Control

Quite awhile ago, I had a conversation with a friend who is going through a terrible time. As I sympathized with her about life's hard knocks and why we have them, I couldn't help but comment on her fabulous physique. I said it in jest...as a sort of, "at least you've got your looks" dumb thing to say, and she got a bit teary and replied, "It is the only part of my life I feel like I have any ability to control.  I can run as hard as I want and wherever I want and it keeps me sane."

I've been thinking quite a lot about her reasoning lately. I have been trying to get in shape and find some kind of weight-loss/healthy body mojo for months. Lots of months. Enough months wherein some motivation should have been found or pounds should have been lost. Instead, I find myself definitely stronger but horribly lacking in both calorie control and consistency. In other words, I am out of control!

But, I don't think that's how my psyche sees it. I've been thinking a lot about this and why I continue to make poor choices and I believe that, unlike my friend, who controls a portion of her life through rigorous exercise, I control it by choosing NOT to exercise on days when I can and choosing to eat whatever the heck I feel like.  I think this unfortunate perspective comes from the chaos and constant frustration I feel about the rest of my day to day activities. I  feel like what I am able to do in any given day is dependent on the whims and needs of everyone else...mostly from my children and their activities and moods but also from other outside forces. It's probably from having a toddler once again, a delightful but messy and unpredictable age, and I hover at about an eight or nine on a scale of I'm-going-to-lose-it-at-ten all day. And when I lose it, I eat. Whatever I choose. I gain some control back. Get that 10 back to a more functional 6 or 7 until the sugar euphoria morphs into body shape shame and I'm back at that 8 or 9. A ripped book, juice spill or heavy traffic will start the vicious cycle all over again.

Then, recently, a new development turned my head creating a different perspective.  While in the throes of the hardest job on earth, parenting, I produced a rare, suspended reaction in dealing with one of my children and a mistake he made. A mistake that definitely needed attention but I surprised us both when I didn't fly off the handle or cry or panic. I hugged him and said I needed to think about what to do. I apologize for the vagueness of the story but, out of respect for each of them and their privacy, I have realized I can only share my own woes now. To preface, I am acutely aware, given the ages of my boys, of how different it is to parent teenagers and toddlers. With a tween and a young boy in between them, I am frequently unsure what the most appropriate and effective method is. My stern and loud, "No!" still generally works, especially on the younger set, but I can already see its ridiculousness in more mature settings. Moreover, talks and instruction given by wise leaders about how our role as parents is not to control our children or their choices, but to teach them our values and morals so that they can succeed on the merits of their own decisions and subsequent consequences, ring true to me. It was how my parents raised me - a benefit and blessing to me but a feat and child rearing tactic that I fear is much, much more difficult to practice than I ever imagined. When this certain child made a mistake, owned up to it and patiently (and nervously) awaited my judgment, I prayed to handle this teaching opportunity wisely.

The easiest and most instinctive thing for me to do was to still shout, "No!" even after a few days. I knew I could use it with cause and regain some sense of control. I also knew this was the route my son expected me to go and maybe even was hoping for a bit. It's comfortable. Sadly, I fear I've used this technique too much over the years and it is what they are all used to. No sleepovers. No rated M games. No Sunday sports or birthday parties. If homework and piano practice aren't done, No TV or electronics. If messes aren't cleaned up, No...whatever (snack, friend, football game etc.). I am very good at No (and all those things will continue to get my "No"). But, almost immediately after asking for help to not make the situation worse, a talk given by an area authority from our last Stake Conference came to my mind and I remember him saying (paraphrased. I can't be sure as to his exact words because I am not a note taker), "You can parent military style and be an excellent general of your family, demanding perfect obedience to your rules, but when that child leaves your home and your rules are no longer the primary influence of their lives, will you have taught them to want to live the gospel or just to be obedient to you?"

This thought clamored around my head for days and I knew my go-to "No" wasn't the best option. I counseled with Jay who basically said he would support me in whatever I decided but also reminded me that, above all, we are in this parenting business to protect our children. I agree. So, it was really surprising, alarming even, when I felt strongly that the best thing to do was...nothing.

Not nothing as in not address it or act like nothing happened but to give him another chance to make a better choice next time. The acknowledgment of wrong and awareness of why was already there, provided by him, and I didn't want him to think that his courage to admit to a mistake went unnoticed by me. When I talked to him about my decision, he was surprised and I could tell that he was pleased, but what I really wanted him to know that, like Albus Dumbledore said, "It is our choices who make us who we are...far more than our abilities." I told him, ultimately, only he had control over his choices. Specifics would make this make so much more sense but I hope the generality is helpful to me in the future when I look back at this post.

You'd think an "ah-ha" moment like that would have quickly been applied to my own mistakes and choices but it took me until today to realize that I need to take my own advice (or, more accurately, several general authorities and Albus Dumbledore's). I know that I'm able. But, my choices are controlling and influencing my life much more than my abilities. I do the grocery shopping. I make the meals. I buy myself lunch (too often) and choose what to order from the menu. How much more control do I need? I wish it were easier, all of it, from my son's choices to my own. I wish both of us could make a good choice once and be done with it for forever but that's not how it works.  If I expect him to recommit to good choices daily, and I do (I told him so), then I need to expect the same thing from myself.

It's so interesting how we continue to learn all the time, isn't it? Somebody who is much smarter and kinder than me is clearly in control.  Thank goodness. 

Needy

For most of my married life, I've acknowledged and been aware of my financial vulnerability and dependence on Jay without any particular anxiety or stress.  Marriage is, after all, a giant study in trust, loyalty and sacrifice. I've always trusted Jay and felt like an equal partner in all aspects of our relationship and family and so it has always worked.

Still, the fact remains that I have no actual income and haven't had any for over thirteen years. Almost everything we own is jointly ours and every major decision gets made together but a situation happened this week that left me feeling like a child. For years, I have known that my next car would most likely be a Toyota Sequoia. With four growing boys, some who will have to travel in back rows in man sized bodies as I'll most likely be driving it for the next 8-10 years, and an occasional need to tow something, my choices included the Suburban/Tahoe XL, Expedition, Sequoia or Armada. I've sat in the back row of all of them except the Armada, which has a deal-breaking poorly positioned rear door handle (it's only fair that I expose my ridiculous too) and felt like my knees were in my nostrils in all but the Sequoia. The Toyota Sequoia also has the look that I like best. 

