Wrap it up. Put a bow on it. Sayonara til next year.

Au revoir Summertime. As much as I love you, the change of seasons is one of my very favorite things in life. So I'm ushering you on out. Now git! Beat it!! Scram!!! Ahem. Oh September in Utah. How glorious are you? Yeah, you! I'm talkin' to you, you little rascal! Don't act like you didn't know! How are we already to your last day? It's 57 degrees outside at this moment. And breezy. The high today is 74. And I'm euphoric. Except I tend to jump the gun a little this time of year. Like how I wore a ski mask yesterday to church, and alls anyone could see were my little beady eyes peering out. Actually, I did wear boots and a sweater over my dress last week. I teach gospel doctrine in my ward and was counting every time I'd feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back. I'm not exaggerating. At all. My face was all flushed and glistening as well. And as soon as I gave an "amen" to that closing prayer, I ripped that sweater off at the speed of light and started swinging it around over my head, like a helicopter. You know what song I wanted to sing. But I couldn't. I'm not sure why I had to wait til class was over to take that sweater off, but I did. Counted beads of sweat instead of the obvious solution.

Back to my point, fall here is SO SUBLIME!!!! Jason and I put our kids to bed last night, ran out to our back yard and cannon balled it right into our double wide hammock to look at the stars. Best part about it? We had to snuggle under a blanket. Because it was chilly.  Don't even get me started on the smell outside that comes with that chill. Heaven on earth. Think of the sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet and that camp-firey pre-snow smell in the air at night. You know the one.

This summer nearly institutionalized me, friends. I'm here to give you and our future generations our summer 2013 hi-lights before we're buried in snow. I realized I have to give you the condensed version if I'm going to be capable of this. This post is squeezing so many events into one post that it might blow your mind. Literally, your head might explode, and I'll apologize to your family at your funeral. It'll be the most bizarre causes of death anyone'll have heard of, and I'll be so overwhelmed with guilt that I'll have to run out half way through the service. Everyone will be talking about it for months, years even. And I'll defend myself for the rest of my life that I forewarned my readers. But do you listen?

First and foremost, did you know my sister Vanessa was here all summer with her chitlins? Which means the entire summer basically was spent making animals in the clouds.

Until we shoved them off the blanket so we could lay down and take selfies.

Jason and I had Jason work/fun related jaunts to Washington DC, New York, and Nashville. All within the first month of summer. I'm no spring chicken anymore people. Wore me right out.

DC in May is lovely.

I think I might hear, "That's enough, honey," from Jason more than anything else. Especially with lots of stuffy businessmen watching. Like in this photo below.

We went to a fancy gala while in music city. Remember last time when I said I had a good story to tell about me and a tambourine? We were at this here fancy dinner in this huge ball room full of round dining tables and the musicians there had handed out a dozen or so tambourines. When the music started, we were supposed to dance around with it just long enough to hand it off to someone else we didn't know. You know these getting to know you type things. Well, I started off with tambourine in hand, except I didn't hear the part about handing it off. I just thought we were supposed to keep going til the music stopped. There there I was, beating that tambourine like it'd never been beaten, dancing up a storm, figure 8-ing around all the tables... for like a good twenty minutes. Not kidding. I was about to pass out wondering WHEN IS THIS SONG GOING TO END?!?! When I finally looked at Jason, who was seated, he was watching me, laughing and trying to motion me over to him. So I went, and he told me I was supposed to pass it on a really really long time ago. I know that honey, I'm just waiting for the right moment. Can't a girl just dance around these people's tables if she wants to? Maybe circle them 4 or 5 times each? Smiling and waving all the while?

And then remember that morning how we went to a key-note speaker address in a big conference room and my phone started playing my audio book super.. I repeat super loud when he was speaking? And there I sat, fumbling around trying to turn the narration of "Pride and Prejudice" off and just couldn't do it? So I had to whisper yell, "Sorry!" like 5 times? And then I immediately spilled my water all over the crotch of my pants? And had to walk around making small talk with people with my husband? Did I mention the pants were tan? And it was a crazy amount of water? Didn't think anyone could be this big of a buffoon in the course of just a few days, did you? Jason can testify to it all.

Big. Long. Sigh. 

Moving on. We celebrated this boy's birthday while in Nashville and started the day off with a music city food tour. Ended the day at Kayne Prime steakhouse. If you know my husband you won't be surprised at all that the day revolved around good eats. Isn't he handsome? Don't be coy. It's okay. You can say he is. Go on. I dare you. Say it to my face. No really, you can. 

Part of Jason's birthday gift was to go to a race track and race a sports car while we were in Vegas a couple weeks later. He loved it, and I loved that they knew we were coming and had this cute little stand set up for us to use as a prop for taking pictures of our adorable children.

So here we are in Las Vegas at the Christensen Family annual retreat. It was about 110 degrees the duration of the week, but that didn't stop us from taking family pictures and acting like the heat wasn't getting to us. Isla is especially chipper. And Grandpa. 

Actually, all my kids look pretty awesome here too. 

Red hot sweaty faces meant lots of water gun fights and pool time. And that made it aaaall completely worth it! And the week was a total success as usual! 

