"Brace" Yourself for a Heck of a Week!

This has been one heck of a week. Ups and downs. And more downs.

First off, here's Em with her new braces. She was really excited for them-- she thought they'd be cool. As a former brace-face, I tried to warn her that all that tooth-bling is actually quite painful, but, like most things, that's something you find out the hard way, I guess.

She didn't think they were so awesome the next morning.

Here's the kids at Zoo Lights. This was a blast-- Hogle Zoo really does a pretty good light show. We had a lot of fun-- except for the 10 minutes or so when we lost Michael and Payton. Mom's second worst nightmare.
Here's a picture from our Temple Square jaunt. Anyone notice less and less lights there every year?

So for the mom's first worst nightmare. Yesterday was a hectic up-and-down day all by itself, but by the end of the night, we had everything all ready for a fun day today. Layne and I finally got to bed about 11:00 or so and were watching a show about 9/11. As I was watching, I was thinking about all of those poor people and how when they woke up, they had no idea what was in store.

Thinking thoughts like that never goes well for me. Just then, Mike walked into my room and said that phrase we all dread,

"Mom, I barfed."

Man, did he. And he kept puking every 15 minutes or so all night. Essentially, for the second time in a month, Layne and I stayed up the entire night, although I'd take Black Friday a hundred times over a night of puking kid.

Needless to say, our traditional plans of going to see the Mormon Tabernacle Choir performance and to Little America for brunch went out the window. Layne took the two non-sick kids and I stayed home with Michael.

He wasn't feeling so bad at first, so we actually had an enjoyable morning reading Christmas stories.

That is, of course, until he stood up, passed out, then went stiff and started to shake. Emergency room, here we come. (Why is that always on a Sunday?)

He was severely dehydrated and they had to put in an i.v. to get him some fluids and anti-nausea meds. They also did a scan to rule out appendicitis. They gave him a c.d. with the scans of his guts, which he thought was cool.

I don't know what this means for the rest of the week, but scary stuff with your kids always puts things in perspective, you know?

Re-Cycled Poetry

After my very serious poetry from last time, I thought I'd better remind you all of the irreverent cretin that I really am. And, because I'm lazy, and also because my blog is called "Life Cycles", I am going to RE-CYCLE one of my favorite posts from last year.

"Santa's Makeover"


‘Twas the day before Christmas, and all through my house,
Every creature was stirring, each dog, kid, and mouse.
The kids ran amuck, fueled by excitement and candy
(About now, some Benedryl would come in quite handy!)

The presents are wrapped, well, most of the lot,
And I was sitting here wondering who I forgot.
I fought all the crowds in search of a deal,
I’ve fixed salads and cookies for the pre-Christmas meal.
The house is not clean, but not too dirty either
And I decided it was time to sit down for a breather.

When what to my dozy eyes should appear
But a cool looking sleigh pulled by 8 well-groomed reindeer.
The man that jumped out was no jolly old elf,
My jaw dropped when I saw him, in spite of my self.
He was dressed in Armani from his head to his toes,
Not a speck of ash could be seen on his clothes.
His skin was all tan, like a native Hawaiian
His muscles were flexed, without even tryin’.
His hair was dyed black, cut and gelled to perfection
It seems dear old Santa’s had a change of direction.

I cleared my throat and he looked over my way
He winked and I blushed, hey, what can I say?
The fat, red old Santa, this guy’s certainly NOT
I have to admit, this St. Nick sure is hot!

When I asked him what caused change in such a degree,
He admitted to watching reality t.v.
Seems that during the year, he let the elves all take over
And Santa flew to Hollywood for a serious makeover.

Even the gifts that he brought were just way too much
All iPods and gift cards and cell phones and such.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
Then tossing his bangs like some super-cool skater,
He winked and he said “Hey Babe, Catch you later.”

My heart skipped a beat as up the chimney he flew,
And I ran to the window—trust me, you would have too.
And I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a wicked cool night!

Bethlehem

I was sitting this morning before church reading a story about a visit to the Holy Land and I was struck suddenly with a huge feeling of gratitude for the birth of Christ. I wrote this and thought I'd share.

"Bethlehem"

Bethlehem.
The name itself means "house of bread"--
Calling to mind that one scent which smells like fresh baked comfort--
Home.

How different was the smell that greeted the Newborn Babe!
The earthy tang of fresh cut hay in a manger bed
Mixed with the pungent essence of raw animal scent.
(Somehow fitting that the Lord of All should make His first Home among His own creations.)

Bethlehem.
Before that day, mostly unknown--
No "form or comeliness" that it should be desired.
Poor and lowly-- the very name ironic,
Almost.