Unfortunately, they are expensive! Even used Sequoias are expensive and hard to find and I've been waiting and saving and looking and pining for what seems like forever. Throw in the Dave Ramsey method of buying a car (cash) and it felt/feels like I'll never own one. When one with relatively low miles (35,000) and priced fairly showed up on a used lot here in my own small town, my heart leapt at the convenient and immediate possibility. 

It wasn't the perfect match. The car was gold and I am not a lover of gold things. I'm not sure why but I've always been drawn to the cool feel of silver but I was willing to overlook the color. It had cloth seats and I've had enough soda/ketchup/chocolate spilled in the minivan, which has leather seats, to wonder if I could emotionally handle my kids messes that would take more than a rag to clean up. It was also pretty scratched up on the interior driver's side door which made me doubt the salesman's explanation that it was previously driven by a bank president but purchased as a corporate vehicle, which showed up on the carfax report. I guess it makes sense if the bank president wore a studded leather jacket and a got too close to the door handle while jamming out to his tunes. It could happen. 

Those small flaws and Jay's absence for scout camp during the second half of this week stalled my decision making. The salesman dutifully called me on both Monday and Tuesday (I test drove it last Saturday) and I said I was still thinking about it and had some concerns. Part of me was hoping my reluctance would motivate them to come down on the price without any actually price negotiation on my part but I should have known better.  In two years, this is the first used Sequoia under 100,000 miles that has appeared on the market. Some sisterly advice and the absence of stupor of thought convinced me that I should go ahead and buy it. We don't have all the savings we need to pay for it all in cash, however, so a partial loan was necessary to complete the purchase.  It was then when I felt akin to a woman in Saudi Arabia. 

Jay is out of town. I have no income. In my head, I'm an independent, able and strong woman but on paper, I'm just a needy wife who can't sign on the dotted line without my paycheck garnering, employed husband. When I drove by the lot several times yesterday and saw that the Sequoia had been sold, I felt a mixture of sadness and rage. To be sure, none of this is Jay's fault. He was happy to do whatever I wanted. He worried about me getting a car I didn't love but had I made up my mind on Tuesday, before he left, I would be driving around in a gold beast today. So, even though it's really my fault for being too cautious and slow in my decision making, my financial limitations had me feeling like a kept woman. I looked at the ads in the paper for jobs today, wondering what I could apply for if I had to, and I don't know! I could teach beginner piano and voice lessons. I could work in the mall. I could be a secretary or a front office girl. And that list makes me so sad. I know I'm more than that. I'm a good mother and a good wife and a college graduate and a smart and dependable person and yet, I'm totally dependent on someone else to make a large purchase like a car. I'm Gloria Steinem's worst nightmare. 

This would all be horrible and depressing if my life was like Sleeping With the Enemy or, in actuality, like those burqa-clad women in the middle east but it is not. I have a wonderful partner who shares everything, who works hard and takes his responsibilities to provide and protect seriously. He is thoughtful and generous and takes such good care of me and our kids and only wants me to be happy so I'm fortunate that way. And, please don't get me wrong. I still think staying home and raising my kids is the best thing for them. It provides as much stability and comfort in their lives as Jay's job does and both our commitments to our family allow this whole family machine to work. With all that in mind, I know another Sequoia, somewhere, will turn up and it will all be fine. It's only a car, after all. A car that I need my husband to buy for me. :-(

If You Can't Say Something Nice....

All together now....."Don't say anything at all."

Words to live by.  Or are they?

Someone left a rude comment on one of my book reviews on Goodreads this morning.  As soon as the notification popped up on my iPhone, I grimaced because it's one of my reviews that occasionally motivates other readers to pick fights.  This only happens, I should add, on reviews of books I rate one or two stars.

Sure enough, I opened the link and some random person basically said I suck not only as a reviewer of books but also as a human being because I hated that particular book.  Worse, all she had to write was that she agreed with the previous two commenters because they had already said so.  Nice.

Very rarely do I respond although I have before and it is oddly unsatisfying.  Sort of like that late comeback that falls on absent ears.  Who knows if these commenters even get it?  I've never had anybody return for more of a tussle.  Did you have any idea that the world of book reviews could be so gansta?

I felt annoyed and bothered for a while.  Why do people feel the need to go out of their way to say something unkind?  It's not like I write a review with the purpose of persuading others to agree with me. I don't care.  Even if these people love this book - use it as their own personal bible or life coach - does attacking those of us with different views excuse, what I consider, bad behavior?

At first, my obvious answer was no.  Never!  It's not nice, especially when directed at me.  Then I started looking at my own behavior.

My review is pretty negative.  I was trying to make the point that I did not like this book so highlighted many features of the book, including plot, characters, and pace that I found flawed and dumb.  I feel like I am rarely at either polar end when reacting to a book I've read but if I can gush from time to time about something I loved, is it not more honest to rant should I feel so inclined?  Still, at a minimum, I was unkind to the author.

Of course, I'm as guilty as anybody to thinking someone who doesn't like a book I love is kind of an idiot.  Well...maybe not an idiot but definitely somebody who doesn't get it like I do.  But, I never, ever leave a comment either verbally or written telling them so.  Does that make me more kind or just less honest?

Just yesterday, while reading a different book, the author wrote in response to some unsolicited advice someone gave him, "Keep your opinions to yourself!"  I frequently think that.  But, where would be if everyone kept their own opinions?  Relegated to only studying math and science?

Years and years ago, in a long forgotten blogging era when comments were king, I left a less than kind comment on a blog written by someone I didn't know very well but whose post about someone's body felt mean spirited to me.  I said so, that person felt attacked, probably rightly so, and extinguished me from her world.  Putting the shoe on the other foot, as the saying goes, maybe I was that rude commenter who didn't need to say anything.  Just because someone's opinion is different from ours doesn't make them wrong.  I didn't like a book.  She didn't like someone's choice of clothing.  Should we keep our opinions to ourselves?  By the way, I would never leave a comment like that now.  As much as I once enjoyed the social and cultural product that stemmed from blogging, I now see it as something much more personal.

I honestly don't know what the right answer is concerning comments, opinions and sharing.  It seems a pretty boring world where none share opinions about anything but pleasant things.  Tell me what you think, but remember....if you can't say something nice....

Kidding.  I will try very hard not to take anything personally.

I hope this makes sense.  It was written in spurts over the course of a day.  I have tried editing it but am publishing it because I'm not writing for a fancy journal or a grade.  No judging!!!