Scarlett spent basically all day every day laying out at the pool working on her tan. She might not look that comfortable, but I'll tell you what. She was. Life jackets even make for the most inconspicuous tan lines.

But back to the family pictures- I'll never forget the squabbling and scuffling that surrounded that photo shoot. There was name calling and cursing and a few right hooks here and there. But we all said cheese and smiled brightly when that camera was ready. Just the way the best families do.

We can't forget Lucy's birthday party when we returned. She turned 5 and invited the little girls from our ward to come party with her- you guessed it, princess style. I couldn't believe that's what she wanted when we asked her. She's so unpredictable. 

And Rapunzel even made a guest appearance. It was the best!

What none of us could quite understand was my little niece Eve's complete and utter disdain for the visiting princess. Was it her singing? Was it her dancing? Was it the fact that she talked about what really makes a princess beautiful lies within? We're not sure. All we know is that any time Rapunzel would hint at doing something any of the girls didn't approve of, they'd threaten her by simply pointing to Baby Eve. And there E would be, popping her neck and cracking her knuckles.

Lucia is kind and thoughtful and so eager to learn and try new things. She loves life and is so fun to experience things with. She is the epitome of everything wonderful that a five year old little girl could be. She really really is. Except for when she throws a fit about the color of cup/bowl she's served. Hoping that doesn't stick with her into adulthood.

 Alright, I might get to our last month of August in my next post but right now I gotta get off this computer. I'm starting to get major heebie jeebies sitting here, so you'll have to be content with this until next time. Now, I don't wanna get any hate mail/texts like times before, with you being all frustrated and begging to know what we did in August. It's coming people. Or it might not be. Ever. Sometimes I play hard to get like that. I try to be unpredictable and mysterious with my husband but that doesn't always work quite like it used to (still not giving up though- with the whole mysterious and unpredictable thing. He just wishes he could figure me out!) so it falls to you. Xoxo. (Big hug, little kiss, little hug, little kiss. In that order.)

Chickens are threatening to destroy my marriage. That's right, chickens.

Remember how Jack Handey so insightfully pointed out, "It's sad that a family can be torn apart by something as simple as a pack of wild dogs"? Well today folks, I'm here to discuss the fact that it's also sad that a happy, loving marriage can be torn apart by something as simple as wild chickens. Or domesticated ones, in our case. And we're learning you don't even need a whole pack to do the job. We have four. And they're more potently destructive than you could ever imagine.

But remember how magical it was all to be? Remember what it was like for the girls to find the first laid egg? Remember how we all partied like it was 1999 for three days straight over that first wee little egg?

I'm about to paint you the real picture. I'm not proud of it. It ain't pretty. But it's gotta be revealed.

Here's the back story. I didn't want chickens. Not yet. Jason's been wanting to get chickens to teach the girls responsibility ever since I birthed our firstborn. I still thought this summer was too early. I told him it would just end up being another thing that's my responsibility. It would end up being more things I've gotta feed and clean up after. He swore that Lucy would be the one doing the feeding and cleaning. Remember how she just barely turned 5? Ugh. Here we go. 

 So yeah, I wanted to wait a few more years to get chickens. Or at the very least until, our fence was completely finished so they could roam some of the time. But neither of those things were waited on. We had a coop with chickens inside faster than you can slap your mama. I don't know about you, but for me that's pretty fast. So I'm taking our table scraps and watermelon rinds out to them, as I expected I would. He doesn't want me doing that; tells me alls they need is the chicken feed. I'm asking Jason when he's going to clean the coop out because the poop is out of control. I'm telling him I want to cancel the pest control, because once that fence is finished, I wanna give them recess and they're gonna wander and eat bugs, and we can't kill our chickens with pesticide. We can't eat pesticide eggs either. I tell him, I noticed the chickens are completely out of water today when I was back there. You think we should just wait for Lucy to notice?And he tells me chickens can live for up to 3 or 4 days without water, they'll be fine. ?!?!?!?!?!?!? The first night he brought those stinking chickens home, we were laying in bed. That coop's supposedly predator proof, but it's on loose dirt and has no bottom. So I'm laying there and shoot up in bed and tell him, Raccoons could easily dig under that dirt, dig their way into that coop. Those chickens aren't safe.  Him: The chickens are fine. Raccoons aren't gonna take on a full grown chicken, and they'll be fine for one night. Whaaaaaaat?!!!!!!? Me: You bring those chickens into the garage until we make that coop safe! Our girls aren't waking up to gleefully go check on them to find bloodied mutilated chicken corpses in the morning! Of course I had to find several accounts online of coons killing hens to back me up. But he eventually, full of loathing and vexation, brought them into the garage for the night, and put chicken wire a foot into the ground the next day all around the base of the coop, all the while shooting daggers into me from his eyes. In truth, all of these conversations with him have brought about what I can only describe as primate behavior in my dearly beloved. On more than one occasion, he's turned right into Tarzan in loin cloth right before my very eyes; beating away on his chest. And when this happens, I'm forced to go ape, too. And a scuffle ensues. He's stronger than I am. But I'm so scrappy. 

