using the Sunday china

Ah, you caught me. I pushed 'publish' rather than save on my blog the other day, and despite noting my mistake almost immediately, my rather grumpy Monday post landed in Google reader. I love you for your concern and kindness, but I also know some words are better left unsaid. I will probably struggle with my father's actions for the rest of my life, but I've learned explanation usually brings more criticism than understanding. Happily, simply typing the words alleviates the pain-- like rolling up a message in a bottle and sending it out to sea....

I have so many gorgeous Gabe/Mary/Zoeythebunny photos from Mother's Day, I'll be working them into several posts.

If you know me, you know I feel guilty any time I'm unhappy. Life is so good and glorious and fleeting. My children are around me for a few short years I don't want to waste a single day. Still, none of us can truly appreciate the people we love every moment they are with us. We just can't; but I try.

May is a month of beauty, but also busyness and emotion. The school year is winding up for everyone-- full of performances and field trips, final projects and class parties. Suddenly, the yard needs attention (but responds beautifully to the slightest effort). Gabe and Mary roll like puppies on the floor, while Hans and Xander (finished with testing) watch science videos and solve 4x4 and 5x5 Rubik's cubes. Ben landed his dream job teaching Italian to new missionaries at the MTC where he spots Stefan several times a week.

And Stefan is happy, so happy. He's studying thirteen hours a day, cracking jokes and making friends.

For once, I've balanced my photography with my life-- I've taken just enough jobs to keep me happy, but not so many I'm overwhelmed.

I should be completely and blissfully satisfied, but I seem to need a 'handle with care' sticker on my forehead. Likely it's the lack of my usual runner's high since a miserable injury has pushed me off the road and into a ten pound weight gain. Perhaps it's the backlash from my extraordinary April? My sister believes every May is hard because it's the month we watched our mother die.

But as the 'leg-whisperer' said as she massaged my damaged muscles and tendons, "You need to give in to the injury. Stop trying to do everything. Be especially kind to yourself."

So I have. Navigating our busy days, but slipping in small pleasures wherever I find them.

Leaving the kitchen a mess and chasing the bunny around the yard with the kids. Riding my bike up Millcreek Canyon and trying not to miss my running buddies' chatter. Turning up the music loud, loud, LOUD! With Erik out of town, falling asleep to the sound of Gabe and Mary giggling in my bed, drinking in their laughter. Calling Ben every day to chat-- just because I can. Resting on the couch while Xander plays his new viola piece. One night, with the boys gone, Mary and I spent thirty minutes videotaping bubbles popping on the grass. Today, I'm eating a lunch entirely of strawberries and milk in my great-great grandmother's teacup.

We gain happiness through gratitude and service, yes? But drinking in every good thing around me helps too.

Budapest at night

Mother's Day

photos and bunnies in the orchard

my favorite trees (Bechtel Crabapples) bloomed in the parking strip

brilliant, beautiful cards from my brilliant beautiful children. We didn't hear from Stefan since missionaries can't call from the MTC, but he sent a lovely letter.

Not a shopping at the mall sort of of gifter, Erik prefers to DO something(still, I'm curious about the women opening purses on mother's day: does your husband actually go to the store and pick it out? there must be some other explanation?). Saturday, after the boys and I wrestled the arch out of the overgrown roses and trimmed them down, Erik dug trenches and cemented the crossbars to the ground. Never again will my wild Zephirine Drouhin lift and twist the arch at will. Zephirines are thornless roses (perfect for garden seats) so our scrapes were minimal. But the 12 ft. Peace Rose on the left has thorns like small daggers.

ah, so nice and civilized

Sunday evening, Benj serenaded us with made-up songs, including, "everything is better when I'm around."

This post almost seems too simple-- nothing profound, nothing grand--- just sweet, beautiful, hopeful life.

my inner voice

Around Mother's Day, a few compassionate friends express concern I am missing my mother. I answer, "She's with me all the time."

She is. And I don't mean it in a sappy/Hallmark card sort of way. I feel her presence as I set the table with her lovely dishes, make silly faces with Gabe or splurge on luxurious rose lotion at the mall.

But my mother and I didn't always get along this well. During much of her lifetime, we struggled. Today, I'm writing about our evolving relationship on Segullah. I'm always hesitant to say anything negative about my now truly angel mother, but she whispers, "Tell the truth. Tell people they have hope. Christ heals every wound; tends every heart. We have so much happiness ahead of us."

more about my mother's death 
time 
bleeding hearts  
cards, flowers, love
putting away childish things

Noémi

You'll see why she's captured our heart.

Noémi from Michelle Lehnardt on Vimeo.

p.s. With apologies to the LDS Church for my rather unprofessional "I'm a Mormon"-type video. I don't think they'll sue me.

the corn story

For years, two embarrassing stories in our family carried a $2 (per person) penalty for the telling. And since my kids earn about $10 a year, the threat was enough to keep my ignominious corn story under wraps (the second story belongs to Stefan and only he can share it).

But I no longer find it shameful or humiliating. Time to come clean. And, no, I’m not paying $2 to each of you.

The summer after Xander was born I was completely overwhelmed. With three little boys racing through the house, one little needy one in my arms and Erik traveling nearly every week, I was a frazzled wreck. And I got into the habit of yelling. Too much. Too often. Out of control.

