Because it's not official until it's on the blog…

Did I mention that we were expecting another baby? And that it was a girl?

No, I never did.

But she's here! Joy Esther Hansen joined our house full of boys nearly two weeks ago. She's beautiful and healthy and we feel so blessed.

Bubble Bath

Word of the Year

In the last few years, I've seen the "Word of the Year" trend grow.

One word to inspire and define and give shape to your thoughts and actions.

I don't always follow trends, and if I do I tend to be late to the party. But sitting here at the beginning of 2013, I'm feeling the urge to join in. I've already set some concrete goals for this year, but I wanted a word I could lay over the top - something that would flavor every moment, even when I'm not working on any specific goal.

After some thought, this is the word I've chosen:

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "The world belongs to the energetic."

I want to be energetic as a mother and homemaker.
I want to be energetic in my creative pursuits and outside responsibilities.
I want to be energetic in every moment when I know I should do something but don't feel like doing it.

If I can do that, I will have conquered 2013.

Happy New Year!

Piano Morph

I don't pretend to know much about interior design and decorating. I'll look at a picture of a fancy-schmancy magazine living room and I'll think to myself, That's…nice. Also: My kids would destroy that in seconds. I can glance around my own living room and know that things are "wrong" with the decor, but I can't always tell what. And even if I could, major decorating isn't even a twinkle in our budget's eye.

Even so, I've been making a greater effort lately to (little by little) freshen up some of the tired old decor that I've had around for years but doesn't really reflect my style. The more time I spend here at home, all day, every day, the more I see the value in beautifying my living space and making it a place where I can look around and feel the Spirit through the beauty and cheerfulness of the space I've created. The Spirit is made manifest in anything beautiful and orderly and good. I think that also influences my children for good. And best of all, it can be done through small things. Nothing huge.

I've set two rules for myself when choosing decor styles and items:

1: It has to be meaningful, either because it's emotionally significant, or because it's a good representation of myself, my family, or our goals and interests. (If it brings me happiness to see it, or makes my home a more cheerful place, I consider that meaningful too.)

2: I have to love it. If it's really trendy but I don't love it, I don't put it in my home.

Okay, and a third rule: It has to be cheap. Unless it's so meaningful (see Rule 1) that I decide the cost is worth it, which hardly ever happens because I'm a cheapskate. I shop at DI, for crying out loud.

So, without further ado, here is my not-so-earth-shattering redo of the space surrounding my piano:

Before:

Wine red runner with fringe (I used to think that was my favorite color. And fringe? Seriously?), old-lady crystal candlesticks (which nearly got broken several times a week), a slightly gaudy mirror (which fits well with this style of decor, but it's not really me) and a piano lamp that didn't actually work, but I didn't know what else to do with that space, so I left it.

I think that when I put this together – five years ago – I was going for a very rich-looking, dramatic, striking, fancy style. I don't know the technical decorating term. I was really into that wine red color, and I thought the crystal candlesticks and the frame around the mirror fit that "fancy" style really well. I still kind of think they do, but I've learned that's not the style that really brings me happiness in my living room.

I need something bright and happy and fresh. Upbeat. Airy. Energetic. Alive.

So little by little, over the past few months, I have changed it into this:

After:

Ta-da! (Hint: It actually looks much better in person. I didn't take the time to coax a beauty shot out of my camera.)

Most of the items on the piano were taken from other areas of the house. I picked items that reminded me of things and people I love. I had to keep the obligatory "stack" on the piano because I don't have a shelf by my piano yet. I used clearance items from the craft store to make the rustic tin planter of fall mums (which, unfortunately, you can't see very well, but rest assured it's pretty). The three watercolor paintings on the wall were done by my talented cousin Michelle. And you should all rush to her Etsy store and order some of her beautiful prints. She does gorgeous work, and it's all very reasonably priced.

I really like how it turned out. It's not going to win any design awards, and if anybody with any education or experience in interior design looks at it, they'd probably be able to point out a bunch of things I should fix. But it makes me smile each time I walk by the piano, or sit down to play. It makes me smile in a way the old, stuffy, meaningless, "fancy" decor never did.

Maybe in another few months I'll have another area of the house to show you. This has been an extremely slow process, but taking this much time has given me an opportunity to really be intentional about what I'm doing.

Thanks for stopping by!

I Want This Sung At My Funeral Someday

  My life goes on in endless song:
Above earth's lamentation,
I catch the sweet, tho' far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul--
How can I keep from singing?

  What tho' my joys and comfort die?
The Lord my Saviour liveth;
What tho' the darkness gather round?
Songs in the night He giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that refuge clinging;
Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,
How can I keep from singing?