He thinks I'm being controlling. He thinks I'm inserting myself where I don't belong. He grew up on a farm after all, and has let me know several times that a little uptown girl like me doesn't know what I'm talking about with any of this stuff. (I never have been and am in no way now an uptown girl.) He just wants the chickens to be "his and our girls thing", and he thinks I'm trying to take it from him. And he wants Lucy to be solely responsible. Which means if she doesn't feed them or give them water, she's gonna find dead chickens. And that sure'll teach her consequences and responsibility. Gotta teach 'em the hard way. Ahem, I know I already said this, but, remember how she just turned five? I do. Remember how much that young whipper snapper Mattie loves her daddy on True Grit? And she's like 12 and avenges his death? I think this all plays into the vision for his life he created long ago in his mind. That along with several episodes of Little House on the Prairie, Back to the Future 3, and Swiss Family Robinson. And the first several seasons of Saved by the Bell, not the college years. The college years were the worst.

Now, I'm all about teaching them responsibility. But let's be reasonable here. She's too young to be solely responsible for them. And ain't no chicken starving to death on my property if I have anything to do with it.  We're not farmers. We don't have necessity to have a harsh homestead view of the survival of the fittest and the circle of life, no offense Mufasa. Ain't no runts being butchered just for being runts while I'm runnin this home show. What Jason doesn't understand is, when he says, "it's not your concern," or, "just let it go, the chickens aren't your thing," etc, as much as I'd like to have the capacity to do that, it doesn't mean that I can. For a stay-at-home mother, a home is more than where you rest your head at night. It's my domain. It's my lair. It's my turf, territory, my business. All of it. SOY AMA DE CASA. I am the nurturer of life! Maybe I'll go build a chicken coop in his office. I'll tell him I'll come by occasionally to deal with them, but in the meantime he needs to just pretend like they're not there. Truth is, as much as I'd like to withdraw, (believe you me, no one wants to quit their job on sick days like moms do), no creature will ever dwell within the boundaries of our property without being under my stewardship, care and nurturing. Just won't happen. Ain't no way. This is why I didn't want to get the dang things yet. I am the mother of this house. I'm not being a control freak; control freak is not my thing. I have plenty of things, trust me. But this is just the reality of the situation. It's like when Jason has tried to take shifts with our babies in the middle of the night and tells me to just sleep through it if they're crying. What's the purpose of me laying in the guest bed at 3 AM with my eyes bugging out of my head listening to my baby cry? Just gimme 'er. GIMMEE!!! If they're gonna live with us, I just can't help myself. I'm gonna make sure they're taken care of until our kids really can completely take it over. If they're outta water I can't just sit back and wait until she notices. Not yet anyway.

If I was a career woman and we both picked our kids up from day care and headed home from the office in the evening, it's possible; (possible not probable) that I could wash my hands of it all, maybe the dynamics would be different in our home. But that's not the case. So if he comes home from work this winter and I'm out back roosting with them, he's just gonna have to deal with it. If I'm inside that coop, perched right on top of those chickens, keeping them warm and softly clucking to them, then so be it.

Maybe we're just not good at team projects. Weren't those the worst in school? Are any of you good at team projects with the Mister? Do sneaky hate spirals get the best of you every. time. you try to tackle anything together? Like moving for example. Or getting ready to host a party. Or how about when we'd been married for three weeks and thought it'd be cute to rent a tandem bike and take a ride across the golden gate bridge in San Fran? Except it turned out that they're like unrealistically difficult to pedal and we had to huff it up a gigantic hill and Jason was yelling at me to pedal harder and then I was yelling at him because he wouldn't let me steer it and then when he finally let me I immediately crashed us and made another biker totally eat it? This ever happen to anyone else? Anyone? Anyone?? No? Hmm. Another example, Lucy's first bath was a big hurdle for us. He was telling me what to do and how to do it and yelling, you're gonna get soap in her eyes!!!! all frantically. And then I had to stop it all, take a step back and seriously ask him if he's clued into the fact that this child has been living in. my. body for the past 3/4 of the year and how he could possibly entertain the idea that he was even remotely more invested in and concerned about the well-being of this morsel as I was. Then he apologized, we made up and had a good laugh about it all while toasting ginger ale to each other. And then I punched him in the throat. An unexpected jab to the adams apple can be a most effective form of communicating. I learned that in my RAD class. They asked me to come back and certify to be an instructor, remember? That basically makes me more Chuck Norris than anyone you've ever known. I can unscramble any egg. And why did the chicken cross the road? Because it didn't want to get a roundhouse kick to the face by me. Back on track.

Point is, I've come to the conclusion in the short few weeks that the chickens have been in our possession, that we have to get rid of them. They need a new home. Whether that means it was too early for our kids or too early for me or too early in our marriage, I'm not quite sure. It's possible that the neighbors may or may not have recently heard, It's either me or the chickens! There's not room for all of us! Everybody told us our relationship would be put to the test when we first got hitched, but no one warned us about chickens. They told us about selfishness and dishonesty. But why didn't they tell us about chickens? We might be on the brink of completely failing the chicken test. Hubby might be sent to sleep in that coop soon. They might end up being fried up. There's no telling what I could do. And I can't exactly see Lucy or Scarlett as adults sitting in a support group, saying, "Those chickens were the beginning of the end of mom and dad. They couldn't stand the sight of each other once the hens came and we had a miserable childhood and upbringing. But looking back I really feel like those fresh eggs were totally worth it."

