Crack for Mormon Housewifes

I thought I was stronger than this.

I thought I had beaten the odds.

My recovery program had been working so well.

And then, two nights ago, my own sisters undermined everything.  They slid me a plastic bag containing more than 200 grams of the good stuff, and my willpower was gone.

The problem started for me in high school.  My mom, a Utah Mormon housewife, was the pusher.  She had always made after-school snacks for us.  The onion bagels with strawberry cream cheese were easy to repel.  One day though, she found a recipe for peanut butter bars, and I was hooked.

A college roommate told me a story once that has stuck with me all these years.  The story goes that her mom's friend, a Mormon housewife in Phoenix, made a sheet of these habit-forming peanut butter bars for her own kids.  The family ate half the bars that day.  (Such restraint!)  The next day, while she was alone at home, she found herself picking at the remaining half sheet of this tantalizing treat until it was nearly gone.  The bars in her tummy were supposed to be waiting for her children at the end of the school day.  She couldn't own up to eating an entire half sheet of peanut butter bars, so to cover the evidence, she made another full sheet recipe.  A full sheet would invite too many questions, so there was nothing left to do but eat half the sheet again.  She ate two half sheets of peanut butter bars in under seven hours!

I know her pain.

And here's the thing, they don't just have peanut butter.  They're topped with chocolate!  A wonderfully wicked combination indeed.  We Mormon housewifes might easily defy coffee and tobacco, but wave chocolate and peanut butter in front of our noses, and we are goners.

Luckily for me, when I  left home to take on adulthood, I was too poor to buy the ingredients, so my obsession with peanut butter bars ended.  I thought I had kicked the habit.  Looking back, I realize I had only transferred my problem to a softer substance.

In college, I worked at BYU's bakery for six months.  In that short time, I put on 27 pounds (no joke) because I couldn't just let the mint-brownie rejects go to waste!  I dabbled in Texas-sized dougnuts and the occasional butter-smeared sourdough, but at least 25 of those pounds were from brownies.

I doubt I'm the only one to have battled the brownie bulge.  Livestrong.com has issued the following warning: "Brownies can be tasty but eating too many can have consequences for your health."

Well, thanks for that helpful head's up.  Notice the subtle omission of whether those consequences are negative or positive?  I wonder if Lance Armstrong informed that article with his own experience.  Oprah probably never thought to press him on his possible use of baked goods.

Fortunately, according to the article, there are ways to hide brownie doping.  Livestrong.com recommends 13 minutes of jogging or 26 minutes playing volleybal to burn the calories of one brownie.  No mention of cycling, though.  It probably takes just a couple Tours de France.

Then, there are those who don't even try to hide their actual brownie doping.  I've never explored the darker side of the internet, but in my research for this post, I was surprised at the recipes I found blatantly posted for all the world-wide web to see.  I didn't even have to leave Pinterest to find this helpful cookbook (pictured at right).  Drugs are still illegal, aren't they?  Poorwhitefarmer on International Cannagraphic's website tells how his granny wasn't much concerned with exact portion size, and simply used her spatula to cut servings of AAAA trim.  Some recipes call for budder--and here I had always just used butter!  Others call for bubble hash or finely ground Durban.  Some reference grass or weed, though I'm pretty sure I can't harvest what's growing in my lawn to make brownies.  I do like grasshopper brownies, though.  Maybe my innocent, Mormon interpretation of these recipes is the cure: actual grass-weed-and-grasshopper brownies would likely put an end to these cravings!

So, now that another piece of my Mormon-housewife naivete has been taken by the internet, back to my story.

As I write and reflect, I realize my so-called recovery has always been forced on me.  I got over peanut butter bars when I moved away from home and my mom failed to supply my after-school snacks.  My brownie problem halted when the BYU bakery relocated and laid off its student employees.  But quitting has never been my own choice.  And so, the pull is still there for me.

Sunday night, my sister, Carolyn, showed up to our family dinner with a full baking sheet of the hard stuff, and all my years of abstinence evaporated.  To make matters worse, three of the adults in our extended family aren't currently eating gluten or sugar.  In order to support their commitment, and to let Carolyn know that her efforts weren't wasted, I felt obliged to make a considerable dent in her dessert.  By evening's end, there was a formidable  half sheet of peanut butter bars sitting uneaten on the counter.  I thought of my roommate's mom's friend in Phoenix, and I couldn't bear the thought of what might happen should we let Carolyn take all that temptation back to her house, alone.  My Whole30 sister, Christy, must have had the same thought.  She filled plastic bags with bars and distributed them with the lie that, "Actually, they're good for you.  You get oats, and the peanut butter has protein."  I quickly rationalized, Christy runs marathons.  She must know what she is talking about.  It is so easy to believe a falsehood when it is topped with peanut butter and chocolate.

