vacuum.

Or a couple of these:

My point is, the reality of life is not all about fun. The purpose of life transcends the here and now convenient pleasure rides. We are all given unique challenges that are tailored for us and stretch us individually. And I don't think a mother of one shouldn't feel like she has a right to express feeling overwhelmed and exasperated just because there are mothers of five or ten out there. (If you have more than one child and a girlfriend of yours has only one and is telling you she can't get anything done because of that said one child, resist all urges to say, Just wait til you have 2 or 3, you think it's hard now? Because while it may or may not be true, it's smug and annoying. I say this only because I have found myself very smug and annoying after saying just such things.) Nor do I feel like just because someone has waited for and prayed for a baby for years before finally getting pregnant, they have to pretend like it's all daisies and roses when they are throwing up or have splitting headaches. It's okay for it to be hard. Nor do I feel that Jason shouldn't have a right to complain about being married to me sometimes just because there are plenty of men out there who haven't found a loving and caring wife yet (just like me of course), or may not ever find her. We shouldn't feel like total ingrates if we have to vent about this or that or whatever. The first few times I cried to Jason about feeling isolated and stagnant as a stay at home mom he sincerely asked if I wanted to get a job and send the kids to daycare. It doesn't mean we would change a thing about what's happening in our lives if we could. We just need to fuss sometimes. And we need some good nurturing "there there's". That's it.

And when you need to fuss, call me. I won't remind you of those who have it worse than you, because right off the bat I know that's not what you need to hear. That's something that I think the Lord helps you eventually think about when you're ready for some introspection, but not for others to point out. I'll be waiting with a tub of ice-cream. Or if savory is your thing, I'll have chips and fresh salsa. Or maybe some mexican style corn on the cob with mayo and lemon pepper and chili powder. Oh yum I think I'll go make some right this second.