A Family of Six

I think it's funny how before my pregnancy with Daniel, Jay and I never really discussed or celebrated the nature and size of our family of five.  Sure, there were times when I said things like, "My three sons," and we certainly said out loud more than once, "I feel complete." But, never with the preface of "For the record" and never accompanied with purchases as proof. (edited to correct that there was one purchase.  Jay's truck only seats five.  It is a bummer).

This past gift-giving season seems to have motivated both of us to be a bit more clear in our communication.  I've previously posted about the beautiful mother's necklace Jay purchased for me bejeweled with the four birth stones of our children.  Well, it came late, but one of my Christmas gifts to him was a large mural to be hung on a main wall of our home declaring the size of our family tree.  Likewise,  another Christmas present Jay found for me is a soapstone structure he thought I'd like of two parents and four children.

I blotted out our last name for online safety.  That wouldn't look very good, would it?

I love this

As a romantic, I think we were both trying to tell each other, "I love our family!"  But, I also wonder if there wasn't also some unconscious desire on both our part to let the other know, "This is it.  We are a family of six."  And now, we've got the necklace, art and sculpture to keep us honest.

Christmas Day

With a brand new toddler, I had low expectations of keeping Christmas beautiful this year.  This might be due to my memories of Henry at the same age, when he pulled the Christmas tree over three separate times and the lights, garland and ornaments were all haphazardly placed by the time Christmas Day arrived.

For this reason, I purposely kept the bottom six inches of the tree undecorated.  And do you know what?  He never went near the tree.  It was if it didn't exist.  Eventually, I coaxed him to look at it and then he did swat at a few ornaments but it was pretty harmless.  You never know.

I also waited to put presents under the tree, thinking he'd tear the paper or ribbons off but he left those alone as well.  All of the older boys, but Seth especially, were eager to see their names on tags under the tree and I started putting them under as fast as I could wrap them a couple of days before Christmas.  This year, as in years past, my goal was to not overdo it.  It is hard enough to keep Christ's birth as the focus of the holiday and I worry as good as my intentions are, they all end up spoiled year after year.  By the time I had all of the gifts wrapped and under the tree, in addition to the gifts from their grandparents, aunts and to each other, I knew I had failed again.  They loved it, of course, but the piles and piles were a bit obscene to me.

Still, Christmas time is the one time a year I will change decorations in the home and the boys know by that effort alone that it is a special and unique event.  I have an affinity for nativity scenes and have five set up around the house.  I'd like to get more.  To me, it helps balance all of those glittery boxes under the tree. This one is in my front entrance and is the biggest and glitziest by far.  It was given to me by my mother and is just a painted ceramic from Costco, I believe.  I still like it and enjoy its size and splendor.  The boys like looking at it as well.  I also have a single piece creche scene from Israel, a painted clay Mary, Joseph, Jesus structure, a blown glass nativity from Myanmar and a cute spanish nativity given to me by some visiting teachers years ago.  No santas, frostys or rudolphs, although I am not philosophically opposed to them.  I enjoy those stories and songs but choose to surround myself with religious and sacred symbols of Christmas to keep me grounded to the reason for the season.



I almost have 24 Christmas books now.  I have been building my collection and hope to have a book for each day in December to read...a literary advent, if you will.



I know I could do more with this big mantel but I like the reminder of peace and the pregnant Mary and Joseph on a donkey on the left side.




My mom gave me an early Christmas gift and we enjoyed this beautiful quilt all of December.  The red fabric is my favorite as its pattern is red with black music.  It is a nice addition to our holiday decor.


Our boys have never woken earlier than any normal day on Christmas.  I'm not complaining but I do think it a little interesting that they go to bed threatening to wake up at 2 am and then...sleep right through all of that internal excitement.  Henry was the first up and after letting him and Daniel explore their stockings for a bit, we eventually sent Henry upstairs to wake up the other two.  Maureen was there to catch all of the excitement and everyone seemed thrilled with what Santa left them.  Well...Daniel was more interested in Henry's hippity hop than his bee toy, but that's to be expected.

In addition to the hippity hop, Henry also got a globe.  Santa has learned that toys with small parts tend to get lost that very day.  It's much easier to keep track of two relatively large orbits instead.

Sam, got two more sets of college helmets for his collection.  I've never seen a boy more able to play by himself with imaginary brackets.  He sets the helmets up in rows and in groups of twos and then, methodically, moves helmets forwards if that team "wins" eventually crowning a championship helmet.  It's fascinating to watch.

Henry might have also been equally excited to play with Daniel's bee.  I have noticed Henry loves Daniel's toys.  He is a very emotionally young 6 almost 7 year old.

This was Seth's Santa list this year.  Very organized, don't you think?  He makes me laugh.

Santa did bring him one item on his lengthy list.  A Kevin Durant jersey, who is his absolute favorite player.

Daniel didn't really understand why there were all these new toys but he didn't seem to mind too much. He got this very ego affirming dog from Grandpa and Grandma J.  My favorite line, "You're wonderful!"

Maureen likes her hair products from Sarah, who always spoils everyone.

My mom made BYU pillowcases for all of the boys and included an age appropriate book.  Sweet!

The family got an X-box.  I hesitated to get another gaming system as we have a Wii but it is 5 years old and kind of tempermental.  Besides, the boys prefer the sport games (Madden, NBA2K, FIFA) and the Wii just doesn't do those games very well.  We got one with a Kinect sensor and I got myself Just Dance 4.  It makes you sweat!

Seth's brother's spoiled him by getting him more elite socks, a compression tank (I am not a fan of tanks on boys but I guess those sleeves affect pure shooting?) and he put together this over-the-door hoop from Santa and played all. day. long.

Easy to please Sam still playing with his helmets.  He also got a Lionel Messi jersey.

Henry couldn't wait to play with his new bath toy from Daniel.  Seriously, I think this $4.00 toy was the most fun he had all day.

He just likes to take baths with his brother.  It's way more fun to have someone else in there than to be in the big bathtub by himself.

Everyone got lots more stuff - books, BYU gear, games.  As much as the boys enjoyed opening up gifts, they each got the most excited when one of their brothers was opening up a personal gift.  There was quite a mess afterward.  Last year, my dad was around and I could barely give him boxes and wrapping paper fast enough to clean up.  This year, the room looked like this for quite a while.

