Fistful of Daisies

Six Months (a little late)

2012-02-01T20:11:00.002-08:00

More Like a Canteloupe

2012-02-01T17:35:00.000-08:00

People have said they love my blog because I'm so open and honest. Well, I can't think of anything more open and honest than these pictures. I debated whether or not it was going to be too much, but this really happened and it was ugly and awful and a pain in the ass, but it was also a part of my fistful of daisies. They said the tumor was going to be the size of a lemon, that's what the ultrasound had shown anyway, but when they cut me open, the surgeon found a tumor that he said was "more like a cantaloupe." We were also expecting to walk out of the hospital with little or no breast, and now I'm home and recovering, and the good news is my perky, you'd never know I had five kids breast is healing well (how did they do it?!), and there's NO CANCER.

I'm hoping when I look back at these pictures years from now I'll remember that terrible, hard, and unfair things happen, like tumors the size of cantaloupes, but we can handle it, we're strong enough. I hope I also remember that really wonderful, brave and kind things happen too, like that gut feeling that led me to just the right surgeons, and friends who play with your babies and sing to them in their cribs when you can't. Life is both open wound and pinching, screaming pain in your side, and miracle and chocolate cake on the doorstep.

Another Monday

2012-01-09T19:03:00.000-08:00

1AM Malcolm wakes up for a bottle, goes right back to bed
2-2:45AM Malcolm wakes up again, who knows why, I'm too old for this, I cuddle with him downstairs
5:30AM Malcolm wakes up, Good Morning!, we turn on the news and Mark yells "damn it" and heads downstairs to the futon

7AM Malcolm falls asleep

7:10AM I sneak in to the girls' bed to wake them up, their breath is terrible but they're so warm
7:20AM I find uniforms for the girls, help Ada with her tights, Charlotte with her belt

7:25AM I warm up left over sticky buns and make smoothies (pink one for Elle, green spinach for the rest of us)

7:28AM Decco wakes up, he smells so good but he's soaked through his pants

7:30AM Mark showers, changes diapers and quizzes the girls on their spelling words (it's Spelling Bee week)
7:45AM I do the girls' hair, bows and headbands

7:50AM We remind the girls to put on socks, shoes, grab their lunches from the fridge, etc.

7:55AM We remind the girls again to put on their socks, shoes, grab their lunches, etc.

8AM It's freezing outside, I put an extra layer on everyone, Mark warms up the car

8:05AM Malcolm is still asleep so Mark takes the girls to school, Ada yells "Love you! Best Mom ever!"She says this every morning, I love it

8:08AM Malcolm wakes up

8:10AM I feed Malcolm a bottle

8:15AM I weigh myself, I've gained 6 pounds since November, I vow to stop being an emotional eater
8:16AM I turn on Chuggington for Decco, I jump into a shower, Malcolm waits in his bouncy thing, he's playing with his feet
8:20AM I get dressed

8:22AM I pull my hair in a pony tail and brush my teeth, face lotion and that's it
8:24AM I pick up a fussy Malcolm and we watch Chuggington with Decco

8:30AM Marko gets back

8:35AM We drive Mark to work, are we the only family in America with one car?!
9:05AM Charlotte's teacher calls me, Charlotte doesn't feel well

9:10AM We jump in the van to pick up Charlotte before she throws up, Decco has a poop but I decide to change it later
9:11AM I call the lady I carpool with while I'm driving because it's my day, I switch her for Wednesday
9:20AM I jump out of the car and run in to check Charlotte out, I notice a backpack on the ground out at the playground, that's strange
9:22AM The office ladies make me go pick her up in her classroom, Charlotte's head is on her desk, she's white as a ghost and she doesn't have her backpack
9:25AM We return to the van and Malcolm is screaming his head off and Decco is whimpering, I run out to the playground and pick up Charlotte's missing purple backpack, I knew it looked familiar
9:30AM I call Mark to complain and he picks up as I yell "Shit" because Decco is now throwing up all over himself and the car, Mark wonders what he's supposed to do
9:31AM I drive like a crazy woman but of course get stopped at every light, I cuss some more
9:35 AM I pull Decco, his car seat and the entire seat out of the van, strip Decco of his soiled and stinking clothes, Malcolm is still screaming
9:37AM Decco picks an old goldfish cracker off of the driveway and eats it, I pick him up and carry him to the bathroom, take off his diaper, forget that he's pooped and it falls to the floor, awesome, more cussing
9:38AM I plop Decco in a warm bath and run outside to finally get Malcolm out of his seat, hoping the neighbors aren't watching
9:39AM I give Charlotte a barf bowl on the couch and feed Malcolm a bottle
9:45AM I get Decco out of the bath and wrap him in a blanket, he's shaking
9:46AM I turn on Toy Story 2 for the millionth time, no, million and one
9:50AM I drink my spinach shake that's been sitting on the counter, it's nice and warm
10:00AM I check my emails real fast, I get the word that financing has gone through for my surgery but I need to call and get estimates by that night
10:01-11:01AM I'm on the phone, mostly on hold and transferred all over the place, with both surgeons' offices, the anesthesiologist and the hospital, with Malcolm in my arms, and tending to the sick kids on the couch
11:15AM Marko calls after his class and promises to come home as soon as he can, sounds good, I'm playing cars with Decco
11:20AM Malcolm refuses a nap
11:48AM Eleanor calls, she placed first in her class spelling bee, yay! The word: commensurate
12 ish I grab a V8 and some Wheat Thins for lunch
12:15ish PM I feed Malcolm a bottle and he finally falls asleep
12:30ish PM Decco goes down for a nap
12:35PM I go outside and spray everything down with the hose, start a load of laundry
1PM I turn off Tom and Jerry and turn on Jillian's 30-day Shred, Charlotte laughs at me from the couch, Jillian obviously has never had five kids
1:18PM Malcolm starts screaming from his crib as I'm finishing my crunches, I can barely breath or move
2ish I call Mark and tell him I've got everything covered, stay and do what you got to do, babe
2:30ish Decco wakes up a happy boy, he eats a bowl of pretzels
2:46PM Eleanor calls in tears, she got a 4 out of 20 on her Math test, she thinks her Dad is going to kill her, he probably will
3:12PM I watch Ellen for five minutes while I feed Malcolm a bottle, some policeman who caught an arson
3:38PM Ada calls from swim practice, she placed first in her class spelling bee, too! The word: precious
4ish I pick up Mark from work, thank goodness. My good friend, Kim, calls us while we're in the car. I listen to Mark tease her. I love hearing her laugh all the way in North Carolina.
4:15ish We pull up and my friend Mary Ann has left dinner on the doorstep: Carrot-Ginger Soup with lemon cream, zucchini bread with homemade jam, wild rice salad with fresh cranberries and walnuts, I cry, I spoon it into my mouth as I tell Kim about my surgery and wish her a late Happy Birthday
4:30ish Mark goes to pick up the girls from swim team
4:34PM I call my sister-in-law who miscarried last week, and find out she was in the hospital last night with complications, poor thing, it's so hard to be a woman
4:55PM I set the table and warm up dinner
5:20ish I feed a very hungry Decco and sit down to dinner with the girls, yummy
6ish Mark sits down to do homework with Charlotte and Ada while I work on Math with Eleanor, Decco is watching Buzz again, Mark is listening to Morrissey
6:12PM I pass Malcolm to Ada to give to Mark because he's driving me crazy
6:15PM I Google how to find the circumference of a circle, I don't know how to do any of this
7ish We finally finish with Math, Eleanor is crying because I asked her how she doesn't know any of this, I'm tired
7:02PM The Orthodontist calls to remind us of a 12:15 appointment the next day to replace Eleanor's lost retainer, ugh
7:40PM Ada complains that her ear hurts, I give her a grown-up pill because she will not drink medicine for anything
8PM Malcolm falls asleep on Mark as he cleans up the kitchen, one down four to go
8:15-9PM I watch a cake show with Ada and Charlotte, we like the pink one, Decco is in my lap, I tickle his arms
8:30PM Decco asks for milk, we're out, Mark runs to the Creamery, best milk ever
9:15ish Decco goes to bed without a whimper, Bear and taggie in hand
9:18PM The girls fight over who's sleeping in what bed while I put out clothes for tomorrow and turn on the fan
9:30ish I start watching the Bachelor, so silly but just what I need
9:35PM Mark starts laundry, the first of three loads
10ish I turn off the Bachelor, Mark watches the LSU-Alabama game, I decide to write my first blog post in a long time
10:22PM I can hear Mark laughing from the other room, he's reading War and Peace for the fourth time, it's good to hear him laugh, I haven't read a book in a really long time
11:04PM I finally finish this and realize why I never blog anymore, I'm pooped and I'm thinking I know why we do it, just look at them, but how do we do it? Seriously, how do we manage it sometimes?!

Five Months

2011-12-29T10:05:00.001-08:00

Four Months

2011-11-29T15:40:00.001-08:00

Life Before My Eyes

2011-11-04T11:22:00.000-07:00

Tuesday morning I went in to see what was going on with my breast, the same breast that has been giving me grief since 2005. It's become a problem, like a huge, 2-liter bottle hanging on my left side problem. A I'm embarrassed to go out in public problem and nothing fits me problem. Anyway, after a quick mammogram and ultrasound, I was rushed to Radiology for a core biopsy, and then quickly rushed across town to a surgeon. Things didn't look good. Everyone was looking at me with these eyes that said, "Poor thing, she's totally screwed." Within minutes of being with the surgeon, he told me the tumor had completely taken over my breast and we were talking about which type of breast cancer it probably was, chemo, radiation, mastectomies, etc. I tried to act tough, like he was talking about my toenails and not my lymph nodes, but by the time I left his office I was shaking, and when Mark met me on our driveway I totally broke. Once again, we were waiting for that daunting phone call of fate.
It came Thursday morning when I was in line at Target with apple juice and formula in my cart. I figured Target was as good a place as any. The nurse said something about the findings being consistent with a fibroadenom, which is what it's always been, a benign knot. No cancer. I gave Mark a thumb's up from across the cash register where he was walking a fussy Malcolm. Both of our knees and shoulders folded in relief. While I had been Googling carcinomas on the internet the last two days, and deciding I was probably a scarf and not a hat person, and would prefer a flap procedure rather than get a waterbed put in my chest, Mark had been worrying about the prospect of being a single father of five. They were heavy, sleepless days.
Anyway, we celebrated with chili rellenos and all the Halloween candy we wanted. I'm a lucky girl. I might still lose my breast, but it could've been worse. A lot worse.
I fear I've become cliche, but it's really true that when faced with something like this everything gets put in its proper place. I've been thinking of all the moments and opportunities I miss out on not because I'm dying of cancer but because I'm lazy, impatient or preoccupied. My two surprise baby boys don't seem like the mistakes to be resented or speed bumps they often do, rather the blessings they were always meant to be. My self-interested ambitions seem silly in comparison to getting down on the floor and playing monster truck with Declan, coloring with Charlotte, or letting Mark fall asleep on my arm like he likes to. My life may be unglamorous and unspectacular, but it's a life without cancer, a life of meaning, a life of simple pleasures like sipping Cokes on the swing in the last warmth of Fall. I'm grateful for the corrected perspective. I'm going to try my damnest to hold on to it, but even now, three days later, I can feel how easy it is to let it slip and slide away.