Until into the world was born God-As-Man--
He who called Himself the
Bread of Life,
And made "House of Bread" a perfect name.

The symbol so strong--
That which reminds us most of all things good and worthy in our own
Earthly home
Is also symbol of Him who is
All good and in all ways worthy--
He who points the way to our
Heavenly Home.

Nourishment.
Sustenance.
Fulfillment.
Comfort.
Peace.
House of Bread,
Bread of Life.
Bethlehem.

Nativity Scenes

I guess that the best indicator that I am having a fun, busy time of life is my lack of time for posting on my blog.

Either that, or I am using all of my computer time to do a little online shopping.

We have been doing some really fun things as a family, though. We've been trying to keep things a little more Christ-centered this year and so far, we've done pretty well.

Last week, we went to the Star Mill to see Santa Clause with my sister Nicole and her family. Here is my beautiful little niece Olivia.
Em with Santa

Doug at Star Mill.

After that, we drove up to Midway for their Nativity Display. This is one of my favorite things to do. It is an inter-denominational display of hundreds of nativity scenes from all over the world. Here is a picture of Mike by one that was carved out of ice.


On Thursday, we went up to a house in Riverton to see more nativities. The Garick family started a project to help people in 3rd world countries by helping them to make nativity scenes out of materials locally available to them, then they import them. They've raised over $69,000 in 3 years to help people in South America, Africa and Asia.

My mom collects nativity scenes-- she has well over 100 if you count the ones on her tree. We always bring one back for her when we travel anywhere, and in the last few years, we've started collecting a few for ourselves as well. We've started our own tradition as a family of getting a new set each year and saving it for Christmas Eve morning when we have a special breakfast, then read Luke 2, then put out our new nativity set.

Layne looked and looked for one from Ghana both times he's gone, but was unable to find one. This family had a bunch of them-- including this ebony one that we bought.

I wanted to display it for the season, so we also bought one from China to put out on Christmas Eve.

I'm amazed at how much my kids have loved seeing all of these nativity scenes. You'd think they'd get tired of it, but they really seem to enjoy it.

It is fascinating to see how the Nativity story is so universal and can translate into any culture. The African ones have hippos and cheetahs instead of sheep. The Chinese ones have dragons. They make them out of stone, wood, clay, beads, and even soda cans. The story is the same-- it crosses boundaries and loses nothing in the translation.

I love Christmas!

Sorry, Mom.

I decided today that I must apologize to my mother.

Sorry, Mom.

Here's why.

I have discovered recently something that I never expected to be true. I get far more nervous for my children than I ever have gotten for myself. Assuming this is true for all mothers, I am only beginning to understand how much stress I caused my own poor mother.

Take today for instance. Our school participates in a story-telling contest. Each kid performs a story in their own class, the class chooses a winner, then the winner competes in the school competition.

Emalee won her class competition last week, which meant that today she had to tell the story in front of the school. I know that she had practiced and was excited, but I was a nervous wreck for her all morning. When she went up on stage, I was praying so hard that she'd do her best and not choke. I think that I held my breath for the whole 4 minutes that she was up there.

She did fantastic.

More and more, I realize how much she is like me. (Except that I'm not always fantastic.) She loves to be in front of people-- she loves to talk and teach. She loves to write and is always entering contests at school She loves hitting in softball and playing pitcher and first base. All of these things are things that I've loved doing too-- and I never once realized that I was killing my mother.

Every time she got up to bat, every time she competes in a writing contest, every time she puts herself out there, she takes few days off of my life. I want so badly for her to succeed-- I get sick at the thought of how crushed she will feel if she fails. Which she will. Because she needs to-- just like we all need to fail in order to appreciate success.

I think of all of the things I did growing up-- playing softball (of course I had to pitch), debate, running for student council, applying for scholarships, taking AP tests-- even crushing on boys that were way out of my league-- and I never once thought of how hard it was for my mom to watch me.

I remember the night I lost a really close election for student council. They announced the winners at a dance that night and I was devastated. I left in tears and drove around for a while before going home. I wanted my mom to be asleep before I got there because I wasn't ready to talk about it.

I was such a dork! Of course she wasn't sleeping-- she was waiting for me. I walked in and she threw her arms around me and I just sobbed.

Now that I'm a mother, I realize how hard that day must have been for her as well.

Luckily for both of us, I haven't always failed so miserably.

I hope that I can be as supportive for my children as my mother was and is for me. She encouraged me in 5 years of piano lessons, even though I am pitifully rhythm disabled. She came to my 8th grade dance concert, in spite of the fact that I am as graceful as a rhinoceros on roller skates. She helped me ask a boy to a dance who was way too cool for me. She supported me on a mission to a strange country -- even though my dad told me she was ready to fly there and get me after she read a few of my more discouraging letters.