Because I splurged and got him a new suit for our anniversary, I only got Jay the book No Easy Day and the game, "Pandemic" for Christmas.  I know it's not a competition but he definitely outdid my meager effort.  The first gift I opened from him were pictures and a poem from him and the boys.  Jay has always had a knack for lyrics/poetry (that is how he proposed - by singing an original song for me) and he came through with a real gem this year.

Twas the night before fair
And all through the farm
Cowboys were sleepin'
All nice and warm

Out in the barn were steers happy and fat
Chewing their cud and gross things like that
While Dad in his bed couldn't fall off to sleep
So excited for the show; all he could do was think

Did we ffed enough, brush enough, give the right hay?
Tomorrow we'll know what the judges will say
While Ma in her pj's slept peaceful and sound
Dreaming of trips, cars and jewels around

Her head was not full of different feeding rations
No, we know that she has different passions
But there in the morning, she wakes up a grinnin' 
"No matter what place, I know our boys are winnin'"

Four legs and a tail, a hide full of leather
Walking and feeding in all kinds of weather
Are not the dreams of our princess so dear
But she never complains and always has "cowboy cheer"

Manure is not really high on her list
And halters and show sticks would not be long missed
A barn for some cattle was not her first choice
But she put herself aside, to think of her boys

We know that the "show" is not what you do
And 4-H may not be ideal for you
But deep down inside it brings me such pleasure
Our boys will learn lessons that they too will treasure

Plus, looking at sires just gives me a gleem
So thank you for letting me live out my dream
Someday you may wonder what the fuss was about
But you'll also be sure if a steer is "soggy" or "stout"

Jewels are easy to buy in the store
But we wanted to give you a little bit more
So with this nice necklace to our princess we say
To the best steer mom ever,
Merry Christmas, today!

I then opened up a jewelry box and found this!  Wow.  Words can not express. I have a cow...hanging at my throat.  A dream come true.

Jay quickly explained that the box I was to open next didn't arrive on time and that this was more of a joke than a real gift.  A couple of days later, I opened this:

A beautiful mother's necklace with my boys' birthstones.  It's interesting because Sam and Henry are both January and the color of garnets are not the same.  It doesn't bother me, though, because they are not the same. I like the difference.

I much prefer this charm dangling off my neck.  It really is lovely.

I loved Christmas and don't want to sound ungrateful or unhappy but there was sadness later in the day that shadowed over everything.  I don't know if it's an emotional letdown after so much preparation and anticipation or something more sinister and troubling but I felt a bit jealous.  Not of anyone's possessions or acquisitions but of everyone's seeming contentedness with their day.  As I talked to family members around the country, I felt like everyone was having a better day wherever they were or whomever they were with.  Maybe it was me missing being a child.  Or missing family.  Maybe it is the guilt from never making fudge, sugar cookies or gingerbread houses with my kids or not having annual ornaments or going caroling.  There are so many good things to spend time doing and we didn't do so many things and now it was all over and too late to make amends. I always think I'll have more energy or more ambition the next year and I never do.  I want my boys to understand charity and find the joy in generosity and giving but, this year, it was just easier for me to get all of the gifts for the family our 4-H club adopted for Christmas .  I'm not even sure they know we did it.  The thought, "They're missing the point of Christmas gifts," went through my head and then I wondered if I knew the point was of Christmas gifts.  I know.  It was quite the letdown.

I include my less than happy feelings because they were as real a part of the day as was all of the joy and fun.  I want Christmas to be meaningful and purposeful as well as memorable and wonderful.  By the sound of all those adjectives, I guess I want it to be "full."  Not just with stuff but with love. I hope it was.

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly...In Reverse Order

I am super grumpy tonight. I know it's the month of November and all and everyone is dedicated to writing lists and paragraphs of gratitude but I'm not feeling it. Hopefully I will soon. In a week would be perfect. In the meantime, somethings aren't going so well.

The Ugly:

Daniel has another diaper rash. When I look back on his first year, I fear my main memory will be dealing with his near constant diaper rashes. He's been actively teething for about 8 months and when he teeths, he has diarrhea. When he's sick, he has diarrhea.  And, I'm starting to think, when he's perfectly healthy, he has diarrhea.  At least something close to it.  When he has diarrhea, he gets a diaper rash. It happens so frequently and even noiselessly, it's hard to keep him dry. It's very bad today and I think I've used a half tube of the Butt Balm Max. I know the very best treatment is air so I kept him naked for almost an hour tonight. Even though I tried to keep him on the hard floors,  he managed to pee on me once and later, pooped on the carpet. Yay. I apologize for writing about bodily functions but I'm just so exasperated. I obviously feel for the little guy but he's seriously had five dirty diapers since three o'clock.  Enough!  Please...enough.  

I had a very lame passive aggressive episode today.  Shamefully, I have nearly nonexistent conflict resolution skills.  I consider it a disability and would consider either a class or therapy to help me be better.  In the meantime, I deal with situations not to my liking in the worst and weakest way.  Take this afternoon, for instance.  My boys' piano teacher is a very laid-back and flexible woman.  On top of those qualities, she is a skilled piano teacher who knows what she's doing.  The flexibility is nice and I readily admit that she is almost always willing to move a lesson time when she can to accommodate different sports practice times, company or whatever thing happens to get in the way.  Currently, I am there two different days of the week because neither she nor I have a solid hour that works for both Seth and Sam as well as us.  With that preface about her much appreciated flexibility, she is also overly laid-back.  Most of the time, I don't let this bug me.  I even try to admire her style.  My kids call her by her first name (I can't imagine calling any of my former piano teachers by their first names!), her two young children are usually present during lesson times (which can be distracting to her but they also give my own kids playmates and toys for the half-hour or hour we are there) and she is never, ever mean.  Even if my boys have awful lessons.  A true "yay!"  However, that very laxness can create havoc when she doesn't pay attention to the time.  I often say my life would be a lot smoother if all the coaches, leaders, teachers and therapists we deal with could simply start and end their things on time.  No special considerations.  No favors.  Just stick to the schedule!  For the past several weeks, our piano teacher has started Sam's lesson fifteen minutes late.  When a lesson is only scheduled for thirty minutes, fifteen minutes is a big deal.  Yes, she tries to compensate by keeping Sam past his scheduled allotment but the next mom and her child has arrived by then and I can't deal with the guilt that they might think we are somehow to blame for keeping them from starting on time.  I've even shortchanged our own lesson occasionally to help her get back on schedule because I usually have somewhere else I need to be - thus the reason I have the piano lesson arranged for that specific half-hour.   It happened again today.   We are there, on time at 4:30, waiting with standing room only in her small living room along with another dad, the piano teacher's own two children, an electrician in the room fixing a fan and said piano teacher and 4:00 student at the piano.  It was chaotic.  At 4:42, when she said to her student at the piano, "O.K.  That was good but this time I want you to play it....." I got up with Daniel, told Sam and Henry we had to go and walked out without a word.  She has called my house three times tonight and I haven't picked up the phone.  Because I am that lame.  I'm not ready for the confrontation.  For my sanity's sake, just start the *(%$!* lesson on time!  I'm so ashamed (and annoyed).  Sob!