For Milky Ways

2011-11-01T17:29:00.000-07:00

Three Months

2011-10-28T12:14:00.001-07:00

Difficult and Doable, I Think

2011-10-23T10:01:00.001-07:00

ann,
the main question is how are you??? is it super hard but doable, or is it just difficult at every moment? please tell me you are doing okay. . .
love, jen

Dear Jen,
I'm trying not to jump to any definitive my-life-is-over conclusions because I realize it's still early--baby Malcolm is not even 3-months-old--and let's be real, I'm totally fried from lack of sleep. Difficult at every moment? Unfortunately, you're not that far off. I will say this: whoever said that after three children it's all the same is totally delusional. Maybe they were sleep deprived when they made that ridiculous statement too because it's truly bonkers. Even one more child is that much more work, more noise, more clutter, more food, more socks to match, more money, more trips to the doctor, more crumbs under the table, more worry, more crazy. There's just no breathing room. Mark and I are working 24/7 and things are still falling through the cracks.
I guess I'm still just coming to terms with all of this, and by all of this I mean five kids. It's still so unexpected. I feel like someone brought me a plate of food I didn't order and I'm still fighting with the waiter, when I just need to take it and enjoy it for what it is, even if it is something I'd never order myself, like bottled ranch dressing and shrimp. I hate shrimp.
Anyway, I'm trying to let this whole experience wash over me like a cool, gentle wave, because I do realize I'll never have exactly this again--a sweet, fragrant newborn in my arms surrounded by a bustling home of up and comers--but most of the time the wave washes me out and pulls me under.
The problem is that I have two very conflicting teams of thought and emotion playing inside of me at the same time, and it's that conflict that is causing an undertow to pull and threaten my weary, sinking body. I genuinely adore my boys, I do. There's something about mothers and sons, isn't there? And they've already brought so much laughter and love and learning into our home. But I also feel like they've ruined us and I resent what it's taking to do this and do this well. I admit, I still allow too many "what ifs" and "whys" and could've beens." Whether or not I have a good day depends on which side is winning.
So, that's how I'm doing, bad food and drowning analogies and all.
Thanks for asking. I need friends like you more than ever.
And please don't think less of me. It's not over yet.
Love,
Ann

Charlie in the Middle

2011-10-12T11:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Charlotte,
You deserved every single sprinkle on that donut, every sweetness, every treat. Happy Birthday! You are still my gift, my special present and you will always be my baby, even if you are smashed in the very middle of us now. But you're the very best middle a family could have. You're like the creamy center of a JoJo, the caramel oozing from a Milky Way, the pickle inside a cheeseburger. You make us all better. You are just the loveliest thing: so soft and gentle, so positive and funny, so thoughtful and patient, so confident and strong.
Don't tell the rest of them, but sometimes I just want to jump in the car with you and drive away forever. We'd have the best time.
Love,
Mom

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

2011-10-08T17:13:00.001-07:00

What Do You Do?

2011-10-03T08:57:00.000-07:00

What do you do with a two-month, weepy-eyed, sweet butterscotch baby boy who shows up uninvited, wakes up every two hours in the middle of the night, starts the day at 4AM and says, "Whaaa, whaaa, whaaa" most of the time no matter what attempts you make to quiet and console. What do you do?
You throw him out, that's what you do.
Just kidding.
You let him stay, at least while he's napping, and hope he grows out of it soon, but until then, you pull up your boot straps, love him anyway, drink a lot of caffeine, and use him as an excuse for everything that's wrong in your life while you still can.

For Marsha

2011-10-03T07:58:00.000-07:00

Because I thought this might just make your day.... Wish you were here.

Two Months

2011-09-29T10:58:00.000-07:00

Love and Surrender

2011-09-15T12:56:00.000-07:00

It surprises me, actually, that Mark and I have a motto, but we do. At our basic core, we're not the motto type; but years ago, when we were living in a 560 sq.ft. apartment with three children under the age of four, life demanded a motto and so as life became less and less glamorous and fun, and more and more demanding and messy, we would simply look at each other in the heat and frustration and fatigue of the moment and say, "Love and surrender, baby." That not only encouraged patience and humility, turning up the music and dancing in the living room rather than passing out spanks and locking the little shits in their room, but it reminded us that we were in it together, and together we could do it.

Anyway, I started really thinking about what it means to surrender to motherhood and why I just couldn't seem to do it when I got pregnant with Declan and now even more so as I struggle with the responsibility of raising five children. When I say surrender, I don't mean giving up and waving a white flag of cowardice, neither do I mean it as an act of subservience, something I'm going to do only because I have to. I don't think this kind of surrendering, the surrendering of parent to a child, should feel like I'm losing anything, but rather that I'm willfully giving something to someone with no expectation of getting anything in return.

Marko said, "What I mean by surrender comes from an older use of the verb that means: 'to abandon for the sake of another; to abandon oneself or devote oneself entirely to.'" I think, as usual, he's on to something.

I noticed something very interesting when we were in Disneyland as I people watched on various benches throughout the park, waiting for my family of coaster enthusiasts or watching over a slumbering Decco. I noticed a lot of really miserable parents. A lot. And most of them only had one or two children, in contrast to my soon to be five. I kept thinking, "What are they complaining about?" because at the time, I was still feeling really sorry for myself. Anyway, I noticed a grown man throwing a tantrum because he couldn't go on his ride of choice. I noticed an incensed mother unsuccessfully cleaning melting Mickey ice cream from the front of her daughter's dress with baby wipes. And again, I think it all comes down to surrendering. These parents hadn't surrendered. I could see it all over their tight, put-out faces, in the angry rise of their voices, the hunch of their shoulders, as they pushed around strollers heavy laden with sippy cups and snacks. They were thinking, "Remember how easy it used to be before kids? Why did we do this? It's such a drag. It would be so much easier...." I know this because I've said those things before. Out loud and in a really whiny voice.

And it occurred to me then, as I ferried four kids around the park 7-months pregnant with my fifth, that it doesn't matter if you have one child or six, (I know parents of only children who are far more miserable than I am), in fact it doesn't just apply to parents at all. If we are to find any pleasure in loving at all, we must surrender. We must surrender self-interest, independence, control, comfort. We must relinquish our stubborn and selfish grip on these things, not because we're tired and we can't hold on any longer, but because we want to embrace something better, something far more important.

And so I continue to pry each of my fingers loose so that I can love as I should.

P.S. Eleanor just greased my bathroom with butter (don't ask) and I'm heading in to another sleepless night with Malcolm, aka Worst Sleeper Ever. Love and surrender, baby.

Worth a Thousand Words

2011-09-07T11:13:00.001-07:00

Look away! Look away! Okay, I warned you. This alarmingly horrific picture (thanks, Mark) was taken directly after Malcolm's delivery, but it pretty much captures the last five weeks: overwhelming, exhausting and well, down-right miserable. But my sweet mother-in-law keeps reminding me that it won't always be like this. It won't, right? Promise?

Each Other

2011-08-29T11:07:00.000-07:00

There's just no getting around it: I'm sure I'll mess them up one way or another. They'll take issue eventually with something I did or didn't do as their mother. What will it be? My impatience, my sobriety and pessimism, the fact that I asked them to wash their hands more than I told them I loved them, that I'm not very affectionate, that I didn't allow sleepovers, Cheetos or play-doh, that I didn't do crafts or decorate for the holidays, or maybe they'll inherit my height or my short eyelashes and hate me for it?
But, I'll be quick to remind them that at least I gave them each other.

One Month

2011-08-26T08:35:00.000-07:00

I Want the World to Stop

2011-08-21T13:31:00.000-07:00

the girls, bright and shiny, first day of school

One of life's inevitable conditions is that it always continues, forever forward moving at an unprejudiced, consistent pace. Sometimes it seems a great injustice that it doesn't stop or at least slow. Certainly the birth of a baby deserves a pause, a small acknowledgement of the arrival of something truly spectacular? But, it doesn't, it goes and it goes, continuing on its long, heavy, purposed way. A baby is born and we draw in our breath and want the world to stop, but cars still break and need registration, school starts and needs new shoes and pencils, bills have their dues, and 16-month-olds still get terribly, horribly, terrifyingly sick.
But then on the flip side, is the relief that life does always move and continue. When we think we just can't do it anymore and the responsibilities and challenges seem impossibly beyond our strength and ability, we can feel life's movement beneath our tired and aching feet, promising that it won't always be like this, that there will be new days, new places, new happiness. I can feel the soft vibration of its promise in my toes right now.

Not Quite Home Alone

2011-08-09T08:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my first day home alone, and when I say home alone, I mean surrounded by my now officially ginormous brood of five with no other legal adult in sight. It went surprisingly well. No major harm or accident befell us and I think I even managed a lipglossed smile at the door when Mark came home, not to mention a load of laundry, some dishes, and a trip to the Pediatrician for our very sick 16-month-old. (Anyone had Cryptosporidium and lived to tell the tale?)

But I'd be misrepresenting facts to say that I did it on my own.

I know we've been through this before, but I never wanted a large family. However, if I were to design the perfect family of seven, I would've designed it exactly like ours turned out: three older girls and two little boys. I really don't think I could do this without my nearly ten-yr-old, and her two younger, but still impressively helpful sisters.

Eleanor, especially, is my third hand, my back-up, saving me again and again. She has risen to this challenge with surprising capability and tremendous love, like she was made to do exactly this. She can handle almost all things baby, do the dishes, and make the most beautiful eggs. I'm thinking of letting her drop out of school so that she can help at home full-time. :)

So, thank heaven for daughters and the unsolicited, yet divinely designed family.