Even as a little girl, I knew I had a fiery temper. I remember watching the extraordinarily sweet singing leader at church and knowing I had a different set of DNA. Sweetness did not come easily to me. Courage and smarts, yes. But not sweetness. I envied and emulated my mild-tempered friends. My Primary teachers taught kindness and I listened and did my best.

My best was enough for a long time. Until that summer.

Friday night: Erik gone on business. Xander crying and dinner on the stove. I was shucking corn in the kitchen, watching the boys on the back porch, while using my toe to bounce Xander’s little baby seat. My arms were full of corn to rinse in the sink when the boys began banging on the glass kitchen door. The door wasn’t locked, but their arms were full (of what? I forget.) as were mine. As their pounding increased, I feared the door would break and in a burst of anger I threw the corn on the counter. Hard. Seven or eight ears.

Do you know what fresh corn does when you slam it against a hard surface? You probably don’t because you’ve never lost it like I did that night. It EXPLODES. The same force you see when kernels pop over heat, but wet and slimy and all over my kitchen.

Every surface was covered with sticky yellow bits of corn-- counter, walls, stovetop, oven, floor, my arms and clothing, even poor baby Xander’s chubby tear-stained cheeks. I stared in horror at what I’d done, began to cry and called my best friend.

For hours we scrubbed the kitchen. Corn starch serves as a substitute for glue in all kinds of fun crafts and all that smashed corn was glued to my kitchen. We gave the kids cereal for dinner, laughed and cried and scrubbed and finally gave up-- deciding I’d just have to tackle the job a bit at a time.

As I lay in bed that night, exhausted, one thought kept returning to my mind. The moment of decision. Because I can recall, even now, the moment before, when I had control, but I threw it anyway and created all kinds of work (and mortification) for myself.

Seven years later, when we sold the house, we were still finding bits of corn adhered to a handle or corner of the cupboard.

I knew I had a problem. But I cried and justified and muddled through until school started in August and I went in the first week for an introductory meeting with Ben’s second grade teacher. The kids had filled out a little ‘get to know me’ page with their favorite foods, movies, books and questions such as ‘what makes you happy?’ ‘what makes you sad?’

Under the question ‘what scares you?’ Ben had scribbled “when my mom yells.”

That night I knelt beside my bed, pulled the crumpled paper out of my pocket and begged my Heavenly Father for help. I wanted to be kinder, calmer, less scary. At the moment of decision, I wanted to make the right choice, not the angry one. I was deeply shamed.

Change takes time. I broke my resolve more times than I can count. But I kept praying, begging God for help, practicing calmness and kindness. And I changed.

Gabe and Mary will tell you I never yell. Not even when the water bottle spills across the kitchen counter (and ruins my laptop) or spatter cake batter all over the kitchen.

Oh, they’re wrong, I still yell here and there (especially at cars speeding down our street), but not often enough to remember or loud enough to scare them. I now consider myself extraordinarily patient; it takes a whole lot to ruffle my feathers.

Please understand, I share this not to brag but to encourage. We can change. We can turn our weaknesses into strengths. We are not victims of our DNA or personality type. I often hear stories about ‘she never said an unkind word in her life’ ‘she never complained’ ‘he always had a positive attitude.’ And if I’m feeling grumpy, I think, “Well, I’ve already blown that.” I need to hear stories about people who struggled, yet improved.

Maybe, for someone out there, it will be more encouraging to hear, “She was a stressed out, angry yelling mom but she changed and got better and MUCH happier.” Because we are made for happiness.

And Ben, what scares him now? Spiders. Big, fat spiders. He’ll have to get over that on his own.

little love necklaces

Ever since I showed off these cute little Russian doll necklaces, I've been bombarded with questions about them. They are the easiest little craft you can imagine (because I only do easy crafts). My sister and I put ten necklaces together in about 15 minutes the night before Stefan's farewell. 

Despite their simplictiy, they do take a bit of advance preparation.

First, I searched for a digital collage sheet on Etsy. I wanted authentic Russian art, so I purchased mine from Ekaterina from Irkutsk, Russia.

$3.50 purchases a digital download with 36 darling babushkas. Because I wanted excellent quality, I sent the sheet to Replicolor (where I do most of my photo printing). You could also use your printer at home, but for $1.50, I think Replicolor is well worth it.

Almost any design you can dream of is available on Etsy from talented designers charging only a few dollars for their artwork.

While you are on Etsy, you might as well purchase complete pendant kits-- tray, glass and chain all in one.

Trust me, I spent way too much time on ebay searching for the best price and quality, and these kits (at just over a dollar a necklace) are the very best out there. TIP: I ordered the ball chain necklaces and I wouldn't do it again. They look pretty but the clasps are difficult for most people.

Once you have your artwork and the pendant kits, you're ready to roll. I used Mod Podge because I had it around (one bottle seems to last a lifetime), but you might want to buy glue from the pendant lady on Etsy.

For circles, I have a lovely 1" hole punch. I love it so. Extremely useful for creating confetti. But for ovals and hearts and such, you'll need nail scissors and (if you're over 40) reading glasses.

Don't worry about cutting the oval perfectly. As I often say, "Perfection is the enemy of creativity." The glass dome makes up for a few ragged edges.

Use a sponge brush to apply one drop of glue to the glass. Brush it smooth and immediately place the art on the glass. If you mess up terribly, just soak it off and try again. The glue only needs a few minutes to dry before you apply another drop to the pendant tray and glue it all together.

Easy peasy. And oh so cute.

p.s. speaking of Russia, we received Stefan's first letter today. He's happy, and that makes me happy.