Yesterday, that little baggie of provocation stared me down.  I may have had a three-inch square bar while my lunch heated up.  I may have indulged a second bar while I put lunch back in the microwave for 20 more seconds.  (Soon thereafter, I may have put half my lunch back in the fridge because I was too full to finish it.)  I did show some restraint and kept five bars for my kids to finish after school.  Stupid me, relying on my kids to take up my addiction.  They, instead, all went for leftover chocolate cake.  After their snack time, I may have devoured another bar or two.

I hadn't realized that I was setting up a reverse sting operation, but now I know that I have one child who shares my propensity.  When I casually strolled into the kitchen to check on the status of the stash, I discovered that one of the two last bars had disappeared.  I quickly recalculated who had eaten which treat for snack, and then I may have freaked out a bit.  I may have shrieked, "Who ate one of these peanut butter bars?!?!"  My piercing, mommy radar was answered with only silence and dread on the faces of my four daughters.  #5, however, took off running to hide.

Be careful my boy.  It's a slippery slope.

#NeverAgainIsNow

These books helped me start seeing
how communities look away
and thus allow violence.

When Kent and I were freshman in college and dating seriously, his brother and a friend decided to test my worthiness of Kent and their family through a series of interview questions.  The one question that shook my 19-year-old self was, "If you were a German in the 1930s and '40s, would you house and hide Jews?"  I had grown up learning in school about Anne Frank, Native American maltreatment, black history and oppression, and at church about persecution of the early Latter-day Saints.  I had always wondered how communities and nations got to the point of--and then got away with--persecuting and killing whomever belonged to those deemed the wrong demographic.  The friend who posed this question with my future brother-in-law had herself fled Poland as a young teenager and ended up homeless, trekking across the U.S.  The struggles of Eastern Europe were real for her, making the qusetion poignant for me.  Part of me wanted to shout, "Of course I would hide Jews.  That's the right thing to do!"  But the part of me that was planning a future marriage and family wondered if I would--or should--endanger them in such circumstances.  I didn't know what I would do.

I didn't realize until years later that such worries and fears, held by the masses, are the reason why Evil gets away with its atrocities.

Three weeks ago, our family took our annual service trip to Mexico.  During the drive, we listened to an audio book, Castaway Kid by R. B. Mitchell.  It is the author's story of his childhood in an American orphanage, and of finding God in young adulthood.  His  home life in the orphanage was very much like that of the children we serve in Mexico.  We (at A Child's Hope Foundation) partner with orphanages that operate as close to a family life as possible, sending kids to school, church activities, and teaching them to give back to their own communities through service.  Rob had these things in the American orphanage where he was raised.  Still, he struggled with hurt, anger, and rage throughout his childhood, trying to understand why his mother would abandon him there, but still visit occasionally, and why his extended family wouldn't take him in and raise him with their own children.  For me, listening to his experiences was a glimpse into what the children in the Mexican orphanages might struggle with.  A few of them are true orphans.  Most, however, are there due to neglect or abuse of some sort at home.  Their parents can come for visits, but they rarely release their parental rights, and because they never fix their own problems, the children are raised in the orphanages.

There is one group of five siblings in particular that my heart has become attached to.  They are really great kids, always positive, fun and affectionate when we are there.  One boy in particular, Santiago, has a dynamic personality.  I have watched him from a distance as he's grown from a fun-loving young boy to a sweet (but still cool) teen.  A few years ago, one of our work project volunteers fell in love with these five siblings and began the process to adopt them.  Because Mexico keeps almost all their adoptions in-country, she used her half-Mexican ancestry to gain Mexican citizenship so she could be these kids' mom.  When it came down to it, though, their own mother wouldn't relinquish the parental rights, and the adoption fell through.  The siblings were never told that someone was trying to adopt them, and so they'll likely never know that they could have stayed together, being raised by loving parents in Hawaii.  (The volunteer and her husband were able to successfully adopt two sisters from Nicaragua the next year.  They continue to send monthly financial assistance to Buena Vida Orphanage that is taking care of the kids they love.)