The Bad:

Jay and I went to see Skyfall last night.  We went to the 9:20pm showing and maybe that late time gave the theater the impression that their customers were more laissez-faire than, say, matinee show times, but during the previews, instead of the expected green screen announcing the following preview is appropriate for all audiences (which they rarely are anyways), a red screen instead displayed the warning that the following preview contained explicit images.  What the?   Quentin Tarantino then appeared on screen and invited us movie-watchers to enjoy his western gore-fest movie preview to be released on Christmas. What immediately followed was the most horrific and gratuitous violence I have never wanted to see.  It was awful.  Exactly the kind of movie I would never, ever, ever pay to watch.  I remind you that this was at a PG-13 movie.  Has this ever happened to you?  I am writing a letter to the president or powers that be at Allen Movie Theaters and seriously considering never going to a movie there again.  I don't enjoy them that much anyway.  I mainly go to do something easy and relaxing with Jay.  I hope this isn't a new envelope-pushing trend.  There was no time to escape and I shouldn't have to leave my seat in a theater to avoid watching an R-rated preview before a PG-13 movie.  It kind of ruined the actual movie for me.  Everyone keeps saying they liked Skyfall and I liked Adele's opening credits song but the movie....meh.  

I went to a wedding reception this weekend for a couple I did not know.  I know the mother of the groom fairly well and the groom's youngest sister was one of my young women, so, being supportive, I bought a gift, wrapped it in pretty paper, tied it with trendy lime green ribbon and wrote a rather verbose card to the new couple.  I don't know what came over me.  A "congratulations!" would have been sufficient but I had to explain our love of pancakes and how they bring us to the table together and how I hoped they had many years of pancake making ahead of them to enjoy."  As we nibbled on our cheesecake and cookies at one of the tables, I found myself sitting next to the bride's family.  They were pleasant people and I was being affable myself and eventually the bride came to sit next to her mother for a bit of refreshment.  I started chatting her up and asked her how she and her husband met.  Of course, I did not say the words, "Your husband," because that would have been too stuffy and I was trying to be super-friendly-Lucy so I used his first name.  She looked a little confused and said, "Josh?"  With her blank stare wonder, I did a mental rewind and remembered the name on the invitation. The name of the groom was Jake.  Jake!  His brother, who just got home from a mission and who I also do not know is named Josh.  And not only did I say, "Josh" to the bride but I am about 99% certain that in my long-winded congratulatory wedding card, I wrote, "Josh."  Next time, I'm sticking with Mr. and Mrs.  Newlyweds like seeing that better anyway.

In another embarrassing moment of name butchering, last week, I asked a mother of one of Sam's soccer teammates, Jake, if she might be willing to take Sam with her and her son to a weekend tournament in Arizona.  I have not been a regular on the soccer practice fields and thus do not know most of the parents of the other boys all that well.  A few weekends ago, however, there was another tournament that included multiple same-day games and I sat next to Jake's mom and we got to talking.  Both of our boys eat gluten-free and we covered the challenges of that topic as well as many others.  I'm sure she said her name sometime during the day but I wasn't certain of it and looking at the group email list that gets sent out, I deduced which address most likely belonged to her.  I sent her a long-winded email (there might be a pattern here) about how nice it was to get to know her and how much Sam enjoys playing with Jake and does she have room for Sam and yada, yada, yada and when I got a reply, I learned that I sent it to the wrong mom.  She was as kind as possible and even included her desire that I not feel embarrassed or awkward about it but that she was actually Patrick's mom and she was sorry, but she didn't have room for Sam.  Gah!  I stewed for a few hours feeling dumb and then rolled the dice that these two mom's wouldn't compare emails and copied and pasted the same email to the right mom.  She was flattered that I would trust Sam in her care and happily agreed to take him.  All's well that ends well, right?  

The Good:

I am leaving in a day and a half with the boys to Montana for our week-long Thanksgiving break.  I cannot wait.  I need a change of schedule and scenery.  Hallelujah for the big sky! 

It's Not You...It's Me

A couple of weeks ago, I heard through my son, Sam, that our neighbors and friends were moving to Utah. When this friend confirmed the news through a text that same night, I drove home in a fog of tears. I was desolate. Beyond sad. Beyond lonely.

The hole this family would leave behind, both in the community and at church, is crater-sized in its proportions. While the thought of the gash their children leaving makes to our youth program and primary, as well as her and her husband's leadership roles as seminary teacher and bishopric member being sadly vacated is depressing, I mostly mourned my own personal loss. A fun friend gone. A source of advice and comfort in this little town too expensive and isolated to keep anyone for long...taken. I didn't want to live here anymore. I know that sounds dramatic but it just seemed that if this person, who I thought was going to be here forever, was moving then no current or future friendship was safe.  For years, it was us leaving our friends as medical school, residency and fellowship ended but, now, for the rest of my life, friends will move and leave me.

What made my grief seem ridiculously overdramatic and undeserving was that it had been probably close to a year since I had done anything social with this friend.  We had chatted at a few ward functions and a sent a few texts here and there that kept us from saying we hadn't heard from each other but I had made very little effort to be a friend to my friend.  Now, with plans for her to move in less than a month, we quickly scheduled a breakfast in which to meet and chat and it was delightful.  Easy.  Well...not so easy.  Daniel did tip over my water onto my lap and I had that uncomfortable upper thigh and crotch soak to show off as I left the restaurant but that kind of thing isn't what keeps me home.  It's me...not making any effort.  It's me....figuring people have better things to do.  It's me...not knowing or realizing the stress others are having and helping.  It's not hard for me to list all the reasons why I'm so unsocial these days.  I'm married to a private and socially unmotivated person.  I live on 25 acres in the freaking countryside.  I have a baby who prevents me from being a lady who lunches and older kids with busy evenings that make my daylight hours feel too precious to spend frivolously with other moms of young kids at things like MOPS.  All those realities make the excuses easier to give but the sad reality is this: I am not a good friend.