A Better Look

2011-08-04T10:01:00.001-07:00

And Then There Were Five

2011-08-01T06:57:00.000-07:00

Malcolm Leo
born Friday, July 29th, 4 Pm
8 lbs 2 oz, 20 in

Anticipation

2011-07-27T11:55:00.000-07:00

(watching a 20-minute downpour that left a room in our basement flooded)

One way or another, the ever-anticipated baby is coming this week. I'm due today.

So, we've done this four times before, old hat, right?, but I just don't think there's ever getting used to this. It's too extreme in its pain and beauty and wonder to ever become familiar. Every time a baby has arrived hot and pink in my arms, Mark and I both look at each other like "Holy shit! It's a baby!" I mean we've known the entire ten months exactly what's coming and how and why, but it's always shocking somehow, mind and soul-blowing.

We've waited for this one, all six of us, having a better idea of how it will all go down, what he/she will look like, what to expect from its arrival, but I'm sure it will still be surprising in its sweetness and devastation, knocking us all off of our feet for some time to come, redefining our normal, recreating each of us.

And so we're prepared to be blown away, again.

Yard Maintenance

2011-06-27T09:28:00.000-07:00

And we thought we'd never be able to afford any help with our yard.... In yet another testament of boys will be boys, we can't start the lawn mower up, turn on the hose or bring out the pruning shears without this kid begging for inclusion. And although it does take Mark twice as long to get the lawns cut, I don't think he minds one bit.

Like His Daddy

2011-06-17T08:17:00.000-07:00

There are so many ways I hope he takes after him. I hope he gets his hair, his hands, his eyelashes. I hope he gets his ability to bring down a room or a quiet person in laughter, his intensity, his intelligence, his curiosity, his artist's soul, his impressive bullshit radar. Like his daddy, I hope he's fiercely protective of those he loves, friendly and helpful to strangers, spontaneous with children, constantly in a book, and can clean the floor like nobody's business. He'd be a lucky man to be just like his daddy.

Oh, Bean Majean

2011-06-15T10:20:00.000-07:00

This girl drives me bonkers. Most of the time we can't be in the same room for more than five minutes without coming to verbal blows, but heaven help me, then she'll do something like this and I reconsider, at least for the moment, not throwing her out the window:

Dear Mom,

I love you. You are the best mom ever. Everybody likes you because, your nice and your pretty as Lake Tahoe's blue waters.

Please know that I love you more than Zondra and getting the part I wanted in my play, and Disneyand. The baby and birth is going to be great.

I love you so white chocolate pecan bread. Chin up.

Love your daughter,

Eleanor

P.S. Eleanor's 4x100 relay team qualified for the State Championship last night. Go, Bean!

Of Anger, Fear, Hope and Having This Baby

2011-06-12T10:42:00.001-07:00

I have less than six weeks left of this pregnancy and realize I haven't said a word about it. Not a word or a picture or a single outward acknowledgment that this is actually happening. Silence, for me, is a sure sign of trouble. A big, neon, billboard-sized sign of trouble. You could say that coming to terms with this inevitable life event is still, even now, a work in progress, and may just be the hardest, internal struggle that has ever warred inside of me.

Here's the truth in all of its betraying and embarrassing glory: I'm freaking out. I had to put an ice pack on my eyes last night because they were so exhausted from crying. I'm already so overwhelmed, so tired, so spent and then every day, all day I have a baby moving inside of me, turning, flipping, kicking, reminding me that there is not only no end in sight, but there's even more responsibility, more exhaustion on its way.

It hasn't been this dreadful the entire time. I've actually been blessed with the best pregnancy I've ever had. Minimal sickness, minimal pain, minimal discomfort. Or maybe it's just that I've gotten better at coping with the demands of pregnancy and somewhere along the way acquired a decent amount of patience and tolerance. And there have been times during the last eight months, although few and probably under appreciated, when I've felt empowered, ready to take this new challenge on head first, drop kick it to the curb, head upturned in faith, sometimes actually allowing myself to believe that this is meant to be. But unfortunately, most of the time, I just think we didn't use a condom, and I feel like I'm on a train that's heading somewhere I don't want to go, I'm terrified to go, and I'm desperate to get off, and I want to jump, but I can't.

There's the anger. The anger, most of it admittedly irrational, that swells up so tightly in me sometimes that I want to throw something against a wall. Anger at God for this whole procreation thing and the role I'm meant to play in it, for the high expectations of motherhood. Anger at losing control of my body again, at having a vagina, at the pain that's coming, the grapefruit-sized tumor in my breast that is a daily burden. But mostly, and this is the hardest one to come to terms with in a mature and honest way, anger at myself for letting this happen and then not having the maturity or faith to embrace it.

And then there's the fear, the choking, paralyzing fear that at its worst makes me hyperventilate and actually labor for regular breath. Fear of so many things..... of losing my mind, losing my ambitions, losing my own place in this world, losing my love for God and others because I just won't have enough to go around. Fear of not being able to meet all of my children's' needs, of becoming resentful, of yelling, of accidentally tucking my skirt into my undies and walking around in public, again, of not caring enough that I start making Top Ramen for dinner, of never again having a moment to myself or with Mark, of never having fun, of never being invited over to other people's houses, of not being smart enough, patient enough, resourceful enough, good enough.

And really, how did a woman who at one point in her life didn't even want children and then consented to one or two, end up with five? I don't know, but does it really matter now? I just hope that one day, I'll be able to say that I did it and it was hard, the hardest thing ever, but it was wonderful too, and I'll be changed in ways that would surprise me to even consider now. And I will have let go of my vanities and resentments and jealousies for the way it was supposed to go down but didn't. And I hope the children, my five beautiful children, when we're on the other side of this mountain, will forgive me for the mistakes I will have surely made and will still love me and love each other and that somehow I will have led them over safely.

That's what I hope for anyway.

My Butterfly

2011-06-06T18:52:00.000-07:00

Charlotte on her first day at Chrysalis Preschool, September 2010, age 4 Charlotte on her last day at Chrysalis Preschool, May 2011, age 5

Gone

2011-05-30T09:17:00.001-07:00

Dear Bri,
I got up at 5:45 to get Decco and you were already gone. Your car wasn't in front of our house any more. Your room was empty. It was early morning heartbreak. I'm so glad we said our good-byes last night when I could still emotionally ignore your imminent departure. I would've been a mess this morning.
I love having you around. I love your wife and boys. I love how effortlessly my own children took to you after all this time. I love how Decco wanted you to hold him and how he tucked himself right into your shoulder. I love that you played ball and gymnastics with the girls, and genuinely applauded their dance performances in the living room. I love talking about our crazy family.
Have a great flight. Give Marci and the boys big hugs. Come back soon, but stay a lot, lot longer, like forever, in Utah, close enough to have Sunday dinners.
Love, Ann
P.S. You forgot your toothbrush and grapefruit.

I See You

2011-05-16T08:43:00.001-07:00

It catches me off guard every time. The lights dim, the music swells, cameras are readied, anticipation grows, and even though I know exactly what's coming, and even if I'm unbearably unsentimental most of the time, and even if I've been a terrible grump leading up to that very moment, when they finally come out, spinning and leaping--my babies, my very own, my blood and sweat--this almost violent emotion tears through any resistance and I'm crying and completely overcome by the sweet recognition that I love them and I'm so lucky that they are mine and I'm theirs. I don't know what it is.... I need to be a spectator to see, really see my own children. I need the hushed quiet, the spotlight, the pause in life's normal overworked routine, the excuse to sit, undistracted, and watch what's usually right in front of me and see them as separate from me and their siblings and everyone else, to notice just them, their growth, their singular beauty. It's not just dance recitals that get me, but any school performance, spelling bee, soccer game, etc. Anyway, you should've seen these girls move. So, so lovely.

Beach

2011-05-10T13:04:00.001-07:00

Born of two California-born and raised parents, I'm reminded at the beach that although usually surrounded by mountains and desert dust, it must still be in their blood, always rattling somewhere in their bones: the sand, the waves, the salt, the sun. They seem to luxuriate in both the clean and mess of the sea like only someone related to it could be. I, myself, enjoyed some fish tacos, but always uneasy and untrusting of the crash and swell of the ocean, miss my lake.

Disneyland 2011

2011-05-09T13:00:00.000-07:00

We just spent three sticky, exhausting, gloriouslylong days at Disneyland. Three days of Space Mountain and Pirates of the Carribean (probably the favorites), cups of frozen lemonade to beat the Anaheim heat, sunburns on our unacclimated skin, blistered feet, contraband crackers and turkey jerky, tears upon entry and exit. All of which took us three years of pinching pennies and working extra hours of catering, all that planning, the drive. I'm not a Disney fanatic, I don't own a single item of Mickey paraphonelia, but I love that Disneyland gives us three days of undiluted, undistracted time together, engaged in the same thing, busy, contented, and at times swept up in a pure, singular delight.

Rainforest Cafe to celebrate our first night
Declan, enchanted with the moving animals and thunderstorms
My Mom, always adoringly surrounded on all sides
Eleanor and Ada, ecstatic after their first ride, Thunder Mountain
Charlotte, maybe a little too much too fastThe girls on the tea cups
Best baby at Disneyland ever
Finally something he can do
Our pretty 7-yr-old on Dumbo
He didn't miss a thing
Neither did she. Hands up and squealing on Space Mountain six times.
Some of my favorite moments were spent watching him watching everything else.

We played hard and slept hard. Mornings were tough.
Best Grandma ever. She went on the rides Mark and I couldn't.
Charlotte bummed out that she was two inches too short for the upside down coaster. Bummer.
Our favorite spot to wait: shade, bench and water with ducks.
Because they wanted to. Because you feel like you have to. The girls, Declan, Baba and the 7-month pregnant toad.
Mark and I missed the boat.
After Alice.
Ada (7), Eleanor (9), Declan (1), Charlotte (5)

Priceless.
Priceless again.
Wet.The spectators.
Family of six.

So sad it's over.
We'll be back, girls, I promise.

A Misty-eyed Goodbye

2011-04-30T20:17:00.000-07:00

A major perk of living where we live is family and friends we wouldn't see otherwise come in and out of our town to attend the BYU, its conference, sports' camps, youth programs, etc. Craig came three years ago and we've grown wonderfully accustomed to having him around. He was here for birthdays, ballet recitals, trick-or-treating, scooter rides, yogurt runs, a baptism, a birth. I think he was Charlotte's first love. But he's grown up, so well, by the way, married a lovely girl who we love too, recently graduated and now he's moving up and away. Oh, curses.

