what are YOU thankful for?

I loved this when I saw it. It made me grateful to be human. I love people so much and this is why.

Today, to kick off gratitude week, pray tell, what are you thankful for?

If I Had Known...

Piper and Crayton are too heavy for me to carry from the car anymore. It used to be that the Sunday night routine was that we would get home and each of us would carry a sleeping pair of kids from the car one by one. It felt like it took forever to carry them in, tuck them in, get them a drink, and help them into their pajamas. We wouldn’t dream of waking them gently and sending them to their rooms. They were so sleepy. So little. Now, even though I still hate waking them up there isn’t another option. They are too big. What really bothers me though is this; I can’t remember the last time I carried them in from the car or picked them up when they were crying or just needed a love. I wish it wouldn’t have happened gradually. I wish I would have known that the last time I carried Piper to her bed from the car was the last time. I think I would have savored it a little bit longer. I wish that the last time I thought to myself “you’re getting too big for this baby boy” as I struggled with each step to get Crayton safely to bed, I would have known that I meant it and it was the last. I think that if I had known that the last time that one of them was having a hard time and they needed a special hug; the kind when I pick them up and they lay their head on my shoulder and I sway back and forth and kiss their sweet little heads and cheeks, if I had known that those would end I would have done them more. I certainly would have made sure that they were swayed a little longer and that I squeezed a little harder and that I would have whispered one more ‘I love you.’ They still get a million whispered ‘I love you’s. They still get special hugs and kisses on their heads and cheeks; but it isn’t off the ground anymore. Now they have to stay planted so that they don’t lose their footing in this life. I can’t stand on the ground for them anymore. And sway them to peace. I know that I still have my role as their safe place but they can’t feel weightless in my arms anymore. They’re too big.

The last time I was in Utah I was talking to my uncle Gary. He said something to me that I will never forget. We were talking while lots of kids played noisily around our feet. One of them was his granddaughter, a few of them friends, a couple of cousins, and the rest were mine. He stopped our conversation and said “you know, Nat, this is what it’s all about”, as he nodded towards the chaos at our feet. “I have been to some pretty cool places. I’ve seen some really cool things. I’ve done some really cool stuff, but this, right here, is what it is all about.” He told me that we spend so much time when they are little trying to prove ourselves in this world and make a life for them that we forget to slow down and take in the chaos at our feet. He’s right. And I do wish that I would have known that the last time I carried them in from the car was the last, but I do know this: the chaos that is always at my feet is something to be treasured. Someday I am going to look back and think to myself, ‘I wish I would have known that that would be the last time there was chaos at my feet.’ I hope that when it happens I feel satisfied that I breathed it in at least once every day. That I did take the time to savor it. I know myself too well to say that the chaos at my feet won’t bother me sometimes. It will, inevitably, drive me crazy sometimes. Sometimes I will shout ‘I’m in my room! I’m taking a mommy minute! If anyone so much as looks at that door knob I am going to scream my head off!” But I hope that when that happens they will know that I love them more than words. That I would stop everything to give them a hug. That even though I can’t pick them up anymore, I really want to. Because I really do. I really would. I may not have known that the last snuggle in from the car was the last but I am grateful that I do know that this is what it’s all about. The chaos at my feet.

And The Best Supporting Actress in a Drama goes to...

Me.

(Not Kate Winslet, but didn't she win the award multiple times before ever being appreciated for the talented actress she was? It's symbolic.)

I wrote an acceptance speech, trying to find humor in this situation, but it turned into something I swore would never be on this blog: a husband bash. So I deleted it. So instead I will say that sometimes being the supportive role in the play is really, really underrated and under appreciated.

On a lighter note, I got to go to the dentist today and be praised multiple times for being such a great patient. It was the highlight of my day. My week. Four injections, moderate jaw pain and nearly $300 later I walked out of there feeling like a million bucks. Compliments, great conversation (until the shots kicked in and I began to drool and feel like my nose was running), a comfortable chair to lay down in, and someone to suction my saliva. And then It was back to reality. Oh well...it was good while it lasted. Maybe I'll go back next week. I have a filling that could be re-done...



Alright, my sweet escape to blog land must come to an end. It’s 5:20 and dinner hasn’t even crossed my mind and from the sound of things from downstairs my kids just may have killed each other while I have been writing this (10 minutes). I had better go see who is left standing. Whoever it is, is in charge of dishes tonight.