I think I make an excellent acquaintance.  I tend to be friendly and funny and genuinely interested in others. I'm such a good acquaintance that some are duped or lured into thinking I'd make a good friend.  This attention and effort on their part flatters and excites me for awhile but then something happens.  I'm not sure what.  Sometimes it's my own insecurity that I seem too desperate or needy so I back off.  Sometimes, I overshare, get embarrassed and back off.  Sometimes, someone else seems too desperate or needy and that scares me so I...back off.  See a pattern here?  Sometimes, distance and time just shift the friendship back to acquaintance mode and it seems weird to get all loud and eager again.  Whatever the reason I know that I am the common denominator in all of my current and former lackluster friendships.

A few days ago, this friend told me they are no longer moving.  Relief and joy replaced the gloom and I feel determined to show this friend that I really am her friend!  Even with this resolve and our own jokes that it shouldn't take the threat of a move to get us to hang out, I find myself managing my motivation.  My head says, "O.K.  She's staying but this is a really busy time of year and you just had breakfast two weeks ago. Don't annoy her and plan something else right away."  I'm obnoxious!

To anyone I have disappointed as a friend - I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry if I seemed disinterested.  I'm sorry if I let you down or left you alone when you needed support.  I'm sorry I seem to lack the skills to stay friends - real friends.  I promise you...it's not you.  It's me.  I'd like to be better.

Trending

Seth has been working on identifying artifacts in his social studies class and what information they reveal about any given culture.  As I've been thinking about certain trends for awhile, I thought it would be good fun to share my opinions about some things that are happening in 2012.

• Bright Color Skinny Jeans - Skinny jeans were bad enough for 95% of the female population but now, those unforgiving pants come in fuscia, tangerine, sunflower and aqua and gold!  As much as I try to look down my nose at all the bright bottoms, I actually think they are really cute.  I wish I could wear them!  Alas, bootcut is my friend.  My kind, camouflaging, forgiving, friend. 

• Joanna Brooks - Although I am not a regular reader of her blog, nor have I read her book, Book of Mormon Girl,  I have heard of her.  Several of my Facebook friends occasionally link their status updates to her blog, usually when they agree with her opinion on gay marriage, feminism and church tradition vs. doctrine.  From what I've read, she seems smart and kind and clear in that she represents her own opinions and not the LDS church at large.  Then, for a few weeks, it seemed like she was everywhere!  The Daily Show and morning shows and talking about Mitt Romney and releasing her book and I got a little alarmed.  I get that some cultural aspects of my church are amusing/frustrating/obsolete/bewildering/cringeworthy but sometimes, the docrine gets thrown into the debate about what should stay and what should go.  I rely gratefully on the tenet of revelation and our own human shortcomings that limit the flow of knowledge from God to us - because we haven't managed to master faith and repentance yet - and I bristle a bit about the adulation of so many for one woman who, though smart and articulate, isn't called to be our prophet.  I definitely think questions, conversations and doubt play a huge part of any religion and they should!  Heaven knows I am filled with my own.  I just worry when those questions, conversations and doubts get liked on Facebook and rated on Amazon.  Still, I do plan on reading her book sometime soon. 

• Hash Tags - Oh my goodness, these took me so long to figure out.  I am not on Twitter.  I think I am enmeshed in enough social media and I can get my fill of celebrity info from reading the cover of people and Us Magazine in line at the grocery store.  I do not need them reminding me about their shows/movies/political views or product launches.  So, when hashtags started to appear on facebook and instagram, I had to google their purpose.  O.K.  I see how it can be handy if you use instagram to further your business or want followers.  I even enjoy how hashtags can sometimes be used for humor.  My problem is, because I'm not on Twitter, I feel like a faker whenever I use one.  Because, my instagram account is private and I don't want followers I don't know.  So, they are pointless, right?  And yet, that humor motive still gets me sometimes!  

• Extravagant Manicures - I have never had a manicure.  Ever.  I pick my nails.  Every so often, I see someone with a french manicure with nails only a little long and I think, "That looks nice.  I should get one sometime."  Then, I see all the crazy things people do to their nails and pictures of things people want to do to their nails and I'm glad that this is not my thing.  Because those nails look time consuming!  

• Paleo Diet - It's tempting.  I admit it.  It shouldn't be because we already live with diet restrictions in my house but you can't help but notice how healthy all those recipes look.  I know I'd lose weight.  But it also looks so, so hard.  No dairy?  I'm not a milk drinker but I love dairy. Cream cheese, sour cream, ice cream.  And beans!  I love beans.  Black beans, refried beans, pinto beans.  And rice!  I love rice.  And quinoa. Buckwheat, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't miss.  So, maybe Paleo isn't for me.  Plus, I saw this on Facebook and it made me laugh out loud.  

• Pop Music - There is no doubt in my bones that todays hits are the equivalent of disco music.  It's all beat and style without substance and still, I love it!  I am wired to love the beat!  Listening to the radio has never been so enjoyable.  Oh, I made do and sang along with whatever has been playing for the past 20 years but I haven't had this much fun since my freshman year of high school and Technotronics "Pump up the Jam" was all the rage.  That and C&C Music Factory.  It's horrible!  I'm so ashamed!  And yet...I shimmy on.  

• Gangnam Style - I don't actually know what this is.  I have heard the song on the radio and it sounds like a mash-up of Ricky Martin and LMFAO (see above to understand how I know about either).  I don't love the song.  It's in a different language.  Korean, I've been told.  So, there must be more to the story for it to make all these headlines than just the song.  

There you have it.  A tiny, wordly glimpse into fall 2012.  Won't the future be amazed?  

Lost In Translation

I should have known by the fourth missed call that my sister needed to talk to me about something more serious than So You Think You Can Dance or the price of Lagoon tickets.  When I finally picked up at 8:30 pm and listened to her news about my mom being in the hospital, I was furious with myself for being so glib about her calls, relieved that I hadn't had to suffer as much as she had for the past four hours as still very little information was available as to our mom's condition and, mostly, intensely stressed out about how my mom was doing.