 Any takers?

Hamster in a wheel.

Hello. Hello? This thing on? Testing testing...123.

That was such a lame introduction. But it's all I got. So it's stayin'. Actually the more I sit here the more embarrassed I become by that intro.  It's not funny. It doesn't grab your attention. It doesn't make you want to read more. I'll probably have to erase it soon. 

My point is (AKA: I have no point) it's 6:22 AM and I've been laying awake since 5:30ish thinking about everything I need to document on this here blog and how behind I am.  And how much I love to write and how my brain is turning to mush and how much I'd love to have just a little time for myself and how I know sacrifice brings blessings and how everyone says how much I'm going to miss my kids being little when they're older and how fast time flies and how much my heart beats for them and how I could watch each of them sleep for hours and how I belong to a book club and haven't read a single book and how I'm supposed to be hosting this month but had to back out because there's just too much going on and how I don't comprehend how those other mothers of tiny children can even remotely have time to be reading a new book every single month and how I'm losing my ability to form separate and correctly structured sentences because remember how I just barely said my brain is turning to mush and then I thought about how Scarlett is going through a "playing with her doodie" phase every time she uses the bathroom and the first time I caught her doing it, I very sternly told her it could make her and her sisters and cousins very sick and asked her why she was doing that and how she told me, "You big so you can't play with your doodie but I just yiddow so I can play with my doodie," and I don't know how to stop her from doing it because she's getting into so much trouble every time she does it but I was just thinking maybe I'll try to reward her for every time she uses the jon without flinging poo around like a chimp and see if that's more effective because what's happening now is. not. working.

Ahem. So like I said, I'm behind on my blogging. Some of our milestones include:

• Isla had her first birthday party. On April 29th of this year. Nearly 3 months ago.  !!!!!! *Future Isla who may be reading this blog- I don't love you any less than your sisters! If anything, you're my favorite! Just let me explain!
• Jason and I took separate trips to Washington DC, New York and Nashville-all work related ventures.  I have a few doozy stories from these jaunts, trust me. One involves me getting waaaaaay too carried away with a tambourine in front of a lot of people. 
• My lover's birthday. I mostly refer to him as, "my lover". Calling him "Jason" just sounds so foreign to me. Don't be jelly-cat of how totes obsessed we are with each other. It's adorbs. 
• Father's Day and Mother's Day celebrations
• Me and the girls spent 10 days in Idaho Falls at my parents, originally planning to be there over the 4th of July but headed up early because my mom contracted some rare infection in her throat and nearly stopped breathing and was in the hospital for a solid week (ICU for 4 of those days!!!). Yeah, my Dad is still undergoing chemotherapy and out of commission a great portion of his time. All of this while they're trying to put their house on the market so they can move to Arizona. Talk about pouring rain for my Mom and Dad. As in, when it rains it pours. As in, one difficult trial should be sufficient to handle at a time, in case you've never understood that metaphor but have always been afraid to ask. Maybe you've even used it in a group of people but felt immense anxiety afterward wondering if you used it correctly. You're welcome. 
• Las Vegas week long Christensen family retreat. 


And many, many other things. SO many. Every day things that I need to tell you about. Hence the title. In case you didn't realize, that hamster is me. And I'm panting and sweating and wheezing, trying to keep my plump furry body moving forward. But then I look around and it sure doesn't feel like I'm making any progress. Sigh. Poor little hamster. I could be a guinea pig too of course. Any rodent really, who's willing to work themselves into a frenzy in that wee little wheel. The important part is that you see the correlation between the rodent and myself: the incisors. Ahem.


So I'm sharing a few pics from Isla's birthday celebration today. Because every time I look at her she's bigger and more toddlerish and losing here baby cherubicness. It's a word. And even since these pictures were taken, she's had a bunch of teeth come in. Important stuff for moms.

April 29, 2013.

Seriously, this little birthday get-up made me want to squeeze her like she was an orange and I was making fresh-squeezed orange juice. A disturbing visual. But true nonetheless.

Every party has a pooper. 

And then it's amazing how one millisecond later, she's feelin' the groove again, carefree smile on her face. Jason might say it's sortof like being married to me. But you know what I'd say? He's dead wrong. I never get over my surliness that fast. And if I do, he knows I'm faking and I'll be staring daggers in his direction while no one else is looking and then he'll be hearing about it again once we're alone. Totes adorbs.

But yeah, really really hard to get him to look at the camera. He was super distracted by a bird, what can can you do? Oh Husbands!

Party animals.

I love so many many things about this child Isla June. Among of the many, she has Snuffleupagus lashes and fuzzy chimp hair, which I absolutely adore. Not to be confused with the chimp similarity of her sister, the poo flinging one. Sorry you're sharing your birthday post with talk of your sisters latest disgusting little trick, Isla.