Santiago and #5 in 2011

Saying goodbye at the orphanage last month, I thought a lot about Santiago and whether his experiences parallel Mr. Mitchell's.  I started wondering if there is a way that Santiago could live with our family as a high school exchange student.  If he could learn English, that might put him in a position to secure a bright future.  As I thought about our family dynamics and whether we have the space in our house, creeping thoughts of concern came to mind: if he has hidden emotional or anger or other issues related to abandonment or abuse, will I be able to help him, since I don't even speak his language?  It feels like the same argument, on a smaller scale, that I fought within about the hypothetical situation to house Jews.  Do I put my own family at risk to help another?

I am mature enough now to recognize these concerns for what they are: fear.  Labeling fear for what it is, and knowing that "there is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear", I can put my heart back in the right place.   If an exchange program is possible, I will move forward to bring Santiago into our home for a school year--if that's what he wants too.

Graffiti identifying the family in this
Iraqui home as Christians.

Glenn Beck has recently raised the issue for me in a different way.  Last weekend, at the Restoring Unity event in Alabama, he promoted efforts to rescue Christian refugees in the Middle East.  Those Christian families have been marked for death as Followers of the Nazarene.  The violence being committed against these Christians make the Nazi gas chambers look humane.  I won't go into it here, but Glenn Beck has described the violence, and this unaffiliated blogger gave a fair and powerful look at what is happening and the #NeverAgainIsNow movement to rescue these families.

Vernon Brewer, president and founder
of World Help, displaying "nuun" in
solidarity with Nazarenes.

I haven't listened to Beck's show much over the summer, but I am continually impressed at the charity he promotes through Mercury One, the non-profit arm of his business.  They have helped immigrants who are suffering at our border, given aid in Nepal and other locations of natural disasters, and funded covert operations to rescue children from sex slavery.  I did tune in yesterday and caught the last few minutes of Glenn's monologue asking church congregations, neighborhoods, and individuals to donate toward the goal of $10M to bring 2,000 Christians away from the horrors of ISIS.  He is asking for families who can't give money  to consider whether they have space to house a refugee family.

As I listened and envisioned inviting another family to live with us, the same old little fears about what that would look like on a daily basis began to creep in.  Would they have mental health problems as a result of their suffering and loss?  Would one of their children need to cope with having been in a rape warehouse.  How would that affect my family?  But the words of our common Master keep coming back to me: "Perfect love casteth out fear."  So what can I do?

What I realized yesterday is that even if I can't bring a family into our home right now, I can give to Mercury One's Nazarene Fund right now.  This Sunday is the LDS Fast Sunday.  The first Sunday of each month is our family's opportunity to go without food for a day and donate to our Church the amount that we would have spent on the two skipped meals.  Our bishop uses the funds to give relief to our neighbors in need.  It is a day to give and to strengthen our spirits as we set aside the wants of our hunger in the interest of others.  About 15 years ago, Kent and I realized, with prompting from the Spirit, that we needed to give more than the cost of two meals on Fast Sundays.  We needed to give enough that it hurt a little, making our giving a true sacrifice.  As we've followed that direction ever since, God has taken our little sacrifice and returned blessings to us.

This month, my church will get less as I give part of our fast offering money to help my fellow Christians in the Middle East.  I wish I could buy one of the houses for sale in our neighborhood to give to a refugee family.  I would love to bring them here to this place of hope and neighborly kindness.   For now, though, my action for #NeverAgainIsNow (a call to remember the world's vow of "never again" at the conclusion of the Holocaust) is a simple monetary donation.  I encourage you to match or exceed my $100 donation to the Nazarene Fund, and to pray for those suffering at the hand of Evil.  For me, this is a step away from my thoughts of doubt and fear and towards love and goodness.

Second Day of School

I used to be one of those moms who took pictures of my kids on their first day of school, and who made teachers pose with my child when we met for parent-teacher conference.  I'd still like to have those photos, but life has sped up and the school years have blurred into summer and back into school.  We pick up our new school-year routines like we had a break for only a few days, and as I drop the kids off at their three schools, I realize another year has passed and I suddenly have a senior in high school.  How did this happen so quickly?!

I did manage to snap a picture this week of #s 4 and 5 as I dropped them off for school breakfast.  It's slightly better than the snapshot I remembered to take last minute as they hopped out of the van a year ago.

 

They look pretty much the same, right?  I can probably just take a picture every other year.

My Jr- and High-Schoolers have not been so cooperative with pics.  #2's BFF has been catching a ride with us this week, so I thought maybe I'd capture their second day of school photo together...until the following exchange took place.