Sarah, with hours of investigative reporting already under her belt, became my source of information.  Because my mom was undergoing procedures and then spending the night in the ICU, I didn't want to interrupt any rest she might be having or inundate my father with call after call after call (there are six of us, after all, and we like to keep in touch) while he was certainly worried and stressed.   So, I waited and wondered and worried.  I shared what little information I had with Jay who had many questions of his own - questions I hadn't even thought to ask.  I realized how much communication gets lots from doctor to patient and from patient to family members.  No doubt, Jay, with his fluency in medical jargon, would be much better informed armed with access to my mom's imaging, as well as her charts and test results.  I felt a bit ridiculous when I realized how little I actually knew about what was going on.

Come morning, my dad sent an email to us children with the information he had.  It was a little different from what I had gone to bed supposing and my understanding of the situation was already shifting.  Hours later, after my mom had been transferred out of the ICU and into a medical ward, I was able to speak with her and got better information still.  Partly because some of my own misunderstandings were cleared up but mostly because she got more and better information during the morning hours.  Nurses had translated some of the more confusing questions she had into what she could understand and when I told Jay the updates, he said, "Well, that makes a lot more sense than what you said last night."  He started talking about "hyper" this and things ending with "tion" and I nodded and said, "Um..yeah.  I don't know."

After talking to my mom, who is doing much, much better and should be home tomorrow, I had this brief epiphany: truth is frequently lost in translation.

My mom's condition, the things happening inside her body, was always what it was.  It never changed.  What changed was my level of access to the truth.  Immediately, at the very first level of discovery, some truth is always lost due to simple human limitations.  The tests have limits in accuracy.  The doctors have limits in interpreting data and diagnoses based on their level of experience and training.  Given, that very training and experience is what makes them the most qualified to define the truth but we can't know more than we are capable of knowing.

From there, the doctors pass on their findings to nurses and staff, as well as other concerned parties like family members or journalists and shave off already flawed data to people who are even less able to understand its full complexity.  So, by the time it reaches me, it's been simplified...reduced.  No longer truth but a summary of possible truth.  And that is only once removed.

By the time I heard it from my sister, who called the nurse in the ICU who got it from a chart written by a doctor or even from my dad who always looks at the big picture rather than the numbers that may or may not be her hematocrit level, the truth had changed.  It was skewed. Inaccurate. Less. Not from any malice, fault or sloth by any party, but merely due to distance and ability.

There is so much I don't know.  I don't know where the next hurricane will strike.  I don't know about Heavenly Mother.  I don't know why rhythmic gymnastics is still an olympic sport.  And, sometimes....a lot of the time...I don't even know what I don't know.  That's scary.  I realized this morning, in that brief moment of stillness and clarity, (which is already gone, by the way.  It's hard to make that short, happy epiphany make sense right now) that truth is truth.  It doesn't change.  But my understanding does.  I can be content to get my information from the line or I can learn what I need to learn so that the metaphorical "hyper"s and "tion"s have meaning.

Say Anything

There isn’t one dominant reason as to why I have been so silent this summer break.  Of course, every day, there is usually one dominant reason:  I’m traveling, I have company staying with me, Daniel is sick or fussy, it is too hot in the house (my psyche is very sensitive to heat), I’m trying to do something...anything to make my house and life less cluttered and so on.  Occasionally, these forces combine and I am completely overwhelmed.

But those to-dos and day fillers aren’t really the reason I haven’t written.  My motivation to write usually stems from wanting a record of my memories, a desire to interact socially with family and friends and to be creative with my thoughts and opinions (i.e. book reviews).   Occasionally, I have used it to confess weaknesses or purge toxic ideas, although I know this is much less acceptable in the blogiverse.  Especially my blogiverse.  I am trying very hard not to do that anymore.  However, that plug in my pie-hole affects all my other motivation.  

It is said if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all.  I thought I was following this advice.  But, I DO have nice things to say and I should say them.  We have been having a lot of fun this summer and I’ve seen some beautiful friends and shared wonderful experiences with family in amazing places and the fact that I’m going through some kind of pathetic mid-life crisis (should I die at age 72 which is on the young side of old age but not out of the question) that makes me question and doubt everything I do doesn’t negate those events.  But, I think for my own authenticity, I had to post this first.  As a kind of disclaimer, I suppose.  I already feel better.  It is such a disadvantage to be a sharer when things aren’t perfectly peachy.  I envy you private people.

Here’s to saying something...which I hope is better than saying nothing at all.

May In Pictures (and some words. I just couldn’t help myself)

There are a lot of missed posts in the month of May. It is at least as busy a month as December with less cute decorations but better weather. We have been going non-stop and will continue for the next two weeks but I thought if I could pop this post out and at least get caught up in pictures then I wouldn’t feel like throwing in the towel and jumping over all this May hoopla. Because there has been some good hoopla!


Earlier in the month, Daniel started eating solid food.  Our pediatrician said to start introducing food when he seemed interested and after a couple of dinners when he kept swiping my plate and cup, I figured he was interested.  Oh, boy, is he ever.  This boy loves food!  So far, he has only tried rice cereal and sweet potatoes but he loves both.  It’s messy and time consuming and I don’t do it at the end of every day because nursing is so much quicker but when I do, he appreciates it.  I’m thinking of getting one of those baby food blenders I see on TV.  Has anyone tried them?  Is it a gimmick?




In his new high chair.  He likes to put his fingers or thumb in his mouth after every bit...which spreads the food mess love all over!




Have you ever heard of the Hershey track meet?  They are sponsored locally and those who finish first in their age group move on to the state level and then, I suppose, if they finish first there, qualify for the national meet.  Seth qualified last year but the state meet conflicted with another summer commitment.  This year, he was determined to qualify.  Sam was old enough to compete this year but ran against some pretty fast 10 year olds and got third in both his events.  Of course, to a perfectionist like Sam, third place means he is the slowest and worst runner ever but he did great.  I love watching him move.  He’s such an athlete.

At the start of the 50m dash.









It was close but he got third.

What a neglected third child does to entertain himself when dragged to all kinds of events for his older two brothers.  He has his own race!











“I’m fast, huh Mom!”

Sam’s 100m dash which was immediately after the 50 yard dash.  Sam kids.













Maybe next year, Sam!

Seth really wanted to run in the mile but it wasn’t offered in his age division so he settled for the 800.  It was a small group of runners and Seth’s strategy was to not start off too fast.

You can see him settling in nice and steady.


Nice and steady....



Wait a second!  Way too nice and steady.  Go catch her, Seth!



At the 200m mark on the final lap, Seth finally switched gears and started to kick.

