There's that crazy hair again.  She rocks it, just like her mother.

She is the best tempered, most snuggly, affectionate babe that I've ever come in contact with. She doesn't discriminate- doesn't just love her mom and dad but will give loves to most everyone- (especially her Papa, Grandpa, and Uncle Brian. These three seem to have her under quite the trance; she will run to them arms out-stretched every time they're in sight. She reached up and hugged on this older man in our ward one Sunday at church and he came up to me afterwards and said, She was answering my prayers. She knew I needed a hug today, with tears in his eyes.) Everyone eats her right up. She says hi (all day long) and Mama (never on command, only under distress) and uh-oh every time she drops something. She's always frantic to get to her sisters when either of them is crying and curiously pats them and leans down to put her face in their faces and hugs them. She waves goodbye and gives lots and lots of kisses basically all day long. I swoon. She's honestly the very, very, very best.

And we're the absolute luckiest to have her. Happy first Birthday Isla June, nearly three months late. You'll understand when you're a mommy someday. You'll understand a lot. 

Trying to keep up: birthday season 'round herrr.

Remember how I used to document on the blog Lucy's every little facial expression and bowel movement? I bet you miss those days. I bet you really really do. I bet you've been trying to think of a way to tell me how much you miss them without it being awkward. I bet the last time we talked, it was on the very tip of your tongue. But you just felt sheepish and couldn't take the plunge. I bet you've written out the text on your phone various times only to erase it and rewrite it to me a few days later... never being able to just hit "send". I bet the last time you came to my house you almost left it behind in a long sappy letter but just didn't have the gall. Welp, I'm here to tell you it's okay. It's okay that you miss those days. I do too. But you don't have to try to figure out how to tell me how much you miss that I used to do that. I'll just get it out there for us both. You're welcome. 

The point is, someday my kids are actually going to read through these blasted entries and I promised myself I wouldn't be the mother (AKA every mother) who documented everything their firstborn said and did and then by the time the third babe came be lucky to get a picture once a year up. I wasn't going to be the mom who posted a picture of their first child every single week the entire first 5 years of their life so that you could monitor growth and progress of said child from home on your own spread sheets and then have the audacity to not afford you the same opportunity with my subsequent children. Here's the funny thing. No one's asked me lately how I'm adjusting to 3 kids. And I think you should probably actually start asking that question when that third child hits around their year mark. Because the first year of Isla's life was breezy with 3 kids. But now. NOW. How do I explain this in terms you will understand... let's see here... It's like going from raising a tank of sea monkeys to having an actual monkey. Could be a small orangutan. Or maybe you'd understand this analogy better: it's like going from having a baby to having a toddler. I mean, sortof. That second analogy is more of a stretch. Humor me.

Another point of all of this is, I'm the 4th child out of 5. And I turned out okay. Even though I have no idea when I got my first tooth. There's my consolation.

Ahem, my real point is, I'm blogging about Isla's birthday right now. Even though it's been over a month and I have a million other more recent things to write about that are now making war in my brain against each other. I'm writing about it, and I don't want any judgment for being so late. I want you to act like it was yesterday. Except just kidding. I'm actually blogging about Scarlett's birthday right now. Because ya see, I've been meaning to sit down for posterity's sake and write about Isla's first birthday, because you only turn 1 once right? and then the funniest thing happened just now, the darnedest thing! Right this very moment that I'm sitting here! A realization just jumped up and bit me in the rear like a gopher. I remembered that I forgot Scarlett's birthday. And how she turned 3 before Isla turned 1. So to keep things chronological and orderly (like everything in my life- obviously) Scarlett is actually the one who will have a turn to ride this wild hog of a blog today. 

Okay. I want to write a few things down about her nature at this stage. How do I put mothering Scarlett in this stage of her life into words? 

I can't do it. I just can't. Let's try this route. Being the mother to 3 year old Scarlett is somewhere between this pic:

And these:

Or maybe halfway between this picture:

And this video:
 

and this. Halfway between all three.

For her big day we took our wee little clan + Jason's parents to lunch at none other than the infamous Coney's Frozen Custard. Have you been there? You really ought to try it if you haven't. Wink.

 And then we headed to Kangaroo Zoo. In case you don't know, it's a whole world of gigantic bounce houses. It's pretty fantastic.  

These ragamuffin sisters held hands pretty much the entire duration of the outing...

 And one of my favorite parts, sniffed out a couple sweetheart older girls to glom onto and claim as their own.

This girl would not be permitted to give lap rides to any other munchkins around. Scarlett made sure of that. Not on her birthday.

And then another hand selected older girlfriend who Scarlett invited to share her birthday cake with. Jason and I have discovered that Scarlett operates a little like the Brain from anamaniacs. Remember "Pinkie and the Brain"? She's little. And bossy. And plans to take over the world.

After the party we came home to take a spin on her new wheels. I told her to look natural here. I'd say she looks like she belongs.