First, some background.  (Actually, first a disclaimer.  #2 is not mentally ill.  She just had a bad couple of days.  We've all had a day like the following, right?)  So...#2 began her first day of school by staying up too late with friends the night before.  (She disputes that, but I think 10:45 is too late to be coming home on a school night.)  #2 woke the next morning with a head cold that aggravated her tired state.  After school, she took some 24-hr. cold medicine to reduce the congestion and suppress her headache.  That night, she got a bloody nose that didn't want to quit because the antihistamines made the blood clot slowly.  The nose and the lack of sleep combined to set off a highly emotional and distraught sophomore.  Her sobs became increasingly pathetic as she leaned over our master bathroom sink that night, holding a bag of frozen corn to the bridge of her nose, and letting the blood flow down the drain for nearly 20 minutes.  (I considered taking her to a clinic, but the all-knowing internet said not to take that step until after 20 to 30 minutes.  She clotted just in time!)  

#2, in tears at 10:30 p.m.:  I'm so tired!  I just want to go to bed.

Parents:  Your nose will stop bleeding soon, and then you can go to sleep.

#2, high-pitched and sobbing:  I can't go to sleep!  I still need to take a shower!

Parents:  You can shower in the morning.  You just need rest tonight.

#2, with a low-pitched wail:  My hair is a mess. [Pause for some gasping sobs.]  There is blood everywhere!  I need to take a show-ow-er tonight.

Mom, pulling #2's hair back into a couple of improvised ponytails:  There is no blood in your hair.  Just calm down.  Are you pinching your nose?

#2:  Yes, it won't stop!

Mom, feeling faint and nauseated watching all that blood run freely, turned the back rubbing over to Dad, who said:  [#2], I'm setting my timer for ten minutes.  The bleeding will probably take that long to stop.  It's going to feel like a long time, but it's only ten minutes.  You just have to wait for it to stop.

#2, still crying:  I'm so tired!

And so the conversation went.  When the bloody nose finally stopped around 10:45, #2 stood and looked at us miserably, with a wide path of red clinging from under her nose to down her chin: I need to take a shower tonight.  I didn't get one yet today.

Parents:  You need to get some sleep, and just take a shower in the morning.

After some resistance about not having enough time in the morning, and having blood on her pillow from when she originally tried to go to sleep (without a shower), we finally convinced her to just lay out some towels on her bed and get to sleep.

The next morning was the second day of school.  #2 was sad that I forgot to wake her up early, but she hopped in the shower nevertheless.  I was glad she had perked up.  (It was not to last long.)

#2, post shower, with 20 minutes until departure, approaching me in just her underwear:  I don't have anything to wear.

Me:  I just did laundry two days ago.  You have plenty of clothes.

#2:  My clothes weren't in the laundry.

Me:  I'm sorry to hear that.  You could check the basket of unclaimed clean clothes.

#2:  I did.  [Pausing to let her frown deepen.]  I have nothing to wear!

Feeling the mood returning, I walked away and heard #2 ask to wear her sister's clothes.

Me, two minutes to departure:  Two minutes everyone!  Grab your bags, get your shoes, get in the van!

#2:  I haven't done my makeup!

Me:  Just do it in the van.  We have to go.

#2, in the van, and putting on a brave face in front of her BFF:  I look horrible.  Look at my hair.  It's still wet.

Me:  You look just fine.

#2:  I didn't even have time to put in my contacts.  I can't find my deodorant.  Do you have any?

Me:  Not in the van, sorry.

#2, getting agitated:  It's so hot!  This shirt makes me extra sweaty, and I have no deodorant.  I'm going to stink all day!

Me, sensing that this might not be the best morning to ask her to pose for a second-day-of-school picture:  You'll be fine.  You're not going to stink.

#2, before crossing her arms in a silent huff:  I have dance first period.  I'm going to stink the rest of the day.

Me, a few minutes later, pulling up to the school:  Try to have a good day.   I love you.

#2, as she and her friend gather their things to climb out of the van:  Okay, love you.  [Pause.]  Wait!  Oh no!  Today is school picture day!!

I exchanged a concerned glance with #2's BFF, silently wishing her friend good luck with my distressed daughter.  She returned the glance with  a weak smile.  The last glimpse I had of poor #2 was her blotchy-red, tear-stained face as she turned to face a building full of teenagers.

The second day of school can be rough.  I guess the yearbook will be a painful reminder of that nine months from now.  Maybe we'll get a good pic for #2's junior year!

Update: Clearly, I was wrong.  #2 brought home her school portrait package for me to preview.  No blood, sweat, or tears!