A Welcome Mess

2011-04-08T08:44:00.001-07:00

There are few things I enjoy more in life than giving cake to a one-year-old on their birthday. I love watching the exploration, the unexpected privilege, the "are you sure I can do this?" look on their face, the pure delight, the play, the sweet beginning of childhood.

About a Boy

2011-04-04T09:35:00.000-07:00

People have been asking me since he was born, "What's it like to have a boy in the house?" and I've always responded the same way, "Well, so far, he's just a really great baby." That is, until a few weeks ago, when those cars and trucks and trains that have been ignored for years by his female counterparts, started getting some real use. Maybe there's really something to all of that sugar and spice, frogs and snails stuff. I mean no one even had to show him how to push that thing around. Hmmm....

On My Doorstep

2011-03-30T12:41:00.000-07:00

When I got home today from the regular drop-off routine and a quick trip to the corner store for bread because the girls had to have peanut butter on tortillas in their lunches, there was a big box on the doorstep addressed to me. I mean, it's fun to get anything in the mail, but a big, mysterious box marked "fragile" and "keep cold" from Maryland? I worked eagerly and quickly from the taped folds of the box to the Styrofoam that cradled the contents with great care, the delicate, purple cellophane, the gorgeous tin, the cooling pouch of dry ice and finally at its very center....a seven-layer caramel cake! A cake! For me! The only problem is I don't know what glorious human being I need to give credit to for completely lifting me from my lingering birthday blues. So, speak up, oh wonderful someone.

You see, it was my birthday last week. And it was terrible. Really, truly terrible because instead of having a party, I had a pity party with my now 35-yr-old self that lasted the entire week. I gave in to every feel-sorry-for-myself impulse, ignored well-wishing phone calls and cried a lot for no particular reason. Maybe it's that I'm 35 and expecting an unexpected 5th child, 35 and still no Master's degree or novel written, 35 and losing control of my ass again, 35 and we had to put all of our birthday money in to the bank to pay for groceries and track shoes for the kids and a plumbing bill, 35 and nothing is getting easier, 35 and I had to make dinner for myself, 35 and I gave my birthday cake away to a friend who just had a baby so I would have a legitimate excuse to feel sorry for myself.

Really, I didn't deserve a celebration. I really didn't. Who wants to sing Happy Birthday to a depressive, greying and now legitimate middle-ager?

But really, I thought by now I had come to a somewhat respectable acceptance with the inevitable realities of being an adult. I guess not. It's so disappointing to realize that at 35, when there's officially no going back to the warm embrace of youth, that I'm still surprised when life gets really hard (what?! how could you?!), that I still want sacrifice to not require that much of me, that I feel life owes me certain luxuries and advantages because I'm nice and keep the rules, that I still want to be taken care of, that I lose all perspective in the face of challenge, that I continue to lose patience, inherit bad habits, collect jealousies and inadequacies, and resort so quickly to pessimism. When will I become that respectable adult? Maybe when I'm 40? 50? But until then, I've fooled at least one person into thinking I'm worth a seven-layer caramel cake. Sucker.

Sick

2011-03-12T11:00:00.000-08:00

The saddest thing in the world may just be a sick child, especially a sick baby, especially your own sick baby. This morning, day four of croup, cold, fevers, conjunctivitis, lethargy, humidifiers, late-night walks in the crisp, dry air, menthol rubs, showers to breathe, diluted juice, raw noses, etc. he couldn't even muster a smile at his sisters or keep his eyes open long enough to see who was holding him. He, who is usually so happy and forever smiling and on the move.

It's amazing though, what a mother (and a father) is capable of in the face of a child's suffering. All the going without: going without sleep or rest or ease, actual clothing, contact with the outside, make-up, a decent hair-washing. A super-hero quality seems to take possession of an otherwise very ordinary person, and somehow, you're able to love in a way that wasn't possible before, patience is stretched, the challenge is met. There's something not quite unpleasant about letting normal life slip away either, letting the phone go unanswered, the to-do lists left undone, the routine ignored. And despite the heart-breaking reason why he's doing it, there's something luxurious about the way a sick child melts into you, their hot against your cool, their broken against your whole. It's a gift to a mother's usually nonexistent ego to feel like no one else in the world, no matter their qualifications or title could stand in for exactly you, and that you and you alone as their mother can bring them more comfort and relief than anything in a bottle or syringe.

I appreciate for now, though, the infancy of his needs, realizing even as I feel his fevered breath in the hollow of my neck, that very soon, his needs will become more complex, more desperate as baby becomes boy becomes man, and I won't always know the fix or be able to soothe the discomfort. But for now, I can, so off I go.

Eleven Months, four days late

2011-03-09T06:56:00.001-08:00

A Recommendation

2011-03-01T07:54:00.000-08:00

* picture used without any kind of permission whatsoever

You've certainly noticed that my blogging has dwindled significantly as this pregnancy progresses. Don't even mention my deserted food blog. Unfortunately, they are two of many victims fallen to my master 5-child survival plan: Love and Surrender (more on that later); that, and my camera is broken. So, to fill any hole my absence may have left in your poor, neglected heart, may I present you with a very worthy substitute: Two and Then Some, a blog you definitely want to add to your favorites straight away. Some people jump start their day with a jog or a cup o' Joe or something sweet and dripping with cinnamon, but there's nothing on the world-wide-web that brightens my overwhelmed spirit and recharges my resolve to take on the day and a house full of kids than this. Not only is the photography amazing, but no one does equal parts funny and inspiring the way Melinda does. Check out one of my favorite posts of hers "of good days and bad, and any given Thursday, especially Tuesday," dated January 4th (it's the very last post on the page.) So, so good.

People keep telling me, and thank you, "Ann, you can do this, you can totally do this." But here's the thing: I know I can do this, any unqualified nit-wit can have five children, but I know what it's going to take to do it well. There's a difference. And maybe that's why I cling so desperately to Melinda's blog and Melinda herself, because she's doing it and doing it well, and somehow has stayed cool along the way. So, until I can pull myself and my thoughts together, read and enjoy and laugh Melinda.

Ready or Not

2011-02-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

Okay, Ann, I'm going to count to ten and then you've got to tell them.... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 (stall, stall, deep breath), 7, 8, 9, 10. Ready or not, here it comes: I'm pregnant. It's taken me almost five months to get up the courage to say that out loud, but there it is, in all its shocking and terrifying glory. Baby Purves#5 is coming in July. God bless us.
(Laugh it up, Em, laugh it up.)

Pancakes for Breakfast

2011-02-17T07:45:00.000-08:00

Mark was woken at 6:30 this morning by a sobbing Ada, who then escorted him into the kitchen to a sobbing Eleanor, and then came in to get me. "Ann, Ann, wake up. You've got to come see this."

Backstory: Yesterday, Eleanor came home with a children's cookbook from her school library. I was very enthusiastic about the prospect of little chefs in our house, so we looked through some of the recipes together and I should've known better when she started asking specific questions like "what burner would you use on the stove for this," "what does whisk mean," etc. We also should've known better when Eleanor wanted to sleep in Ada's bed and brought her alarm clock with her.

Well, what it all meant was that these two girls woke up at 5:50 AM and tried to make crepes for us, and in the process, bless their little hearts, melted the measuring spoons on the stove, destroyed the kitchen, Eleanor suffered three burns on her arm, and the crepes (they mixed up the 2 Tbl. oil with the 1 cup milk) were as hard as rocks. Poor babies. They had even set the table with flowers and my favorite pancake toppings: yogurt and jam. They were heartbroken, so what else was there to do but hurry out the door to our favorite pancake spot before the school bell even rang. Sometimes, there is nothing, absolutely nothing better than having your house, or in this case a smoke filled and flour dusted kitchen, full of children.

Ten Months

2011-02-07T08:19:00.000-08:00

A Daily Resolution

2011-01-25T11:01:00.000-08:00

Eleanor told me in the middle of church on Sunday that she knew what my new year's resolution should be. It was not a friendly recommendation. This was right after I had told her for the umpteenth time to sit up like a lady, stop messing around and to leave her sisters alone. "You're always so mean," she spewed, turning away with dramatic emphasis, folding her arms in defiance and scowling in my direction, to which I gave her a look she knows well enough: "I'm going to kill you, but I can't do it right now because we're surrounded by people but just you wait...."

I don't think I'm a mean mother, but I know I'm not the nicest either. I'm not. I've been doing this long enough to know what I'm good at and what I'm not. I'm very good at managing my children's basic needs.

I'm good at getting things done, staying organized, directing and guiding, etc. I always get the lunches made, the permission slips signed, the hair done, I'm never late for pick-up or dance class, I know when nails need to be cut, who's growing our of their jeans, there's always something green on the dinner table, etc. That's something, right? But I'm not high energy, fun or spontaneous, I refuse to pretend play, I am not a natural hugger, cuddler or storyteller, and I'm very impatient early in the morning and late at night, which is too bad, because that's when the kids are around.

Over the last nine years of raising kids, Mark and I have often wondered if we would be better suited to each other's lives, pulling a role switcheroo. He would be a fabulous stay-at-home parent. He remembers cute things the girls said when they were toddlers, he wakes them up in the middle of the night because he doesn't want to eat his cheeseburger or pizza alone, he has meaningful conversations with them, and he seems happiest smothered in their noise and needs. I, on the other hand, like my space. At the end of the day, I usually have to keep myself from covering my ears with my hands and running to a safe, quiet place.

We're a good balance in this regard. I'm relieved that someone in this house will play dollhouse with the girls, listen to them with attention, dance with them in the kitchen, and take out playdoh without dread. Sometimes I just wish it was me. And sometimes it is. Last night I made the girls cookies and milk before bedtime and on Saturday I had four different friends over. I need these small victories as much as the girls them for their own reasons. But it's an effort for me, a constant, daily resolution.

Interesting article

Plans

2011-01-24T10:55:00.001-08:00

"If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans."

Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

When I was 16 yrs-old and starting to think about where I wanted to go to college, I said I would never go to BYU. I moved to Utah to attend BYU in 1994.

Going on a mission was never part of my plan A, plan B, or plan C. I served a mission in Yekaterinburg, Russia from 1997-1998.

Growing up, I said I was not getting married. I married Mark as soon as he would have me in 1999.

We were not going to have children for a really long time. We had Eleanor in 2001.

Well, I was never going to have a TV in the house and I would never wipe their noses with my hand or clean their faces with my spit. We have two TVs and I've done far worse things than that.

After Ada was born, I said I was done having kids for awhile. Charlotte was born less than two years later.