  I lift my eyes; the cloud grows thin;
I see the blue above it;
And day by day this pathway smooths,
Since first I learned to love it.
The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
A fountain ever springing;
All things are mine since I am His --
How can I keep from singing?

Imposter Syndrome

I'm sitting here in front of my photos folder, realizing that some of the photos I had in mind to post here are actually quite outdated now.

Peter is a giant almost-5-year-old, Michael is coming to the end of his toddler days, and our little smiley Jack is definitely not a newborn anymore. How did that happen?

Lately I've been looking around in amazement and wondering how I got to this stage in life.

I recently read an article about "Imposter Syndrome." According to the all-knowing Wikipedia:

The impostor syndrome, sometimes called impostor phenomenon or fraud syndrome, is a psychological phenomenon in which people are unable to internalize their accomplishments. . . 

Despite external evidence of their competence, those with the syndrome remain convinced that they are frauds and do not deserve the success they have achieved. Proof of success is dismissed as luck, timing, or as a result of deceiving others into thinking they are more intelligent and competent than they believe themselves to be.

This beautifully sums up what I've struggled to express since Peter was born. Not that I think I'm a terrible mom, exactly, (although there are days...) but I've never quite gotten over the feeling that I'm still that awkward 14-year-old girl.

I feel like I'm faking it. Like I'm pretending. I don't feel old enough to have three kids and a mortgage and a minivan and a retirement plan. Awkward 14-year-olds don't have those things.

I'm surrounded by the "external evidence" that I'm in this stage of life, but for some reason my brain can't reconcile that evidence with my perception of myself.

So I end up here, looking at pictures of these little people who call me Mom, and discussing psychological phenomena on a blog.

Crazy. But good.

Jack

In standard LaChelle-blogging fashion, I am late in getting this post to you -- but only by a month! Baby steps...

Jack Lewis Hansen joined our family last month on the 13th. He was 6 lbs 7 oz, 18.5 inches long, and healthy and beautiful.

Story time . . .

My first two kids were born 10-14 days early. So the third time around, when that window came and went, I felt robbed. ("I'm only eight days away from my due date! Will I be pregnant forever?") Every day that passed with no baby was torture.

On the night of the 12th, I was feeling particularly depressed, and so weary of being nine months pregnant. Before going to bed, I flipped open my scriptures to do my nightly reading. I pulled the ribbon marking the place where I had left off the night before - the very end of Helaman. So that night I'd be starting the book of Third Nephi.

Just to refresh your memory, Chapter 1 of Third Nephi is the part where everybody is awaiting the sign of Jesus' birth.

Nobody knows exactly what day it will come . . . People are feeling sorrowful that it hasn't happened yet . . . Everybody is watching steadfastly for the sign . . .

This was sounding strangely familiar.

Then I came to verse 13: "Lift up your head and be of good cheer; for behold, the time is at hand, and on this night shall the sign be given, and on the morrow come I into the world..."

That verse came like a quiet hug from my Father in Heaven. I knew he was aware of me. I knew he was aware of my feelings. And I knew, deep down, that the next day would be the day.

Sure enough, I went into labor the following morning.

Things went rather slowly this time around. At 9:30 a.m, I knew those contractions meant business. Since we have 1:00 church, I assumed we would be missing church that day. We started getting some things ready to go to the hospital, all the while timing contractions.

And timing, and timing, and timing.

At 12:30 pm, not much had changed. Darren and I looked at each other and shrugged. We loaded up the kids, and went to church.

I spent Sacrament Meeting timing. 12 minutes apart. 15 minutes apart. 9 minutes apart. 20 minutes apart. 11 minutes apart.

We decided to go straight home after Sacrament Meeting, because it seemed like the contractions were getting more and more intense, even if they weren't getting more frequent.

Four hours (!) later . . . a tiny bit of progress. 9 minutes apart. 13 minutes apart. 7 minutes apart. 10 minuets apart. So we called up my parents to come watch our kids for the evening.

When we got to the hospital, just before 8 p.m, the pace suddenly picked up.

Contractions severely intensify. Dilation racing. I'm going to die. Epidural in.

Our little Jack turned out to be posterior. And luckily, the doctor was a superhero. He knew just what to do to make the delivery a breeze -- relatively. Four contractions and a set of forceps later, Jack was born.

10:20 p.m.

The Lord kept his promise. He always does.

We're still adjusting to this whole "three-kid" thing. Our family rhythm has undergone some shifts and shake-ups, and I'm still not sure we've hit any kind of new normal.

But despite the sleeplessness, cranky children, and messier-than-usual house, we feel very blessed to have this sweet little boy in our home.