Of course we can't forget the 10 crisp ones she received in the mail from Grammy and Papa that morning. Which I promptly swiped out of her mitts and shoved into my wallet. That was immediately after she ripped one in half just for kicks. I'd say other than being pick-pocketed by her mother, no 3-year-old ever had a better birthday.

 Scarlett has fantastic taste, and an uncanny ability to sniff out everything in our home that could possibly be valuable in any way (monetarily or sentimentally) and destroy it. She has a real knack for that.But all in all, she is the absolute best. Like THEEE best, long e there. She's hilarious and unpredictable and mischievous and charming beyond words. And so tender. She's the best of everything there is in this life.  

The Easter weekend from Hell.

Alright alright, while I would indeed say we had the Easter from hell, I guess it could always get worse and it's all relative. Maybe my idea of hell is different than yours. So maybe after reading this you might think this title might be a touch rash, a touch extreme, if you will. But regardless, it caught your attention didn't it? I think next blogpost title will be something like, "Learning to live without my arms," and then when your eyes pop out of your head and you're sitting down to find out how on earth I lost my arms, I'll be like, "Just kidding, I still have my arms." And then you'll think my joke is so funny that you'll just be like, Ooooh that Meradith! Now that I'm here I'm gonna have to just read this! She tells such good jokes! Or maybe you'll be mad at me because people really do have to learn to live without their arms sometimes and you'll think I'm trivializing something that would be a serious trial of life. Which I'm not, by the way.

Except I'm not joking... back to how I was saying it really was the Easter weekend from Hell. And that's with a capital H. As in, the actual place where Satan himself resides. Also, like I said, I recognize that it could have been worse, if for example my arms got chopped off or something... but now you're making me run in circles here and repeat myself, so just knock it off and let me tell you about it.

Ahem.

As many of you know, my dad was recently diagnosed with multiple myeloma; a cancer of the blood. This bomb of information hit our family around new years this year, a little over three months ago. He's been undergoing chemotherapy, which has been as difficult if not more difficult than the fact that he has cancer. It's been terrifying and startling and pretty much every negative emotion that exists. One of the most challenging parts is the unknown, the waiting and testing and uncertainty of it all. I suppose that's where faith comes in. You just trust in the plan and trust that no matter what happens, everything is going to be alright.

But it sucks. And I just want to go to my parents house and have it be normal. I want my dad to bring in my suitcase and make fun of me for packing a whole suitcase for a little weekend. And then I want to go on a rant about how men don't know what it's like packing for yourself and three kids in tow. And then I want him to tell me to, "Shut up Bernie, just shut up!" And start to try to wrestle me. He still tells me, "Shut up Bernie just shut up," (one of our most often referenced Andy Griffith quote) but there's a missing umph behind it that I've grown accustomed to. I'm waiting for the umph to return.

My mother has been an ever present and loyal angel at his side doing anything and everything in her power to ease his burdens. She's been spared the burden of harboring any resentment of any kind, which honestly might not seem like that big of a deal... but when you see this happening to someone close to you and the wear and tear it causes on the infirm as well as their caretakers... it's really something. She doesn't feel that way though. And I marvel at her in all reality. I'll be sitting in one of their living room recliners off their kitchen and she's making him lunch talking to me, but mostly to herself, about all the ingredients that he likes and what he doesn't like. She'll say something like, "He really loves it when I add a little garlic..."And it's quite a tender scene. They're as entertaining as they have always been, for example there may or may not have been a threat that if hard-boiled eggs were  served for breakfast one more time, they would be thrown at the poor innocent servant, and then a consequent threatening of being cut off of all acts of kindness and a reminder that she easily could become Kathy Bates from Misery. But above all, there is an added measure of tenderness and love between them that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy while I'm there.

Back to Easter weekend. I was up in Idaho last month but Jason wasn't able to come with me. I'm closest in proximity to them of all their children (they're still in Idaho Falls) so I've felt a responsibility to do what I can to help them and to just be present when I can. So we planned to go up and spend Easter weekend with them. The chemotherapy takes a real toll on your immune system, so we've always been really careful with only visiting them when everyone is seemingly as virus/bacteria free as possible.  That can be a task in and of itself with three tiny children, one of which who goes to preschool and probably wipes her hands all over every possible surface and then licks her hands sometime throughout the duration of class. Lucy hasn't been known to do this in particular or anything, but kids are gross. Just sayin'.

If you read my last post, you know my babies went through a round of the stomach flu the couple weeks prior to Easter. Each baby girl dropped like a fly as soon as her sister would recover. And I thought I might have to be admitted to a loony bin. So it was up in the air whether we would even go up or not. But by Wednesday/Thursdayish everyone was completely mended and bouncing off the walls as usual. And I was healthy as a horse. Now, this is significant because if there is a stomach bug lurking in my home somewhere, it sees me and it's like a lioness spotting a sick little water buffalo, the real wimpy kind. The attack normally happens immediately. I fall first and always fall the hardest. So when I still felt good after cleaning up vomit all week, I thought, This is amazing. I'm in the clear! It's not touching me this time! That coconut oil I've been using is a miracle cure-all! Just like the windex on My Big Fat Greek Wedding!