After Charlotte was born I said I was done having children forever. Decco was born last year. (I know, we've been through this before.)

When Mark and I left Utah in 2002 to attend graduate school, we said we would probably never come back to Utah until our own children came back for school. We moved back to Utah four years later for a job at BYU.

Point made: I'm not good at making and keeping plans. Some people seem highly skilled at staying on course and getting what they want, like they're ordering their life off of a menu, but not me, not so much. Instead, I've had to refine the skill of simply rolling with it. So, rather than making stubborn plans and being constantly disappointed by their unfulfilled conclusions, and rather than being immature enough to say "I will never.....", I've had to try and simply live the best life I know how to live, ready myself for the unexpected and embrace the ever-surprising offerings of my life, and yes, all of those unplanned deliveries.

The Cakes

2011-01-17T10:16:00.001-08:00

My cousin Lauren asked me to make two cakes for her wedding reception this past weekend to display alongside the just-for-show wedding cake. And I never turn down an excuse to bake. She sent me a picture of how she wanted them to look and I went from there. My technique, which I made up as I went along and ended up involving hot water and a spoon, improved as I started with the carrot and finished with the chocolate. And oh, yes, I must give credit to my very talented cousin-in-law Christina for providing me with the labels. And now I'm thinking that that whim of going into the wedding cake business in the next few years might actually be something I can do. I must save Utah Valley from their fondant covered cake mix wedding cakes.

The best part of the night was at the end, when the formalities were over and I turned the corner to find my aunts and uncles going at my cakes with greedy, hungry forks. I love the look on Janice's face as she remarks on the fresh ginger and lemon in the cream cheese frosting. It makes me so happy when people enjoy what I make. And so it all appropriately ended on a sweet note.

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y

2011-01-13T08:30:00.001-08:00

She did it again. She W-O-N the 4th grade Spelling Bee! The competition was fierce, but after an hour of correctly spelling words like mendacious and conflagration, she took first place again! Yeah, Elle Belle!
And there would have been no victory without the best daddy/coach in the world. Yeah, Daddy! You can breathe now, baby. B-R-E-A-T-H-E.

And we can't forget about our Ada, who won her class spelling bee on Monday and then got out on governor yesterday to come in 4th out of 75 first graders. Yeah, Ada!

And yes, I had to spell check this post and misspelled coach and breathe. Yeah, Mom!

Some Better Moments of Our Sleep-Deprived Trip to NorCal (for Brian)

2011-01-07T10:29:00.001-08:00

Celebrating Christmas at home three days early
The girls in their newly gifted pjs from Baba

Ada, in tears, thanking Baba for her Fashion Tale Barbie (the very best moment of the holidays, hands down)
Charlotte giving Pappa a smooch
Marko with his brother Chris and their boys
Christmas Eve Nativity with cousins
My cousin Craig, the groom, with Decco at Rocklin Open House
Me, looking very pale, next to my favorite Aunt Em
The girls with the gorgeous bride and groom

Decco at Nut Tree riding the same rocking horse I did as a little kid
Chris and Mark looking more excited than the kids on the Nut Tree train, not what it used to be
Decco gulping down Gramma's Perrier
Decco and Sammy, one-day-apart cousins
This face pretty much sums up how I felt about this trip

Their faces, upon our departure back home, pretty much sums up how they felt about thi trip: "Why do we live in Utah? Utah is so stupid!"

Not pictured: all those sleepless nights and grumpy days, that unbelievable Swiss Milk Chocolate milk shake from Fenton's, being spoiled rotten on Christmas morning at Gramma's, Christmas bingo at Joanna's, yummy Christmas breakfast at Angie and Chris's, roller blading, Woodstocks (of course), lunch downtown with Brooke and Joanna, that long ass drive

Nine Months (yesterday)

2011-01-06T09:47:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas

2010-12-21T11:01:00.000-08:00

With Love and Prayers and Best Wishes,

Ann, Mark, Eleanor (9), Ada (7), Charlotte (5) and Declan (8 months)

Eight Months

2010-12-05T19:33:00.000-08:00

Roller Rink

2010-12-01T09:06:00.001-08:00

Not Here (or a post I probably should've deleted)

2010-11-12T15:26:00.001-08:00

After my post "One Near Perfect Thing," where I laid one of my innermost conflicts at your feet, I was talking to an always wise and forward thinking friend who said, "I believe that whatever we do in this life really doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if we're famous or particularly good at something or achieve something awesome...it doesn't make a lick of a difference what we physically accomplish in this life. Because when all is said and done everything that is around us, including our own bodies, will crumble and be worthless.This life is about experience and for one thing, to walk away with as many virtues tucked into your heart as possible, virtues that are part of you, that cannot be removed even by death.... I really, a little bit kind of believe that what we create with our minds, has fruition elsewhere...it is noble to want to do great things, and frankly it won't happen to most of us and half the time the people 'greatness' happens to are utter losers (Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, Obama, Bush etc.) So what of our thoughts (which we will be judged on), what of all the potential we feel swarming within us, that has no outlet other than deeply trying to love and raise a child? We are INFINITE and ETERNAL beings, of course we are noble, of course the creations of our mind have ground, maybe even deep roots....just maybe it isn't here."
Anyway, what my incredible, enlightened friend understands and I have yet to fully realize and appreciate for myself, is the concept of "not here": heaven, the afterlife, eternity, call it what you will. I've been chewing on those words for over a month now, wrestling once again with my inadequate and troubling relationship with heaven. Yes, heaven.
(This is when you might want to check out your favorite food blog instead, may I recommend this one or this one, because if you continue reading, your opinion of me might never recover.)
I've always struggled with the idea of heaven, always. Yes, my husband knew this and still married me. It's a thorn in my soft, stretch-marked side. My eternal perspective is admittedly near-sighted, obscured most of the time by my lack of faith. It's not that I don't believe in heaven, I do, it's that the idea of heaven tossed delicately between Mormons is usually not enough of a carrot at the end of the stick for me. Or maybe, what it really is, is that I don't think I'll get there. That could be it. Again, I'm sure this is my problem, and not a problem with the actual principle. I mean, we don't really know much about heaven, do we? The scriptures speak of mansions and rest and glory, such generic, unapproachable terms, but also of eternal progression, which sounds like another way of saying a whole lot of work. Work? I'm already tired. Not to mention godhood and more children and etc. It's not that I want to be sedentary in my future life, but some lounging and chocolate would be nice, right?
And have you ever looked around at the people who are really trying to get to heaven and thought "I don't want to be surrounded by these overachievers forever?" The ones who are so earnest, bless them, they either bore you to tears or you can't help but roll your eyes, sigh and squirm in their presence? I don't want that forever. Maybe Mark Twain was right when he said, "Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company."
I was reading Enos yesterday, and when he must soon go down to his grave, Enos says, "I rejoice in the day when my mortal shall put on immortality, and shall stand before him; then shall I see his face with pleasure, and he will say unto me: Come unto me, ye blessed, there is a place prepared for you in the mansions of my Father. Amen."
Now there's someone who not only believes in heaven but has the faith that it is a place worth working and sacrificing and enduring for.
Unfortunately, my thinking has always fallen more in line with the Marxists and the atheists than the believers. And yes, I see that that's a problem, God forgive me, but I don't want to be bribed into living a certain way because of a promised reward, nor do I want to be scared into being good. It's not enough for me. I want to be motivated by something more.
So I guess what it is, is that heaven is not that important to me, except it is when things get hard and I need a light at the end of the tunnel, or when I feel like I don't have enough time, energy or earth life to do all the things I want to do. Then I really need heaven. I need heaven because I want the peace my friend has instead of the unnecessary now or never urgency I feel most of the time. Except are people going to need novels in heaven? Someone who can make a good chocolate cake? Shoot. Probably not.
Well, here's to faith, my faith, that seemingly out-of-reach confidence in the unseen mansions above.

Seven on the Seventh

2010-11-07T06:00:00.000-08:00

You were the only one of my four to come out all on your own. And goodness, did you know how to come out into this wild, blue world or what?

It's your favorite story actually. I must have told it to you a thousand times, but here it is again, in all of its fast and sweet glory.
You were late, just like your older sister and your siblings to follow. And after an unsuccessful and horrendous experiment with caster oil, I decided just to let you come when you were ready. That's not an easy thing to do after ten months and a week of waiting, by the way. You'll see. So, after days of you teasing me with false contractions, I went to bed, frustrated and exhausted, only to be woken up a couple hours later by your Daddy's snoring and a deep pulling and pushing in my stomach. We were out the door in less than an hour, after a next door neighbor came down to watch Eleanor as she slept unawares in her soft pink bedroom.
By the time we got to the University of Virginia hospital parking lot, which was less than two miles away, I was cussing like a sailor. No, really, I think that's where my love of a certain four letter word began. I waddled/limped/staggered into Labor and Delivery, all the while Daddy kept telling me to keep it down, to which I responded with the darkest and most threatening of glares, only to be told by the nurses to take a seat and they'd get to me in a bit. What?! Were my involuntary, and very loud "Oh, *&#%!"s not convincing?! The nurse told me to keep it down too and that's when I refrained from the profanity and in perfect English told her the baby was coming soon, very soon. She patted me on the back of my shoulder, gave me an insufferably knowing smile and unbelieving, took me to the nearest table, and to her surprise found that I was dilated to a ten and your head was crowning. Hah! I told you!
They hurried me into the nearest delivery room, now panicked and probably regretting their casual response, I was cussing more than breathing, and yelling for an epidural, and by the time I got up on the table, I could feel your head between my legs. I pushed once and tah, dah! You were there!
Your Daddy and I looked at each other like "What in the world just happened? Did we just have a baby?" "Holy *&#@!" It was 2:58AM. Cold and rainy and the happiest we had ever been.
We never even considered another name besides Ada. It means "rich gift of happiness," "noble, kind" and "a beautiful addition." That's certainly fitting for our sweet, brown eyed beauty. And your middle name Dylan, well, you know that story too. Your Daddy and I went on our first date to a Bob Dylan concert, and fell madly and eternally in love.

Happy Birthday, Ada Dylan.
Love, Mamma

Seven Months

2010-11-05T08:18:00.000-07:00

Rained Out

2010-10-31T08:46:00.000-07:00

Halloween was somewhat of a bummer this year. It wasn't so much that our pillowcases were lighter than usual at the end of the night, but we had to jump puddles to get from house to house and even then, most folks weren't trick-or-treating. Maybe it was the Saturday switch-a-roo, I don't know. But look at that lion, will you?! Not to mention that adorable angel, princess (her UVA cheerleading outfit ended up in her chicken dinner) and 80s rock star. Still, we have enough KitKats to get us to Thanksgiving, so that's something.