She's Just At That Age

I know that it may seem that all of my posts are Lennon inspired. She is not my favorite child. I love them all the same. Crayton and Piper still say funny things. They are beginning to have opinions about being featured on this blog, and so it is, I refrain from posting them very often. For my journal recording purposes I have to document the following funnies about Lennon and Crue.

While getting ready for her Halloween party at school:

Lennon: Being a cheater-leader is really fun mama. But what I really wish that I could be for Halloween is an abomination.

Mom: Oh! What is an abomination, Bops?

Lennon: I don't know. But it sounds like it would be a really fun costume.

Mom: Maybe next year.

Last Sunday While Driving To Aunt 'Lorla's':

Lennon: Oh! I love hims so much and just want to marry him! (said with longing)

Mom: Who?

Lennon: Shadders.

Mom: Oh, maybe when you are 27.

15 minutes later :

Lennon: Oh! My heart is burning with love and passion!

Mom: (Snapping out of her zone where she hears nothing but her own thoughts while she is driving even though it sounds like there are 53 kids in the back seat.) What did you just say?

Lennon: I said that my heart is burning with love and passion.

Mom: Um...why did you say that?

Lennon: Because it is. For Shadders.

Mom: (offers up this silent prayer). Please, I beg of You, let her channel her burning love and passions in a positive and productive ways. Please bless that they are in no way, shape or form, related to boys until she is done with college. Please bless that sometime in the near future the Mormon church begins a 'nun in training' program. I know that it doesn't exactly jive with the teachings but, Father, just this once? Amen.

Now on To Crue:

Nap time has been special lately. Crue has taken to fighting his naps. Bedtime also. He has also decided that the risk of injury is not as risky as falling asleep and therefore takes flying leaps out of his bed daily. Last week he fought and fought and fought to stay out of bed. I thought he was asleep and began putting away laundry in my closet. When I looked down and saw the poutiest little face i have ever seen.

Mom: What are you doing out of your bed? It's nap time, buddy, and you should be asleep.

Crue: I am too sad to take a nap. My fadda (father) died. (Bigger pouty lip)

Mom: Your father died?

Crue: Ya... my fadda died and my tummy is hungee (hungry) for dinna (dinner) and so i need a hot gog (dog). Really bad.

Mom: Okay. That is funny enough that you can stay up from your nap. You win.

Later That Night:

Crayton was assigned the task of showering Crue before bed. (Crue could shower 15 times a day and still always look like he doesn't have a home and is forced to make his way in this life by dumpster diving. We try.)

Crue: Bubba, I can't take a show-a (shower). My fadda passed away and i'm too sad.

(Pouty lip, head hung low, which is even cuter when he is dressed up like a little cupid.)

I was a little worried when he kept on talking about his father dying. Ryan was out of town, with no cell phone service. I am happy to report that our 24 day separation from one another is over. I couldn't be happier. Once he shaved, I loved him even more. I didn't think it was possible.

Cole Boy, Coco, Buddy

Happy Birthday!!!

To the best brother i have ever had, who truly understands the unique set of challenges that triangular nostrils present.

Hope your birthday was the best. I love you buddy!

The Harwards: Part Two. (and if you'll notice my follow through)