Well folks, it turns out the good Lord only held that bug at bay for a time so that I could take care of my children. And once those babies were well and the weekend arrived, the hounds were released. On our drive up to Idaho (after my mother reassured me that it would be fine and they were dying to see us and be around family), I started gettin' those bubble guts that make you furrow your brow about an hour away from my mom and dads house. Now, I was still under the impression that I was in the clear from the awful mess that had taken over my kiddies. And I happened to have consumed a large amount of cream cheese that day for lunch. And man oh man, I tell you what, I figured it was doin' a number on me cuz I haven't been eatin' too much cheese these days, and it'll git you after you been abstainin'. I'm not sure why my inner voice is morphing into having a southern accent but I think it has to do with Duck Dynasty, and for that you can thank my sister Vanessa. Okay. So, I called my mom and told her we were just gonna check into a hotel for the night until I figured out what was happening with my system. She insisted that it must just be the cream cheese and told us to come on up. Long story short, with the stomach cramping coming and going, we got to my parents at about 8:30 pm, chatted for a bit, and hit the sack around 10. The minute I got into bed I started in with the worst chills, and the rest is history folks. There I sat... looking almost exactly like this... same matching little adorable get-up, same cascading hair, same pouty lips. 

I spent the next few days completely quarantined in their basement, sicker than sick. Not only physically sick, but honestly, the mental anguish of knowing I was there poisoning my parents house when my dad was already so weak and his body's defenses were down was nearly unbearable. I think I cried on and off for three days straight. I wanted so badly to ease the load they are carrying right now and instead here I came to be in bed the whole time while my kids run wild and trashed their house. Ugh. Okay I have to give credit, Jason kept a pretty good handle on things, including being the Easter Bunny all by his lonesome this year for the first time ever. But still, moms complain (I do at least) that they never get a break and then once they're forced to actually take a break, you can't just rest up and let yourself get better. There's too much that everyone else (your husband) isn't doing right when it comes to your babies. I bet it's even worse when you're trying to keep hold of the reigns and won't let go of being the alpha and try to micro manage from the sick bed. When you're calling your husbands name over and over to have him come in so you can ask him what your baby ate for lunch and what kind of conditioner he used in your 2 year old's hair because she has particularly ratty hair. I mean that would probably exacerbate your husband's feelings of frustrations and further try his patience, right? It might probably keep him from even being able to feel sorry for you because you're just so smug laying there in bed with your wee little barf-bowl, propped up on pillows, making orders and trying to rule the world. And then maybe you'll start crying every third time he comes in because he's not being as nurturing as he should be to you (even though he's doing everything you ask) and you can't believe you have the stomach flu over Easter weekend and your dad has cancer and how he certainly CANNOT catch this bug and how your mother is a full-time care-taker right now and how your husband has to make sure she isn't doing the brunt work of taking care of your three tiny children on top of taking care of your dad, even if she tries to tell him to relax. I hope you don't think I'm talking about me. Oh my gosh you think I'd admit this all if it were ME I was talking about? I just heard these kind of things can happen to women with strong personalities when they get sick. 

I asked my dad and my husband to give me a priesthood blessing. And really, of all the sweet experiences that come through the gospel of Jesus Christ, having the two men I love most in this life place their hands upon my head and be able to administer to me the way the Savior of the world or his original apostles would if they were here is one of the very sweetest. My dad wore a surgical mask to even come down into the basement lair where I was hiding out... and I felt like a total leper, but I was so happy to feel that strength coming from him despite the weakness in his body. It felt good to depend on him; depend on his worthiness and his faith and just him being there. Because people need to be depended upon. The human spirit starts to canker without having to come through for anyone. He felt strong in every sense from underneath those familiar hands and my husband along with my dad gave me strength and comfort that day. It's hard to put into words how thankful I am for the priesthood of God on earth today. I remember going through a particularly nasty break-up at 18 or 19 years old and waking my dad up at 3:30 AM to ask him for a father's blessing of comfort.

So, Easter morning went a little like this: I stayed in bed oblivious to all happenings in the house, Jason stayed in bed oblivious as well, the girls shot upstairs at the crack of dawn, found their easter baskets and started ripping through them/ hoovering chocolate before anyone could stop them or participate in the holiday. They woke my mother up sometime in that process, but I'm not sure when. Here is the one single photo taken of the entire trip, and I have to give props to Jason for being the sport that he is and painting eggs with our girls. Good thing I dragged their Easter dresses up to Idaho with us. Sigh.

The good news is, my dad never caught the stomach flu. Neither did my mother, which in and of itself is a true Easter miracle. Hooray for Easter miracles. Hooray for springtime. Hooray for the first meal you have after three days of gatorade and chicken broth. We take a lot for granted.

PS This little baby took her first little walk around the room just last night. She's not even a year old yet. My oh my how time does fly. PPS. I have to simplify my dance moves when I'm dancing with my little girls. Because I don't want them to feel bad about their dance moves. But believe you me, I'm a regular old crazy legs under normal circumstances. I can't go spinning around on my head until they're a bit older. The things we do for our children.