Eat Chocolate Cake!

2010-10-27T08:20:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow is National Chocolate Day. Why don't I have this permanently marked on my calender in red, in bold, in glitter?! This is a holiday I can really get behind, unlike Halloween whose existence confuses me every year. Why is it ever okay to hang skeletons in your front yard? I know, I know, I can hear Mark making his Debbie Downer sounds now: wah, wah.

But back to chocolate. I was a late comer to chocolate; with four brothers, a mother who preferred licorice and a dietitian father, it was just never around. And then I went to college and lived in the dorms with a bunch of crazy chocolate craving girls. Even still, I wouldn't say I'm a chocoholic. I love its dark luxury, the way it can warm and coat your insides like nothing else, but I don't have a stash, if that's what you mean, and occasionally I'll even opt for a butterscotch or fruity alternative.

Anyhoo, here's a really great chocolate recipe so that you can celebrate properly tomorrow. Joy the Baker says it's the best chocolate bundt cake ever. I don't object. It's pretty awesome.

So, be a friend and send me your favorite chocolate recipes, will you?

You're the best, Ann

The Best Chocolate Bundt Cake with Chocolate Glaze
makes one 10-inch bundt cake
from The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook

For the Cake:
1 1/4 cups plus 1 Tablespoon brewed coffee (I used individual, instant packets)
3/4 cup Dutch process cocoa powder
2 1/4 cups sugar
1 1/4 teaspoons kosher salt
2 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
2 whole eggs
1 egg yolk
1 1/4 cups plus 1 Tablespoon buttermilk
1 cup plus 2 Tablespoon canola oil
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups, plus 2 Tablespoons all-purpose flour, sifted
For the Glaze:
6 ounces unsweetened chocolate
3/4 cup unsalted butter
3 cups powdered sugar
1/2 cup sour cream, at room temperature
1/4 cup brewed coffee, cooled
Place an oven rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 350 degrees F.
Grease and flour a 10-inch Bundt pan and set aside.
To make the cake batter: Put brewed coffee and cocoa powder in a small saucepan and bring to a boil, whisking frequently. Remove from the heat and let come to room temperature.
In the bowl of a stand mixer fit with a whisk attachment, mix together sugar, salt, baking soda, eggs and egg yolk on low speed for about 1 minute. Add the buttermilk, oil and vanilla extract and mix on low again for another minute.
Add the flour and mix on medium speed for 2 minutes. Add the cooled cocoa mixture and mix on medium speed for 3 minutes. The batter will be very loose. Pour into the prepared cake pan and bake for 1 hour, or until a cake tester inserted in the cake comes out clean.
Let the cake cool completely in the pan and then invert onto a cooling rack.
To make the icing: Chop the chocolate into small pieces, put them in a heatproof bowl (or a double boiler), and set the bowl over a pot of barely simmering water. Be sure that the bottom of the bowl does not touch the boiling water. Remove the bowl from the heat when all of the chocolate bits have melted.
Melt the butter in a separate pan or in the microwave. Whisk the melted butter into the melted chocolate until thoroughly incorporated. Sift in half of the powdered sugar. Add the sour cream and whisk to combine. Sift in the remaining powdered sugar and whisk until smooth. The glaze should be thick and shiny. Lastly, add the coffee and whisk to create a glossy glaze.
Pour the glaze over the Bundt cake, covering it completely. Leave at room temperature until ready to serve.

Baby, Baby, Baby, Oh

2010-10-23T12:37:00.000-07:00

We must of listened to that particular Justin Bieber song over a dozen times last night, but it's your favorite and it was your special night, so we allowed it. It was some party, girls, wasn't it? 19 friends. A bounce house. Face painting. Nail painting. Pizza. A cake pop rice krispie cake. All those presents. The tissue flowers. The lanterns. A generous work crew of cousins.

We had to change the day and time at the last minute to avoid the thunderstorms, but it was all worth it, because you are the best. Happy Birthday, Charlotte and Ada. Until next time....

Some Befores and Afters

2010-10-15T08:37:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the most generous of benefactors, we've been able to do some much needed work on our house. Let's be honest, it was becoming quite the eye sore: the paint was peeling and fading (thanks a lot moron house flippers who never put down a primer!), the fascia was rotting and falling off in chunks, and the roof, which we were told was new when we bought it, turned out to be a neighborhood service project a few years back. That would explain the missing fire and ice paper, the lack of rain drips, etc. Awesome. Anyway, here is our new and improved house, and yes, it's still purple. Get over it already, best intentioned, neighborhood busy body lady, I love the purple. Plum, if you will.

I told Mark I wanted to build a berm in the front yard. He thought I was making it up. A berm? He'd never heard of such a thing. It took me a week to pull out the grass. My fingernails were constantly full of dirt. And then it took us 12 hours on a Saturday and a borrowed truck from a friend to build it.

Have you ever seen such a lovely berm in your entire life?

A picture of the house after the roof and fascia and berm, but before the paint job.

George and Duane, remember how awful the dry rot was before? All better.

The new and improved and still purple house.

On Hands and Knees

2010-10-13T09:06:00.001-07:00

Her Birthday Weekend

2010-10-11T11:11:00.000-07:00

Lots of love, after a pancake breakfast

Russian Dancers and balloons at the Homecoming Parade

High fives from the BYU Hockey team

A lemon cake with five candles, as requested, Nielson's Grove

In response to opening a pink purse with a bow and Beauty and the Beast
Elle and the birthday girl
Baba and Decco

Ada, after a graceful fall from the monkey bars
First swing
Charlotte, just five

Six Months

2010-10-05T10:21:00.001-07:00

One Near Perfect Thing

2010-09-27T11:11:00.000-07:00

with Decco

There's this song called "If She Wants Me" by Belle & Sebastian and there's one line in the chorus that runs through my head frequently:

"If I could do just one near perfect thing I'd be happy."

I've been worrying lately that along with a tragically bad memory and the need to have my feet exposed while I sleep, I might also have inherited from my father a desire to do something out-of-the-ordinary big in my life, to leave something eyebrow-raising on my tombstone, something to read about in the papers. It's one of many characteristics of my father's gross and damning narcissism, the very same narcissism that led to his demise, and so you see why I would be worried.

I'm not talking about a healthy desire to do well, to be an influence for good in the world or to make a name for one's self. I'm talking about wanting in one way or another to get your name up in lights, to achieve fame or fortune, to conquer Everest and the world, while you're at it.

Anyway, in theory, I really do believe that the best life lived is a simple one. It's one of kindness, honesty and enduring well the day-to-day grind of life. My aunt Emily is a good example of this. All she's ever wanted to do is be a good wife and mother and she's thrown herself into doing exactly that, surrendering herself completely to loving and caring for her family. It's a simple desire, some would even say unambitious, but when done well, it's the most impressive.

I try really hard to make this enough for me too. Giving my all to raise my four children is the most ambitious, although unspectacular undertaking, anyone who's ever tried it knows that. All I have to do is rub my nose in Declan's fragrant neck, or hold Ada's pillowy soft hand, or read one of Eleanor's stories, or look in to Charlotte's bright blues to know that it should be enough, and sometimes it is, but there's always that "one near perfect thing" sitting on my shoulder or lurking behind the cereal box in the morning. Maybe it's just desperate youth, hanging on with its selfish energy and dreams.

And so I go back and forth in this great internal moral debate with myself. Maybe this desire is a good desire, there have been successful women with children after all, talents not to be wasted and the like. But maybe, like my Dad, it's just a fantasy I'm playing at with me at its central climax, an easy stroke for my ego, a grandiose, self-important bucket-list.

Some of the things I want to do are respectable and modest: write one perfect sentence, find and bake the perfect chocolate cake, graduate school. And then there are those castles in the clouds: write those novels, single-handily raise mental health awareness in schools and churches. Is this one of those cruel either/or scenarios? Would the castles distract me from the respectable? Can you have one foot in motherhood--I mean really in, like with your heart, might, mind and strength in-- and the other in personal pursuits without resenting the other? Can I do both? My father couldn't.

And so I continue worrying.

Recipes

2010-09-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

Go to Of Soup and Love for these recipes:

Money Makeover

2010-09-09T13:38:00.001-07:00

Do you know what else people don't like to talk about? No, not sex, but that would be fun too. Money. Mark and I have avoided talking about money for most of our ten year marriage, neither of us being comfortable with words like budget, savings or interest, and do you know what you get when you give money to two English majors who avoid talking about money? I know, it sounds like a bad joke, and it is. You get a mess, that's what you get. We're English people, people! But I'm tired of the mess, of the money managing me, of being scared to even look at my bank account at the end of the month, of debt, of fear, of that unrelenting heaviness in my chest whenever I think of four future college tuitions, three weddings, missions. I've been stumbling towards this conclusion for awhile, and it's time to take action.

So, I'm taking lead from my sister-in-law, Brooke, my brave, unwavering in her resolve sister-in-law, who single-handily pulled her family from the dark abyss of debt over the last five years using Dave Ramsey's Total Money Makeover. It wasn't easy and it won't be easy for us. It takes a lot of guts, discipline, sacrifice and a willingness to say "no": to friends who want to go out and eat, to new clothes when your old, tattered ones are still keeping you warm, a new car, and the little luxuries, like organic produce, fancy cheese, and cupcakes in cute take-out boxes.

But I feel empowered already, relieved to be in control and doing something, anything, and proud of my English major, right-brain self for going up against the money monster who's been hiding under my bed for years.

I Need You, Nanny McPhee!

2010-09-06T15:11:00.000-07:00

I saw Nanny McPhee Returns yesterday. It was lovely, even though I had to throw a gummy bear at Eleanor who was standing up in her seat. I cried my eyeballs out. There were flying pigs and burping birds, what was I supposed to do? But seriously, I need a Nanny McPhee to swoop into my crazy, overwhelmed life with her unibrow and magic stick to save me from this overburdened life. I need her to come and stay with me and mine until we all learn those five, perfectly appropriate lessons:

1) Stop Fighting

2) Share Nicely

3) Help Each Other

4) Be Brave

5) Have Faith

Especially the last two, I really need a little magic in my life to help me with those. And Ewan McGregor, of course, running through a field of sunshine and barley.