He caught her in the end and qualified for the meet in Denver (if he gets his grades up..Grrr) but I think he needs some coaching from Dad or maybe Uncle Rex.

May has been absolutely horrible for exercise.  I know I’m an excuse maker but it’s hard to fit it in with a newborn who is still figuring out his sleep.  The gym I pay to go to only has classes in the morning and then for the after work hour, which I can never make, so if I miss those 8 or 9 or 10 o’clock classes, out comes the baby jogger.  Daniel seemed to like it.



Henry’s kindergarten class threw a mother’s day tea party which turned into a parent’s day tea party because father’s day is in June.  Jay couldn’t make it and I was surprised again by their strict adherence to the tea theory.  They only served tea.  They did this at his preschool party and I think it is so bizarre.  Do kids like tea?

Here’s Henry performing one of the many songs they learned.  With his hands down his pants.  So proud!





What an absolute cutie.  I’m a lucky mom.  Who doesn’t drink tea.



May (and April.  And March) have been all about soccer for Sam and Seth.  Practices, extra practices, tournaments and more tournaments.  It is finally over and I’m not a bit sad about it.  I like that it gives them a team experience and it is wonderful exercise but this club soccer is way over the top, in my opinion.  I think some parents are already gunning for their kids to play in college or professionally and so it makes sane and reasonable parents like me seem lazy and whiny when I think it’s all too much.  But, I support them because they have committed to the season.  I’m still proud of them though for choosing not to play on Sundays, even when Seth’s team made it to the championship game in two different tournaments which were played on Sunday.



Sam was under the weather and as he is the dominant scorer on his team, they didn’t do so well.  Plus, this team was really, really good.  The ref was hilarious.  I’ve never seen a ref take his whistle and hand signals so seriously.  It was very reminiscent of Paul Blart, Mall Cop.



Go, Sam!



He takes a shot!

Seth’s team is much more intense.  These boys have been playing together since they were six or seven and Seth has struggled to find his place and feel worthwhile as this is his first year playing.  He contributes to the team with his speed and stamina (he can run for forever) but definitely plays with some inhibition and fear of doing the wrong thing.  In spite of all of this, he played his heart out at this tournament and even got yellow carded!  His teammates were shocked.  He’s one of the taller players so gets put in the line of fire when the opposing team gets a shot at the goal.  His priorities crack me up here.



At least they play on such a beautiful field.  I never mind being there.



With his running at school and outside races and soccer, he has developed a nasty shin splint.  Dad tapes him up.



Mother’s Day was a mother’s day.  Jay was on call and at the hospital all day and I was scheduled to teach the YWs lesson.  It’s probably a good thing May got so busy because I had a rather long-winded response to all the mother’s day complaining I witnessed which I’ll reduce to short form here.  Somehow, Mother’s Day turned into, “I don’t have to do anything” day which is a recipe for frustration, bitterness and feeling bad.  I don’t understand women who think it means sleeping in and skipping church or having nothing at all do to with their children unless it involves gift receiving and pampering.  All holidays have a materialistic and selfish alter ego and refusing to mother or thinking that it is the one day where you shouldn’t have to mother is a twisted interpretation, in my opinion.  It’s like saying, “Well, I’m thankful every day so on Thanksgiving, I will take a day off from being thankful.  I need a break from all that gratitude!”  Of course, mothers should be revered and respected every day, just like we should be patriotic and appreciative of our freedoms every day and not just on the fourth of July.  And don’t get me started on how I feel about the Sacrament meeting talk complainers.  Anybody that wants to can find a reason to rip on church meetings and those who speak.  We are a church of imperfect people.  So what if someone talks about his angel mother?  Or what if that guy mentions his hot wife?  It shouldn’t spoil your entire day.  If it does, then the speakers are not the problem.  I need to stop.  I promised this would be short.

Anyways....

Look at the blessings who call me mother.



A haircut might be nice.  Sam is looking awfully Miami Vice.



Here’s another picture of Sam.  He is such a good boy.


We went over to Vaughn and Patty’s for dinner on mother’s day as it was also Patty’s birthday and thus a double celebration.  Vaughn grilled some delicious steak and chicken and the boys enjoyed wrestling with Derek.  Daniel got some cuddles with Grandpa.



We scheduled our big YW girls camp fundraiser during the hectic month of May - a mistake I’ll never make again.  Because we have combined the 1st and 2nd wards for most mutual activities, it made sense to have a combined fundraiser.  It was definitely double the work but I’m not sure it was double the reward.  Thankfully, all the work, which was hours and hours of shopping and prepping in the kitchen and cleaning up afterward, was made better by working with these good women.



Henry had a tooth pretty much fall out the other day.  In pieces.  I took him to a pediatric dentist and the poor boy has to get the rest of the tooth extracted as well as crowns on most of his molars.  Between his super stubborn personality and all of his oral issues (tongue and speech things) he isn’t a very good brusher and it’s hard to help him.  As a result, he has almost $2,000 worth of work coming up.  Gulp.



More soccer pics!  This time, we were at a tournament in Grand Junction.  The weather was lovely and warm and my boys did great.  I was like a pack mule with the shade chair, umbrella, diaper bag, water and Daniel in a front pack.  That's my excuse for only getting a couple of pictures of Seth and none of Sam.  Bad mommy!





I am a huge fan and supporter of piano recitals.  We haven’t had many because Sam and Seth’s teacher had a baby this year but the music teachers in the area decided to have a combined recital at the college and I was happy both boys got a chance to perform.  Sam played Baroque in Bits and Seth played a duet with his teacher from the opera, Carmen, called “Gypsy Song”







All of the students take a final group bow.



Of course, we did our best to enjoy the rare solar eclipse but we didn’t have the right equipment to photograph the ring of fire.  Here’s my attempt anyway.



We did notice we got some funny shadows on the house from the eclipse.  Check out Seth’s webbed hands.



Sam and I practice our amphibian look as well.



Loved the eclipse’s effect on the tree’s shadow on our garage.



Jay pulls off science guy and builds a rudimentary solar camera.  The boys love these kinds of things.





Other random pics from my phone:

Nursing Daniel in the car between soccer games.



Daniel chilling with mom post meal.



Daniel discovering a new friend in the mirror.



Seth thinking and mom wishing she knew what about.



Seth and Sam eating at Chilis after a soccer tournament.



Jay and Daniel take a nap before church on Sunday.