Help me Tom Cruise.

This is gonna be a quickie here today. I don't have time to go on and on like you wish I would. I don't have time to tell you everything my children have said, eaten and worn since the last post like you've been waiting for, I'm sorry for disappointing the masses. So lemme get right down to it. This post is about to get real TMI. No, it's not. I'm not gonna do that to you. Okay I might have to, but I'm gonna try not to be graphic. But at the same time, we're all human, right? Or are we dancers? A strange stomach bug snuck into our home and matter that simply should not be emerging from the mouth has been spewed in every direction onto walls and carpets and into hair and up onto the mantel and onto the rooftops around our neighborhood. And other matter (which shall remain unnamed) has also been shot into all such directions, mercilessly. It's been strange indeed, because these occurrences take place in the middle of the night and then all is cheery during the day (like- my kids act totally totally normal by day-just long enough to settle this mother into a false sense of security until the sun sets and the full moon shines down into our windows and the fangs emerge and howling begins again). The main point is- it's caught up with my baby Isla. 

My little tiny still-crawling diaper wearin' itty baby. She's been throwing up all night while I've been trying to help (force) her little face in the direction of a pitcher (it's gotta have a handle so as to be maneuvered single handedly) so I could catch a portion of it but I think she suspects the pitcher to be the source of her discomfort, because meanwhile she has been angrily shoving it out of her face with all the strength her little frame could muster.  And I just got into the tub with her because we were both covered in throw up and with me in the tub... she did the unspeakable. The other kind of unspeakable. So I want you to imagine yourself after having been up all night long, getting into a warm bath for some refuge only to have a little person use it as a toilet. I know you read this already but you're not reacting appropriately... so maybe you're not quite understanding that I said 

I WAS IN THE TUB WITH HER!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Babies getting the stomach flu? Like, not just kids... which is devastating enough... but actual BABIES? It should be completely illegal. This stuff will be outlawed in the next life when I'm in charge, I'm gonna make sure of it. Like the immortal children Stephenie Meyer came up with. Baby vampires? That crap just ain't right. Can't happen. Can't allow it. No can do. Ain't gonna happen. Ain't gonna be pretty. Wouldn't be prudent. Basically the same thing here. (Jason thinks I always stretch it waaaaay too far with my analogies, but I think in this case I really hit the nail on the head as far as blatantly logical analogies go.) Also, that reminds me... in the next life, maybe I'll have hair like this, minus sideburns. That is some soft and shiny pantene hair.

Alright, back on track. This is all leading me to my next topic of discussions: boils. You know, the kind people get all over their bodies. After we talk about the cause and treatment of boils, we're gonna talk about goiters. Just kidding. I just wanted to make you think things were gonna get even more disgusting than they've already been over here. Actually what I do wanna talk about is a major pitfall in marriage. And one I think a lot of us are continually fighting. The "who has it worse" game. Probably one of the most destructive traps a couple can fall into is this sick kind of competition, when they're trying to one-up the other, trying to prove they are the one who has the hardest job. For example, I just came down covered in vomit and woke Jason up (6:30 AM) so he could help undress Isla and so I could pee and draw a bath (heaven forbid I ask to use the restroom in my house). But his state was way less than chipper. And I was going on and on about how poor Isla been throwing up all night and aiming for outside of any receptacle (aiming mostly for me) when I noticed his eyes crossing. I interrupt myself with, What's wrong with you? and he says, I just didn't sleep very well. I've got a lot on my mind.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay. I just can't hear those words right now. I. JUST. CAN'T.  

His career is supremely demanding and stressful. And the past few months have been the most hellish on him in history. And he's in the bishopric. The boy is spent. all the time. And a good portion of the time I'm a peppy little wife in an apron and a ribbon in my hair offering to massage his back. But I don't have the brain capacity to think about it or give any support after a night like last night. So how do you get out of that rut? How do you avoid the back and forth when he comes home from a long day of work, you think you've got it rough??? I'm bathing in fecal matter!!! and You think you're tired?!? I had to do a presentation that lasted 4 solid hours today and then immediately went into back to back meetings and didn't even have time for lunch! and then back to, You think you've got it rough??? I'm bathing in fecal matter!!! I understand it comes from self-centeredness. And both parties have to find a way to see outside of themselves and find empathy for the other person. And you depend on the Lord to strengthen you and give you capacity way beyond yourselves. But mostly, both parties have to find a way to come to their senses and agree that I have the harder job. And that I in fact, win the "most exhausted" prize. But then what'll really chap you (if you're me) is that the victory means nothing, and actually, this particular victory means you are (I am) in fact losing. And then you'll be mad for working so hard to earn the "victory". No satisfaction at all. Even if he ever admitted to it. Nothing would change. And it's not like the purpose of this whole thing was to necessarily change anything anyway- so you sit and wonder what it was all for. You've found yourself in quite a little quandary now haven't you? Yes you have. Haven't we all.  

The good and unrelated news is, I can hear birds chirping outside my window. And while my trees are still naked, I have a feeling they are mulling around the idea of adorning themselves shortly. Luff to all.