Five Months

2010-09-05T13:40:00.001-07:00

Tired

2010-08-27T10:11:00.001-07:00

Eleanor took this at Mark's request in an attempt to catch my open-mouth, sleeping- in-the-car face. I was on to them. Nowhere, Nevada

I was raised in a home where you were never, ever supposed to show evidence of the struggle. There could be bloodshed and hell raging behind those closed doors, but once opened, smile and sunshine. The brother in rehab was away on vacation. The brother in jail had a new job back East. The imprisoned father was just away. The last-minute cancellation due to a fight was a stomach ache, a fever. Heaven forbid the outsiders ever knew our life wasn't perfect. It pretty much worked until my Dad ended up in jail for the second time, followed quickly by prison and divorce, then the show was over. To this day, my Mom calls this her "Grand Hostess" approach to coping with life's inconveniences. We all have our ways, I guess, and now that I'm older, I can even sympathize with her. Some of that is respectable--not wanting to be a burden, self-sufficiency--but isn't it its own form of vanity, like the emotional equivalent of not letting yourself go grey? I don't know....
But it's exhausting, isn't it? Trying to hide how hard it is sometimes to simply live? Trying to hide the frustration, the disappointment, the pain, the stress from each other? Who are we fooling? Am I fooling you? I'll admit, even though I know better, even though I know we all have our "things" that drag us down and pull us apart, most of the time you have me fooled. You play "fine" very well.
Isn't that why we relish those moments when we see the inevitable cracks in each other's tight, polished facade? It's a relief to see that others break sometimes too. A mother losing her cool at a tantrumming toddler. A couple fighting in their car. A cuss word slipping out under some one's breath. Red, puffy eyes. Sometimes seeing each others' pain feels so good. It's not that I want you to hurt too, I just don't want to be the only one.
Especially in this blog world. Have you noticed that people never blog when they're sad or mad? That's too bad, really, because the couple of times I've been in the dumps and been honest about it, you've lifted me up. When I complained about living in Provo, someone told me to "Bloom Where You're Planted" and it's stuck ever since. When I complained about a child that was giving me nothing but grief, I was given hope from an older and wiser, been there, done that mother. When I complained about being poor, somehow you were able to help me count my blessings and I got over it.
So, when life gets hard, when you look around and everyone else seems to be having a good time but you, when you're so exhausted you just want to sit down and let life walk right over you, how do you mentally and emotionally pull out of the nosedive of self pity? The easy conclusion of bitterness? How do you cope?

Some of the things I've learned about myself and coping:

Playing the glad game usually just makes things worse, because I wonder why I can't just be content with what I have.

Comparing myself to people who have it worse just makes me sad.

Usually I can't even put my finger on what's bothering me.

Getting down on my knees to pray is nearly impossible.

Chocolate cake only ever goes to my hips, but it's still the first thing I turn to.

What a Ride

2010-08-22T08:37:00.000-07:00

A ride and red velvet, that's all she wanted for her birthday. And no surprise. This one has wanted it fast and crazy her entire life. It's been quite a ride already: born in Utah, 7 months of crying, learned to crawl in Moscow, four years in Virginia, two sisters, back to Utah, one brother, and like those rides, so many thrills and bumps, waiting and spinning, upside down and all around, screams and then smiles. Eleanor has never been a carousel or a merry-go-round girl, there's nothing easy or predictable about her, never has been, but sometimes, there's nothing more thrilling. She's taking us on the ride of our lives. Tilt a Wheel, Utah County Fair
Exuberance after the GravitronWaiting for Lift-off

Some Shade, Ada, Baba and Decco

Red Velvet, as requested

Mesmerized as we sing "Happy Birthday"
That's nine, count them, nine candles
It's only appropriate that Baba was here, she's always been here. She was there, holding my right leg, as I pushed this one out nine years ago, and she's been by our side, loving and helping ever since.
Two cleft chins, Elle and Daddy

So Many Reasons

2010-08-20T06:35:00.001-07:00

There are so many reasons I love Kim. She saw how cute I was before I had children. She visited me in the hospital when I had Eleanor. She knows and loves Mark. She shaves long pieces of carrots into her salads. She uses the words "terrific" and "fantastic" regularly and means it. She makes her own salsa. She doesn't drink Diet Coke but she loves BBQ potato chips and licorice. She has nine sisters and millions of friends, but she still makes room for me in her life. She runs. No, really, she runs like the wind. She introduced me to South Fork Canyon. She dragged my arse up Rock Canyon for the longest hike of my life. She loves my babies. She listens. She lets herself go grey. She still looks amazing with a wardrobe made up of mostly t-shirts. She reads. She travels. She cares about the women in Afghanistan and immigration. She still listens to the Indigo Girls. She talks to everyone in the room. She cusses. She looks like Pocahontas. She wants a brood. She is a great great mother. She never uses a fake phone voice. She's from Provo, so at least she visits. Hurry back.

Recipes

2010-08-19T09:58:00.001-07:00

Today on Of Soup and Love:

Hummus Pita Sandwiches, Homemade Frozen Burritos with Cilantro-Lime Brown Rice, Drowned Eggs and Butterscotch Sauce

Shiny Shoes and Fruit Loops

2010-08-18T13:04:00.001-07:00

This morning, brighter and earlier than we've been accustomed, we all rolled out of bed for the first day of school.
I should've known Mark was up to something when he was missing from our bed last night. He had been busy, setting the kitchen table, tablecloth and all, with paper plate love notes, contraband sugar cereal, and small tokens of affection. Thank goodness someone always comes through around here.

And then it was go, go, go: uniforms, teeth, hair, new shoes from Gramma, backpacks, lunches, school supplies. But before the inevitable departure and the new year, blessings from their Daddy. Sweet, sweet blessings to encourage, protect and lead the way.
And then tears of separation between the ones leaving and the ones left behind, a picture in front of the school, with a new class, through a closed door. It was harder than I thought looking at my oldest through that small square of glass, dividing us. She was somewhere I couldn't be, where I could no longer help or hear or touch or even fight.

I won't lie and tell you I didn't enjoy the quieter house. There was no fighting over the computer or the TV, no Justin Bieber on repeat, no nagging over beds undone, flowers unwatered, workbooks tossed aside.
But oh how good it felt to get them back, in arm's length, in earshot, in view, back from behind those closed doors. And oh how good it felt, one of those parenting moments that makes all the other less-rewarding moments worth it, when Ada came in, dropped directly to the floor, peeled off those good-for-nothing socks and shoes, and exclaimed: "It feels soooooooo good to be home."

Applesauce

2010-08-17T13:28:00.001-07:00

To remember the first taste of sweet on his tongue; the unfamiliar cool softness on his lips; the wet leftovers on his chin; the mixed emotions on his face: surprise, delight, curiosity....

The girls have been waiting for this for a long time. They were fighting over the spoon. Fighting. I love their undying enthusiasm to teach and show and share.

How lucky is a mother to witness these small moments of discovery and progress, the growing up?

Recipes

2010-08-12T09:51:00.000-07:00

Today on Of Soup and Love:

Asian Noodle Salad

Sweet Ginger Zucchini Cake with Lemon-Ginger Cream Cheese Frosting

A Blessing

2010-08-10T18:10:00.000-07:00

George groaned at the suggestion of a walk, but come on, does it get any better than this, Papa?

Marko and his hot Mamma.
Chris and Angie braved Nevada and that miserble stretch of highway with their three young boys to be with us on Declan's special day. But hopefully moments like this made it worth it.

Breaking bread together. In attendance: cousins Craig, Cheryl, Lauren, and Ryan with friend Heather; George and Marsha; Chris and family; the McFarland family; Kim and Duane.; and my mother, of course. We wouldn't have eaten without my mother.
Mark's dearest and most beautiful friend, Duane, the only man Mark allows me to have a crush on. And my dearest friend, Kim, Duane's wife, the best woman I know. Heaven would be spending every day in the kitchen with this girl.

On Sunday, Declan was blessed in Church. Surrounded and supported by men we love and respect, Mark gave a blessing that no one could match in eloquence and sincerity. You can imagine, right? It was beautiful, as beautiful and big and bright as our hopes are for that little boy. Mark said Declan smiled up at them the entire duration of the blessing, smiled without distraction, except for a fleeting interest in Mark's orange tie, the one I got him for Father's Day, which dangled afterwards in sweet slobber.

Later, after discreetly stealing away from Sacrament meeting, everyone returned to our house for a celebratory lunch: Focaccia bread; Asian noodle salad; Tortellini salad with Arugula, Cranberries and Pecans; Grilled Calcutta Chicken; London Broil with Italian Salsa; Chocolate Mousse Pie; Fresh Peach Pie and Ice Cream Sandwich Cake for the kids. Recipes as demanded to come.

Occasions like this are usually bittersweet for me, tears hiding behind smiles, bright, colorful joy muted by the dull greys of sorrow and regret, because although I'm always overcome by how many wonderful people we have in our lives, I can't help but think of those that are missing; namely my own father. And so although our small, plum-colored house groaned under the weight of our past-occupancy guests and people were sitting on each others' laps to find room at the table, I still always felt like it wasn't enough, that someone was missing.

But honestly, there were moments on Sunday when I had to stop and admire the intensity of my own smile. My face is not accustomed to the great stretch of that grin. More than once I was aware of my own happiness. It was almost tangible, like someone was handing me a gift that I've always wanted. And although we were all there to bless my baby, that soft, perfect thing, the blessing was mine.

The Boys

2010-08-09T10:00:00.000-07:00

Mark and his little brother, Chris, are 16 months apart. Their sons are a day apart. Gramma is convinced they were buddies in heaven. I just hope these two little cousins laugh together one day as much as their daddies do.

Recipes

2010-08-06T17:34:00.001-07:00

Today on Of Soup and Love:

Tuna Melts with Lemon and Capers
Cream Cheese Pound Cake, a.k.a. the best pound cake I've ever had

Four Months

2010-08-05T08:58:00.001-07:00

A Little Bird Told Me....

2010-08-04T08:53:00.000-07:00

....his room is finished. It only took me, what? Six months?

Come along for a virtual tour, all 200 devotedly crafted and hopelessly

flawed sq. feet of it.

To your right, you'll find a sleigh crib, dressed in simple white, crowned with two

custom-made bird paintings on the wall (canvas, paper, mod podge, acrylic

paint). Also in the corner, hangs a custom-made bird mobile (sticks, embroidery

thread, craft birds). Tweet tweet.

And to the left, shines a hand-drawn, custom-painted tree (latex paint),

decorated with orange Polk-o-dot and chocolate brown paper leaves.