My Gifted Girls...Part 2

When I was little, my mom had a pocket-sized photo album.  Each page was a plastic sleeve that would fit a square Polaroid picture.  We didn't have a Polaroid camera, so she gave the little book to me to keep my drawings.  True to the '70s, it had an avocado-green cover with a floral design stamped in gold surrounding the title, "Mom's Brag Book".  As a child, I couldn't understand why my mom would have owned a book about bragging when she often told me not to brag or tattle.  Thirty-ish years later, I have my pocket-sized device, in a green protective case, which I can whip out at any point to brag about my children.  The younger ones, especially, fill my photo app with selfies--so I don't always know what I'm going to pull up when someone asks to see a picture of my kids.  Often we will find something like the following left by #3 or #4.

Yes, #4 is inspired by several YouTubers, but especially Miranda Sings.  If you haven't seen a Miranda video before, I can predict that your reaction will be along the lines of wondering why you just wasted 2 minutes and 24 seconds of your life, and then you'll watch another, and another, picking up more chuckles as you go.  #4 has seen this magic work in her own life, and now spreads the love by doing Miranda imitations quite frequently.  Like her older sister and younger brother (and Miranda), #4 has also started a YouTube channel.

Working on a video.  I guess this is her thinking cap?

During the summer, my children get to add one hour of education time to their Monday-Friday routines.  They can study whatever interests them.  #4 spends much of her education time learning how to film, edit, and upload videos.  She has figured out how to add graphics and links and audio--she quickly passed my YouTubing abilities.  (It's pretty awesome when your 11-yr-old is smarter than you at something!)  She is so super excited every time someone subscribes to her channel, especially strangers--so go tell your friends to check her out.  If you're friend or family, maybe subscribe under someone else's name.  (Just kidding.  She'll accept your subscription too.  She just won't be super excited about it.)

#4 sometimes uses her hour of education to practice violin.  She started learning this instrument in an after-school strings group two years ago.  She is the only child I know who will go practice because she simply enjoys it.  I never have to ask her to practice, but I often hear the music coming from her bedroom, or even the front porch.  I, of course, think she has a natural gift for the violin, and I'm trying to convince her to take private lessons so she can advance as quickly as she likes.

    

Each school year and summer, the kids also get to choose an extracurricular activity to try out.  Throughout fifth grade, while she was in her strings group, #4 was adamant that her summertime activity would be gymnastics instead of violin.  When it came down to picking a class at the dance studio, she went with contemporary dance instead.  As part of her tween contrary phase, she finds something to complain about her dance class each week, but I think she actually enjoys going.  She drops comments about her friends at dance (they don't want her to cut her hair), and she sometimes will show a few steps from a combination they've learned (provided I haven't already asked to see it).  I still hope she'll accept private violin lessons, but I am proud of her for expanding her interests and making some friends in the process.

#4 is also my crafter.  When I enter our home office/craft room and find a mess of used paintbrushes, or cut-up scrapbook paper, or a cooling glue gun left beside a bedazzled Popsicle-stick structure, I know #4 has been at work.  She spends her own money buying nail art applicators and patterned duct tape.  It's fun to see her creations decorating her bedroom and school locker.

#4 chose paint-your-own ceramics for her birthday date this year.

One of my favorite things about #4 is that she is funny even when she's not trying to be.  She often surprises us with a gesture or phrase that seems too old for her--too old for most generations--and so we laugh.  For example, she is the only elementary-aged child that I've ever seen become a knee slapper.  She doesn't do it often now, but for awhile, when she had a good laugh about something, #4 would throw back her head, raise her hand in the air, and bring it down slowly to tap it on her knee while she sucked in air laughing.  It's sad to see her outgrow that one.  Her new one is to raise her shoulders to her ears, give a little jump, and squeak, "Eek!" when something slightly scares her.  Really!  Do you know any other 11-yr-olds using "Eek!" these days?

Omelets at the hospital.  Provo people, you should look into this.

#3 is #4's greatest competition for humor.  While #4 often asks, "Today, which of the children you've given birth to is your favorite?", #3 asserts, "I'm the funny one in the family again, right?"  Luckily for them--and for the rest of us--we have room for several comedians in our family.  #3 likes to go with the weird factor, and often physical comedy comes into the mix.

              

#3 also likes to dance, but this past year she focused on flexibility, with the goal of being able to do the splits.  Her weekly class paid off.  This summer she is also taking a hip hop class on the Thursdays that she's not traveling--I think she's been to class thrice, maybe.  In her eleven weeks away from school, she will spend seven of them away from home.  From riding horses and four-wheelers in Canada to camping with the Young Women to working on a farm in Idaho to painting orphanages in Mexico, she will have a lot to tell her friends about her summer vacation.