Then there is Kristen. Kristen has always held a very special spot in Brandi’s heart, really in everyone’s heart but I remember thinking when I was younger that I wished Brandi would be as nice to me as she was to Kristen. Kristen is the little engine that could, can, will and does. She is the baby of eight. She is a little unsteady in her speech and on her feet. Almost every time I ever saw Kristen when we were younger she had a cut or scrape or scar of some kind or another from another accident. She never stopped or slowed down though. She could hold her own in a disagreement and was fiercely protected by her siblings, when she wasn’t being fiercely teased by them. Kristen got the easy crier gene and is tender to her core. Kristen is awe inspiring in and of herself just for the way she lives her life. She has been for as long as I have known her, and I’m sure even longer. Kristen has defied odds and is making it all on her own with a hubby and two babies in tow. On my list of things that will make me happiest in the millennial world is the thought of Kristen with her body whole, unscarred, and able to effortlessly and gracefully do all that she can’t do on this earth without a great deal of effort and compromise. It will be a beautiful thing. When I think of her I see a dignified woman now, full of strength. I know now why Brandi was nicer to her than to me. She deserved it more than most. Finally on my influential sibling list (and the one I intended to tell you about) comes Amy. Amy was my sister’s age. A LOT older than me. (Not really, but it seemed that way when we were younger) Brandi was not a happy camper in Arizona. She wanted to be back in Utah. Amy was a good friend to my sister and loved her for exactly who she was. With Amy, Brandi was silly and funny. They went on cool dates with cool guys and wore cool clothes from Gap. Amy was beyond highly intelligent. She was my intellectual all-star role model. She was fiery, confident, tall, naturally beautiful, and brutally honest. All of these factors lead up to one conclusion for me: intimidating. Awe inspiringly intimidating. Amy graduated from high school and went away to school. I remember Amy’s milestones well. Her wedding invitation arrived in the mail. I was excited for her and based on what her mom said, she had herself quite a catch. I wondered if he could tame her. Not change her but soften her abrupt ways. I remember next a family Christmas letter and photo of Amy and Damon and their little baby. Amy was now a mother. I remember sitting in the family room staring at that picture and feeling really overwhelmed when I looked at her hands. I know it sounds weird, but she was changed. It was her hands. They were now a mother’s hands and it suited her beautifully. I thought a lot about why that mattered to me so much. I don’t remember up to that point caring about any one else’s hands except mine because I thought they were manly, and Christ’s, for obvious reasons. From that year on, I have looked forward to going over to my mom’s house around Christmas time and reading Amy’s clever Christmas letters archiving what they were up to that year.

Then one day when Amy left a comment on my blog. I didn’t even have to wait until Christmas to peek in and see her life. I admit I was excited. But again, intimidated because my intellectual all-star, and self proclaimed super speller, was reading my blog. The blog where I once spelled ‘bowl’ ‘bowel’. My blog, where the rules of punctuation are my own, and my grammar is subjective. Whatever that means.

Shortly after I started reading her blog I realized quickly that she had set a goal for herself to blog every single day. Every. Single. Day. No. Matter. What. She was in the hospital for surgery. Still blogging. Pregnant and very sick. Still blogging. On family vacation. Still blogging. I began then to wonder what it was about her that made it so that she had the stick-to-itiveness that I can only dream of. I began to be further inspired by her. I could tell from reading her blog that she was still Amy. Softened, yet confident. Sarcastic, yet sensitive. Bold, yet buxom. (Just kidding. I was just seeing if you were paying attention and alliteration seemed appropriate. She’s not buxom.) Amy was still Amy. Amy was still amazing. It caused me much contemplation about why I hesitate to say some of the things I really feel. Like deep down feel. On her blog she has been completely open about her longing for her family to be closer. She has been open to admit that she gets cranky because being a mother of many, herself, is hard sometimes. I have questioned my lessons I learned with Brooke all those many years ago. Where I learned I had talents. Some worth sharing. Where I admitted that fact, if only to myself. Amy can still say things exactly as she sees them and Amy still has friends. Could that happen to me? Could I start that? And if I did, could I relinquish the fear of being judged for my openness? Could I uplift? Could I inspire? I’m still wondering. I know that Amy can do it though.

A few weeks ago, Amy was happily awaiting the arrival of her baby boy to be born in December. She was gearing up for her scrap booking convention. She was wrapping up her Christmas shopping, and starting to feel the drain and excitement of the third trimester. Then Amy’s world changed. I will let her tell the rest of her story.

While Amy’s world has changed and her story has deepened, I realize that Amy hasn’t changed. The core of her is still the same. Strong. Admirable. Enduring. Happy. Honest. Real. Really, really real. I have had many days of wondering what I would do if I were in her situation. I really don’t know. What I do know is that I would like to conduct myself with such grace, honesty, dignity, and love as she has. Not just in times of crisis. I don’t think that Amy just started this habit of being amazing. She just is. She always has been. She always will be. It’s who she is. She is honoring that. I am grateful because it makes me see that I can do it too. Maybe never with her boldness. But I can be stronger. I can be better. I can be a better Blogger. I can be a better mom. I can be a more loving wife. I can be a more consistent example of truth. In even the hardest of situations.

It has been said “the loveliest women ever known had a glow of health, a warm personality, a love of learning, stability of character, and integrity. If we may add the sweet and gentle Spirit of the Lord carried by such a woman, then this describes the loveliness of women in any age or time…” That says it all. That is Amy.

I’m glad she was friends with my sister. I’m glad that she reads my blog. I am glad that I get to peek in on her daily and be strengthened by her example. I am praying for your continued peace, Amy.