And on the far wall, if you'll direct your attention, my very favorite feature of

the room: my baby boy, my smile and joy.

Like Postcards

2010-07-31T12:32:00.000-07:00

Munich, Germany

Marienplatz in the heart of Old Town

Hofbrauhaus, where Mark dined on bratwurst over hot sauerkraut, spicy mustard, freshly baked pretzels, crispy pork knuckle, Bavarian duck.

Badenweiler, Germany
A five hour train ride from Munich, a quaint resort town in the Black Forest, the site of Anton Chekhov's final days

Maybe one of the last things Chekhov saw before his premature death at the age of 44 from tuberculosis. The same thing Keats died of.

Mark's hotel, built in 1825; Chekhov stayed here two weeks before he died.

A view of the room where Chekhov died. In his final words, he expressed his love of champagne.

A memorial to Anton Chekhov.

Why didn't I go?!

Disaster de Crepes

2010-07-29T16:07:00.001-07:00

This is what it was supposed to look like: Instead, it looked like this:

I should've known better. I should've known not to bake under the influence of fatigue, time constraint, anger (a 15-yr-old took over Eleanor's body today) and menstruation. This is what I get. It's fitting really, because all day I've felt exactly like that crepe cake looks: fragile, like a cry is pushing up my throat, falling to pieces, messy. I just feel bad for my friends who invited us to dinner and now will get supermarket ice cream instead. Rocky Road?

(Guess what? We ate it anyway, even after an additional blow of Ada sitting on it on the car ride over. And it was delicious.)

Like Katya

2010-07-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

" Like Katya" is probably the highest compliment you could ever receive from me. Katya was an angel in the form of a prematurely aging Russian lady I knew on my mission. We never left her small, modest apartment without something: leftover bread, a handful of dill, homemade socks, a prayer. That's just how she was, always gracious, always giving.

Well, I'm at the tail end of Mark's absence (full-body sigh), and I'm gushing with gratitude for my mother, who has tirelessly helped take care of me and my brood these last eight days. After her long days at work, she's helped with dishes, laundry, bath time, bedtime, treated us to snowies, dinner, and even babysat twice so that I could go out with friends. Always gracious, always giving.

And like Katya, my Mom never leaves our house without leaving something behind: bananas, popsicles for the girls, a $10 bill tucked under the toaster, a micro plane grater that I misplaced, coupons, magazines, hugs and kisses.

And the thing with my Mom, like Katya, is so much has been taken from her: three babies, two houses, a boat, two marriages, the allegiance of children, and yet while so many of us would turn to easy bitterness and hoard everything that remained for ourselves, she still gives. Always gracious, always giving.

I think there's a special place reserved in heaven for people like her and Katya. I do.

Church Hair

2010-07-25T09:05:00.001-07:00

Maybe it's because I had Mary Lou Retton hair all growing up, you know, short, cropped, feathered, pure awesomeness that only those of us raised in the 80s can appreciate, but I love playing with my girls' hair. And without any sisters to practice on growing up, I've just had to learn as I go. I can't braid to save my life, so buns it is. Maybe closer together next time?

(Eleanor is almost 9 yrs old, and therefore way too cool to have matching hair with her sisters.)

Snowies, Fireworks and a Sleepover, Oh My

2010-07-23T22:04:00.000-07:00

How do you top off a day of swimming, bowling and tacos with your far-away and not-seen-enough cousins? Easy. With snowies and fireworks and a sleepover.

The Grotto

2010-07-22T19:47:00.001-07:00

The Grotto Trail, Payson Canyon with Aunt Em and cousin Matthew, Aunt JoAnn and cousins Isaac and Madeline

Auf Wiedersehen

2010-07-22T19:18:00.000-07:00

Mark woke Eleanor up just moments before the shuttle arrived to take him to the airport. It was 3:15AM. Everyone else was asleep. We stood, huddled in the front door, as the taillights faded into the warm, dark quiet. And then I tucked her into bed with me and promised, against her tears, that he would be home soon. But I lied, one of those necessary lies, because eight days is NOT soon. I know people are separated from their daddies and lovers all the time and for longer periods of time, but we are all gloriously accustomed to having our Marko around A LOT. It's our little luxury. I guess you could say we're all hooked. And now we must do without him. This will not be easy.

Outtakes

2010-07-20T11:42:00.001-07:00

I was cleaning up my memory card and came upon these images, never used but still not wanting to be forgotten. Here they are, unaltered and in no particular order, obviously. Me, by Ada, 2009

Ada, 2009
Daddy and our puzzle girl, 2009
Ada, 2009
Ada, 2009
Ada pinhcing Declan's cheek, picture by Ada, 2010
Charlotte and Smores, 2010

Eleanor and Declan, 2010
The girls, Easter 2010
Ada and her soccer team, 2010
Ada playing guitar, 2010
Charlotte's very first bike ride, 2010Popsicles with friends, 2009
Ada, early 2009

Declan, one week oldCharlotte and best buddy Lily, 2009Charlotte wearing my girlhood sweater, 2009

He cries, one week old

Recipe

2010-07-19T10:21:00.001-07:00

Today on Of Soup and Love: BLT Pizza.

Favorites

2010-07-15T15:25:00.000-07:00

And add to my list of favorite things: luscious baby thighs and that beautiful butterscotch breath. Oh, and that warm, soft place that should be the neck but is for now impossible to reach under all those rolls of sweet chunk.

So Long

2010-07-14T06:25:00.000-07:00

Today, my brother is getting on a plane with his wife and two sons, and moving about as far away from me as possible to Sydney, Australia. I know, terrible. Did he ask for my permission? No. Is he in big trouble? Yes. But he promises it will only be three years. He better be right. Skype is just not going to cut it.

Recipes

2010-07-13T13:03:00.001-07:00

Today on Of Soup and Love: Slab Cookies

Sausage and Spinach Baked Pasta

P.S. Why are all my comments on Of Soup and Love in Chinese? Anyone? Anyone?

Still Gramma's

2010-07-10T08:15:00.000-07:00

We were heartsick at the prospect of going back to Davis and staying somewhere, anywhere other than Mark's childhood home on Biscayne Bay. It's the only Gramma's house we've ever known and we loved it: the second floor all to ourselves, the magic shower, the pool in the backyard with the bench swing, the fridge in the garage with all the sodas, Gramma's rooster kitchen. But they sold it to someone else and now find themselves in an upscale condo on the other side of town. Not Gramma's house, or so we thought. But as soon as we were sitting on their familiar red sofa and eating Gramma's familiar homemade bread, we realized that being at Gramma's house has nothing to do with the address and everything to do with those we love so much. And besides, the pool at the Clubhouse wasn't so bad. Another Diet Coke on ice, please?

The Sand and Water

2010-07-09T06:00:00.000-07:00

The Pier

2010-07-08T06:00:00.000-07:00

Running. Jumping. Splitting, numbing fall. Standing above it all.

The wooden planks sound beneath our bare feet, clickety clack, clickety clack, hollow echoes of shadow, thump, thump, thump.

Sunset watching. Lake gazing. Safe from evenings' encroaching waves.

The Lake

2010-07-06T15:21:00.001-07:00

Mark has called me the most unsentimental person in the world before and he just may be right. But after a twelve hour drive and a blown tire, exhausting every curved yellow line in the freeway, watching and waiting with baited breath at every bend in the road, that big, gorgeous water opened up to us like heaven and I cried like the baby I was holding. There's just something about Lake Tahoe. Something of my childhood. Something of being so close to something so big, floating above its glassy, mirrored surface. Something of the lulling lap of the waves. Something of the stinging melted snow water. Something of the clean, perfect smell that feels good in your nose and all the way down to your toes. Something of the surrounding pines and the Sierras that holds you in like a blanket. Something of the lake that makes even me sentimental.

Three Months

2010-07-06T14:55:00.001-07:00

My Happy Place

2010-06-18T08:48:00.000-07:00

Mark, Eleanor and Ada, Lake Tahoe, 2005

And we're off to one of my happy places, to that same beach I toddled on as a baby, to that same cool, big blue. Its familiarity will embrace us like an old friend. I can hardly wait. We'll be back in two weeks. Cheers!

$220,000

2010-06-16T10:15:00.000-07:00

So, I heard on a respectable news program the other day that babies born in 2009 will cost an estimated $220,000 to raise until the age of 18. Really? $220,000? And that's before a college education and a wedding? Wow. That means it will cost Mark and I a whopping $880,000 to raise our four. Goodness, why not have one more and make it a million?

But really, I'd like to know what that amount includes. A live-in nanny? Tuition to private school? Truffle infused mac n' cheese? Designer undies? Swimming with dolphins? I'm not raising JLo's kids here.

Certainly they're not taking into account folks like me who are raising kids on the cheap: hand-me-downs, road trips to grandma's in the old van, public school, Little Ceasar's.

It just really calls in to question what children really need. I'd love to dress them all in CrewCuts, feed them purely organic, and put them up in a suite at the Disneyland Hotel, but I guess what's most important, is that I indulge them with love, patience and attention. And maybe the occasional game of Candy Land. Oh...that's so much harder than buying them a pony.

Recipe

2010-06-14T15:45:00.001-07:00

Today on Of Soup and Love: Veggie Burgers.

Ada's Butterflies

2010-06-13T20:54:00.000-07:00

They were a kindergarten graduation gift from her Daddy: five baby caterpillars in a little box. They were named, fed, watched and doted upon. They grew bigger and bigger until, well, you know the story. And then, after much impatience, there was a butterfly. And then there were four more. It was exciting: the life cycle in our own family room. Ada held them, fed them sugar water on mums, and when she felt nice, she even shared them. But then it was time to let them go, they were butterflies after all, but all the convincing and explaining in the world could not persuade her that that was a good idea. She loved them with a real, six-year-old love that wanted them close, wanted them to be hers forever. It made no sense to her to say good-bye, not until four of them died. And then she carried the cage outside, tears and disappointment wet on her face, and watched as Henry, the lone survivor, flew from our hanging basket to our maple tree. She cried in to Eleanor's shoulder and then called Gramma, who's always good for stuff like that, and then decided she wants more. She wants to do it all over again.

A Hair Appointment

2010-06-10T09:40:00.000-07:00

Gee, Ann, what are you drinking? Don't ask, Kim, don't ask. (Tired, tired baby-was-up-a-lot eyes.)

Because I want to remember that on an ordinary, slumpy Wednesday, my Mom made me an appointment at the hair salon, took off work to watch my four, and even paid for the much-needed haircut herself. Because she's wonderful.