She acts like that doesn't hurt!

Kayaking at camp

#3 is not a YouTuber like her siblings.  However, she is the only one of them to earn money from her video work.  Last year, at the age of 12, she filmed and edited a 2-min. feature film for Provo's Freedom Festival video contest: They Came to America.  The contest's organizers never pronounced a 2014 winner, so she entered the same video in this year's contest...and she won  first place!  In addition to the $350 cash prize, she also got a chance to ride in the Grand Parade on the Fourth of July.  Between rides with Pappy (when he was a Utah County Commissioner), and multiple wins in the festivals' contests, we have a nice series of photos of #3 in the parade.

Age 4.  (All my kiddos wore homemade firecracker hats that year.)

Age 10 as the elementary winner of the essay contest.  (She's the arm sticking up.)

Age 13, back of the truck, as the jr. winner of the video contest.  (Arm and body this time!)

For her education this summer, #3 is working through a math textbook so she can skip a math level.  Math has always come easily to her, as do most subjects in school.  Here's a story for contrast:  Last year, #4 put hours of work into her science fair experiment, starting months before it was due and finishing her display ahead of the due date.  She made it past her grade science fair, but didn't advance out of the school fair.  Then there's #3.  For her sixth-grade science fair project, she started working on her experiment the afternoon before the due date.  She did all the testing in a couple hours.  Right before I went to bed that evening, while #3 was just starting her display board, I emailed her teacher telling her that #3 had finally done herself in.  I asked the teacher to not go easy on #3 if she came to school with a sob story about not having enough time or materials or whatever to finish the assignment.  I wanted #3 to learn a lesson about procrastination and the value of work versus relying on talent, and I figured sixth grade was a safe place to learn that painful lesson.  I happened to be one of two judges for her class' projects the next day, so when I sat down with the other mom to question the students and award points on the judging rubric, I realized that despite her last-minute efforts, #3 still had one of the best projects in her class.  The teacher also realized this.  #3 did a great job...and took her last-minute project all the way to the state science fair.  Last year (7th grade) she was sick on the day of class judging, but her teacher advanced her to the school science fair based just on the display board...and she took first place.  Math and science and even robotics come easily to her.  However, her passion is developing in the arts.

Testing robots they designed, built, and programmed.

A sketch

A self-portrait of sorts

A cell phone cover design

#3 took a required art class at school this year, and did some really good work.  She hasn't shaken her procrastination or slow pacing, but her art teacher was happy to stay after school while Andrya finished up assignments.  At the end of the year, her teacher invited #3 to join a somewhat exclusive, after-school art club for 2015-16, which #3 is eagerly anticipating.  Seventh grade also let #3 branch into auditioning with the school choir, paying her own fees to join an after-school dance club, and twice-per-week guitar lessons from a classmate.  Another teacher has asked her to help start a ballroom dance group at the school next year.  #3 also found literary success in the class where she struggled for A's last year.  Her procrastination finally caught up to her, but it didn't bother her because she knew she was a good writer.  She would often get this type of comment from her English teacher:  "B- for turning in late.  This is excellent writing.  You are one of my top three student writers ever."  That comment came in response to an assignment to write three versions of the same story.  #3 went beyond the requisite one page and basically wrote the beginning of a good novel.  The reason that #3 procrastinates is that she is very detail oriented, tending toward perfectionism.  It may lead to missed deadlines and poor grades, but she eventually turns out excellent work in whatever she puts her mind to.  Now I have to admit that procrastination and talent are serving her well.

#3 is our only child who has tried out less-conservative fashion trends, such as wearing an ear cuff connected by a chain to an earring stud, or dying her hair unnatural colors.  She plans her summer hair color for months as the school year winds down.  Last summer it was pink.  This summer she got a bleached blonde melt with a blue dye melt added at the ends of her long hair.  It reminds me of a mermaid, but it does look pretty cool.  #3 is a sweet, creative, smart, easy-going and hard-working girl--and she might be the funniest in the family.

It is fun to see both these girls develop so many interests and grow into their personalities.  They bring much joy and laughter to our home.  Writing this has made me realize how quickly they are growing up.  I am glad to have chosen motherhood so I can watch their transformation as the amazing young women that they are.

Sister workout: abs and flabs

Presenting My Girls...Part 1

I meant to follow my February post about the boys with some timely posts about my girls.  I do still have four fabulous daughters, and I'm finally taking the time to brag about them.  This post will be about the high schoolers, followed quickly (I hope) with another about the younger two.