I bet that she was praying all the time too. (Ever notice how the commandment to "pray always" definitely got easier when you became a parent?) Actually, I don't bet that she was praying-- I know she was. I have felt those prayers many times in my life, and I know that they have helped and saved me.

Anyway, sorry for the stress, Mom. And thanks.

The Great Purge

Doug finally went back to school today. I don't think that he was too thrilled about it-- he liked staying home with me and wearing his pajamas all day. (Who wouldn't like that life?) It was Polar Express day in kindergarten, so they got to wear pjs to school-- I figured that would help him transition back into normal life.

Being stuck at home for three days was good for my house. As it sometimes does, cleaning out one thing lead to cleaning out another, and before I knew it, I had filled the van with a load of stuff for the D.I., as well as one of our garbage cans with stuff I didn't even think that the D.I. would want.

I finally cleaned out the closet of the nursery-turned-exercise room. (Isn't that an ironic shifting of uses for a room?) I decided that all of the teddy bear stuff was not conducive to sweating- my- guts- out inspiration, so I tore it all off the walls (except for the wallpaper border-- what the heck do they use to make that stuff stick, anyway?)

Next, I attacked the closet. When I moved Doug into Mike's room, I stashed all of the old baby / nursery stuff in there and pretty much haven't opened it since.

I felt a funny, unexpected twinge as I packed it all up. I've given away most of my baby clothes and things to sisters and friends who needed it-- and I've never missed it. Getting rid of the nursery stuff felt different-- kind of final, I guess.

We tried to have a baby a couple of years after we had Doug. Things didn't go well, and going to the doctor to figure out why uncovered some major health problems that I was having which made it impossible for us to have a baby-- at least until I got things under control.

Luckily, with some good medicine and a great doctor, I was able to get better. However, as my illness disappeared, so did the desire to have a baby.

Mostly, that is.

I've said for a couple of years now that we are done. We are. But, as much as your head and even your heart know that is the case, the parts of me that make me a mother are more reluctant to let that part of life go. A friend of mine recently said in her blog that those feelings come from the tendency of the Love inside of us wanting to begat more love.

That may be true, but it was not strong enough to overcome the other urge I had to clean everything out and use the space for something more relevant.

Like storing bike stuff.

And Christmas presents.

I wondered if I'd feel regret for giving the stuff away, but as I drove off from the D.I. today, I just felt lighter. It's as if giving away the baby stuff purged not only the clutter, but also the small piece of me that was still holding onto the "maybes" and "what ifs?"

Wonder what's hiding in my other closets?

Sick Days

We've got the Goombah at our house. (That's what we call the flu, but I don't know why. I think that the name started with Layne's sister, but I can't be sure.)

I knew we were in for a bad one when I woke up yesterday morning and nearly tripped over Doug in the hall. He'd been too dizzy to make it all the way to my room (all 15 feet)so he curled up right there. Mike found him and felt bad for him, so he brought him a blanket, pillow, and a teddy bear and plopped himself right beside his brother. (Yes, he is a very good kid.) I asked why he didn't just come get me, and the sweet little guy just said that he didn't want to wake me.

I must be a monster in the middle of the night.

His fever was 103 and his head hurt. And I knew that any plans I had for the next couple of days were immediately cancelled.

This sucks, of course, because most of our favorite parties and activities of the Christmas season are this week. Not to mention the fact that my poor little boy looks like death warmed over and I think he feels even worse than he looks.

That being said, I have really enjoyed having 2 days where I can't leave my house. I cleaned out the spare bedroom and finally got rid of the rest of the baby clothes that I have been saving for who knows what reason. (Well, being as I can't go to the D.I., they are in bags by the garage door, waiting for my re-emergence into the world.)

I spent yesterday afternoon working on the Christmas present that I have intended to make for my mother-in-law all year, but secretly never thought that I'd get to.

I made roast beef, mashed potatoes and even home-made rolls for dinner last night-- my kids thought someone must have died.

I've even been making a scrapbook for poor Doug who is 5 and I don't know if he's ever seen a printed picture of himself, other than the ones from Kiddie Kandids that I hang on the wall.

My house is tidy, the laundry is finished, I got in two really good workouts. I'm thinking that it really would be kind of nice to actually be a stay-at-home mom, instead of the crazy-runaround-mom that I've turned into.

I may feel differently tomorrow, as I'm starting to get cooped-up naggings gnawing on the back of my brain, and I don't see this situation changing for at least another day or two. However, for right now, I am thankful for a little bit of time to spend in my house taking care of my sweet little boy.