The Harwards: Part One

When I moved to Arizona from Utah I was 11 or 12. We moved into a ward that was probably one of the most amazing forces of good that Heavenly Father had on earth in
1989. In that ward there was a family. The mom was a cookbook writer, crafter, dynamic teacher, easy crier, great conversationalist, young women’s president, wife, and mother to many. One of my favorite memories of her is a funny one. She was driving me somewhere. They had a beater of a car. The vibration in the back seat was like a pedicure chair on steroids. It turned out to be quite the massage. The volume in that little car was comparable to a jet. While driving down a busy street, the steering wheel came off in her hands. Right off. I was terrified. She wasn't even phased. She calmly put it back on as if it was no big deal. The other passengers in the car were also unaffected by the fact that we almost died. That still makes me laugh and I would love to know what ever happened to that little maroon car. My very favorite memory of her, though, was at girl’s camp. I was only 12 or 13 at the time. We had just finished testimony meeting. I saw her standing under a pine tree and longed to hug her with all of my might. And so I did. She in turn, held me with all of a mother’s love. In that moment, I loved her so much that it hurt. Probably because she served me with such selflessness. That is still one of my favorite hugs I have ever received.

This mother of many had children that have also influenced my life. I will touch on a few of them in no particular order. Matt was my Sunday school teacher. He entertained and maybe even appreciated my curiosity. With him, it felt more comfortable to ask all of the questions I have ever wanted to ask about doctrine than it has ever felt before. I looked forward all week to him teaching me. I knew that it was a privilege to have him teach me for a season and I soaked it up until he got married and moved on. Inspiring teacher.

Next came Pepper. Pepper was my friend. He was obnoxious, like most teenage boys are (but more-so). But he was my friend through thick and thin. I was shy and backward, he was not. I always wondered what kept him reaching out to me for friendship because I was slow to open up and when I did, it was fairly short lived. Silliness wasn’t my strong suit. It was his. I was much too serious for my own good. He had a hollow chest cavity and would fill it with cereal and milk. Built in bowl. He had the worst singing voice you could ever imagine, yet he belted out ANYTHING the karaoke machine threw his way, especially Garth Brooks, Callin’ Baton Rouge. He spent hours entertaining our entire family. He was a good friend. In large part, because of him always being willing to include me, I have so many great experiences and fond memories of adolescence.

Then there was Brooke. She was a little bit younger than me. She was a lot like her mom; A great conversationalist, talent oozing from her being, easy crier and devoted friend. Brooke could sing, cook, and sew. She was smart, cute and ever the little sister to her obnoxious, spot light stealing brother whom I just mentioned. One of my most stand-out memories of Brooke turned into a life lesson for me. I was in the hall in the church. It was a mutual night and we had just wrapped up an activity. Brooke was talking to Amye Godfrey. I don’t remember exactly what they were talking when I joined the conversation, but I remember that I paid Brooke a compliment. I believe it went something like this: “Brooke, you are amazing. You are so talented. I wish that I had a tiny portion of your talents.”

Brooke replied: “You are talented. You do a really good job on your make up.”

The only problem was that I didn’t wear any make up besides mascara. I wanted to cry. Not because Brooke hurt my feelings but because I wanted to be more than that. I wanted to be a girl that had real talent: The kind that could yield an outstanding vocal performance, a beautiful meal, or a work of art in any medium, on command. One that could win the game, lead the debate or play the lead. Those talents were not me. I was not those talents. Fantastic mascara application was not on my list of desired skills and abilities. After that conversation, I had an epiphany. I don’t remember how it came or where or when but I do know that I gained an acceptance that my talents are different. I am gifted with the talent of being kind. I am gifted with the ability to be peaceful. I have the talent of seeing and creating beauty where beauty was not to be seen in people and in spaces. I came to the realization after that conversation that while I would love to have obvious talent, I am not void of unique talents. They are different than most conventional talents but they are mine, and I’ll take them. It has been a continuous effort to be at ease with the talents I have and continue to develop. But I often think back to that time with Brooke when a simple conversation in the hall helped me learn to be okay with me.

P.S. I have since learned that excellent mascara application is a gift as well. Brooke was right all along.

*My brain has shut down from exhaustion, so this post is going to be two parts. come back tomorrow to meet the final two inspiring siblings (including the only one i originally sat down to write about) (i have a problem staying on task) (and also finishing what i start) (i think i am on the brink of a break through and that could all change tomorrow). The lessons that i have learned from her this year are life changing.