#1 is nearly 17, and in many ways she is ready for adulthood.  She found herself a job last fall, which she worked through the school year and continues this summer.  She has been a great asset at Mooyah's and is frequently scheduled for the busiest shifts.  But she knows a minimum-wage job at a burger joint is only a stepping stone, and she is working to develop a network that will help her discover and develop her passions.  Last week she attended the Illuminate Women's Summit, attended by businesswomen from around Utah, and she made quite a few contacts and met a few potential mentors.

It would be really great if she also found a driver's ed mentor (ie. instructor), because two years after receiving her learner's permit (which she has had to renew), she is an adept, unlicensed driver.  The problem is her pesky high school and friends who keep her so engaged in other, more-interesting activities, that driver's ed class takes a back seat.  (Ha!)  Luckily, she earns school credit for her online PE course by riding her bike to work and back, and her great friends don't seem to mind driving her most places because she brings the party with her.



We are grateful that #1 has surrounded herself with good people.  It was a little strange to send her off to prom this past spring.  How did our baby get old enough to make flirty faces with a boy?!  I do think that her friends have brought out an even happier version of the girl we already loved.  She is a lot of fun with her siblings, as a result, too.  She wouldn't want them tagging along, of course, but she likes to joke with them and hug them and do nice things for them on those rare occasions when she is home and not sleeping.

#1 as Pozzo in "Waiting for Godot".
PHS Fall 2014 production.

Poster sketch by #1

As she enters her senior year of high school, we expect that #1 will continue to develop her love for acting, choir, and learning.  In her own time, she is training her skill in calligraphy and graphic design, and has completed several hand-drawn posters and other projects for those who recognize her gift.  She hopes to spend some of her class time as an intern at a local marketing firm, and has spent many hours putting together a resume.  She is keeping her options open with regards to life after high school, with plans to maybe travel, maybe attend college before serving an LDS mission (she would jump at the chance to attend BYU-Hawaii), or maybe pursue some business opportunities.  All of those options are within reach, and we keep telling her that no life path is set forever.  Just figure out what you want to do for the next three to five to ten years, and then feel free to reevaluate.

Fortunately for #2, the next three years are pretty easy to figure out.  As she enters her sophomore year, she is looking forward to more fun with choir and new fun with the school's audition D-Fusion dance team.  (It's essentially the junior varsity version of dance team.)

Left: #2 and #1 following their PHS Spring 2015 Choir Concert.  #2 was in Bella Voce women's choir; #1 was in co-ed Concert Choir.
Right: #2 following the PHS Spring 2015 Dance Concert.


These sisters ran a formal dress rental business last year, which they have now decided to liquidate.  But that business was a springboard to other opportunities.  #2 has spent several months developing her YouTube channel, which is all about makeup advice and instruction.  It's pretty great to be able to ask my 15-yr-old what concealer I should get, and she considers my price point, skin tone, and purpose before making a recommendation.  Prom was a good day for her, too, as it meant that she got to help her sister and friends get made up for the dance.

People don't just ask her for makeup advice, though.  #2 is probably the best babysitter around.  Children love her, she has unending patience and good disciplining techniques, and she strives to improve the homes of the parents who hire her--ie. she'll have the kids picking up while she cleans the kitchen.  (I wish I could have hired her to babysit herself ten years ago!)  Last school year, at the ripe age of 14, she took on a weekly babysitting job for four young children, which has turned into a daily job this summer.  Even when she's not with the children, helping them through homework and housework and playing and hugging, she is home baking their favorite treats and telling me all about how difficult one child was today, or how cute another is every day.  She is a good little mother for six hours each day, and she always looks forward to the next.  Next summer, when she has her driver's license, she can be a nanny in the full sense of the job, and she will rock it!

Spending time with two of her charges at their mother's recent wedding.

Bri putting her life on the line with #2.

Speaking of driving, #2's learner's permit is now the bane of my existence.  She will quickly finish any chore or accept any errand if only we will take her out on the road.  Unfortunately for me--and according to her--she is only a bad driver when I'm in the passenger seat.  Two nights ago, our family had the rare opportunity to eat with all seven of us at home, and the girls all let me know (including the two who don't drive!) how stressful it is to have me as the chaperoning driver.  Luckily for #2, her adopted aunt Bri and her real uncle Jacob and biological dad Kent and a host of other adults are willing to sit back and enjoy the ride with her at the wheel.  I guess they just don't care for their own safety as much as I like mine.

#2 is generous and loving and funny and a good friend to others.  I'm pretty sure she reached adulthood a year ago, so it's too bad that she has to wait three more years to have that legally recognized.  She talks about being emancipated and getting her own place (maybe with a roommate).  If she can learn to manage a budget and save some of her earnings, she'll do just fine on her own.  I expect, though, that being on her own will mean living with a family as their full-time nanny and traveling with them to interesting places around the globe.

When #2 ordered pizza asking herself to prom.  (She said no.)

A couple months ago, Kent led a Family Home Evening discussion about the expenses of adulthood.  We broke down for the children the costs of housing, transportation, eating, and socializing.  They saw that survival is possible on minimum wage, but education and quality of life really aren't.  We wrapped up the lesson by stating our clear expectation that by September 1 following their 18th birthday, each of our children will be out of the house and supporting her-or-himself.  So far, the first two don't seem to want to wait that long, so we will enjoy every minute of the remainder of their childhoods as they become adults that we like and love and respect.  We love these girls!

Cleaning the cheesecake off parents' plates after the
PHS Choirs Radio Show and dinner, December 2014

This One's For the Boys

The boys in our family are a little outnumbered.  With the female hormones that were going crazy a couple weeks ago, I was afraid the other five of us might scare Hubby and #5 away for good.  But they love us, and now they get props for sticking it out.

 #5 is in an interesting phase where he idolizes his father, tries to be like his father, but is also developing his individual personality.  He likes to run, and talk, and pop his pecs like his dad.  He is comfortable being the center of attention and wearing his heart on his sleeve.  For many years I've been grateful for the truth in the African proverb that says "It takes a village to raise a child."  A few weeks ago in Church, I saw the fruits of that a little bit.  Every first Sunday, the congregation holds a testimony meeting where anyone is welcome to come to the microphone and share their testimony of Jesus Christ, which usually accompanies a personal story.  We've taught our children to wait until the age of eight to share their testimony at the stand.  That was the highlight of #5's last birthday.  Just about every month now, he waits impatiently for the sacrament to be put away so he can go to the front and share his thoughts.  It is incredible to listen to him share a different impromptu message every month, and to see how comfortable he is in front of his ward family.  This last meeting, he testified of the power of fasting and prayer as he saw our ward's combined faith heal his friend's legs.  His friend had experienced complication with a virus that resulted in his legs being paralyzed.  A month later, #5 was up at the microphone telling everyone that he know fasting and praying work because he and his friend were out playing Ghosts in the Graveyard just two nights previously.  #5 looked over at his friend, gave him a wink and a thumbs up, and said, "Right Adren?"  His testimony was so sincere and so funny and so HIM that I wiped away the tears that gushed out as I stifled my laughter.  That kid cracks me up!

Sure, I'm a biased mother, but it seems the rest of his peers also find him quite likable.  Recently, his school held a vote in each grade to select royalty for the elementary school's Family Valentine Dance.  The children were told to vote for the boy and the girl who were the best leaders.  I guess they all recognize #5's friendliness and integrity, too, because #5 was crowned the Third Grade Prince.  He was pretty happy about it, but the title didn't go to his head.  We left the dance a bit early to grab a late dinner.  When #5 left his crown on a table at the burger place to go climb on the indoor playground, another child found the crown and claimed it.  #5 was just happy that the other kid liked it, so he let the younger boy keep it.  He has a very sweet heart.

Speaking of sweethearts, I'm pretty thankful for my own companion.  Most of our marriage has been good.  In the last two years, though, I've fallen more in love with Kent.  He likes to say that he finally reached adulthood at the age of 37.  As he turns 39 this week, I can attest that he's grown a lot recently as he discovered his purpose and has found ways to bring it about.  Kent's purpose is to give validation through valediction.  He wants people to know they are valuable, and why they are.  He wants all people to look for the good in others and express it while we can.  Kent spent the last three months writing a paper (which turned into a book) about the past four years of his life.  He wrote about the depression he's been through, the difficulties of being an entrepreneur, and the risk of trusting others.  He wrote about God showing up when Kent needed Him most, about receiving inspiration to make changes in his daily habits, and about creating a career that he finds fulfilling.  (If you want to read this 100-page book, he is excited to share it with you.  Just leave a comment and we'll figure out how to get it to you.)

I am lucky to be the one at his side as he's progressed through the changes in his life.  I love seeing the positive influence he is on others.  I am utterly grateful to go through the challenge of parenting with him.  He balances me out in our dealings with our children.  Plus, I think he's getting better looking with age, and I like to be the one on his arm.  Kent and I met 22 years ago, and I thank God often for bringing us together. I'm a lucky girl.

Happy Birthday Kent!