Scenes from the Wild

nerd power

2012-01-31T12:54:00.000-08:00

In his tight, short-sleeved shirt, the wrestling coach guffawed when my little prepster entered the schoolwide arm wrestling contest. But he wasn't laughing when Stef pulled him over the table.

"I thought you were just a nerd."

Stefan didn't mention a word to me, but the little boys heard through the grapevine he beat the captain of the football team the next day. All day long the other members of the team offered congratulations--"It's about time someone took his ego down a notch."

For the final, Stef donned his usual polo shirt/sweater and took the championship. "I almost felt bad," he said, "no one expects the nerd to win."

I do. Every time.

happy happy birthday children dear

2012-01-30T06:57:00.000-08:00

Mary-- "My daddy is awesome because he can stand on his head and he can juggle."

But not at the same time.

Sadly, he's in Wisconsin for his birthday, but we'll have yet another party when he arrives home for my birthday on Thursday. Maybe we can share a cake.

Happy Birthday love, we miss you!

Kristen

2012-01-27T13:32:00.000-08:00

I tried, I really tried to just create one beautiful post of Kristen and keep it on my photography blog. But I couldn't possibly narrow down the photos for one reasonably sized post. So I'm taking advantage of the luxury of posting some here, some there, beauty-beauty everywhere.

Obviously, Kristen is gorgeous, but she is also kind and good, hardworking and funny. She tears up when talking about how much she loves her mother, sister and brother. Her heart is two sizes bigger than most. I've said it before and I'll keep repeating it: don't believe what the world says about teenagers, they are good, good, good.

more here

welcome to the circus!

2012-01-25T14:38:00.000-08:00

These are the times I know I'm crazy-- the doorbell is ringing, cupcakes need frosting and I'm carefully turning the lollipops so the black writing can't be seen.

Ah, the pantry may be a mess, my bedroom a repository for every undone task and please don't inspect the guest bathroom (the mini party guests won't notice, right?) but I am going to get those lollies right.

Any sane person would take the kids to the bowling alley and be done with it, but I cannot resist the allure, the challenge, the intoxication of creating magic.

Happily, luckily for me, my darling friends Kit and Kevin mistakenly showed up two hours early. A nice friend would babysit their kids while they did errands, but I put them straight to work. Kev hung all the streamers (though Xander would like credit for coming up with the idea).

While Kit tackled the cupcakes, the boys kept baby Darren happy with a remote control car and balloon.

My goal for the party was under $100 and I came within a few clams. Pinwheels and crepe paper are old favorites in the cheap decor dept; my new loves are $1 yard tulle and carnival tickets. For fifteen dollars I made Mary a circus tutu and decorated all the chairs. The tickets ($2.97 for 1000) went everywhere-- swirled across the table, around the banisters and we also handed them out as prizes.

Cute Xander created not one, but two tightrope/balance beams. We opted for the less dangerous version.

I cheated the budget by using my Shutterfly credit to print these posters from photos I took on our trip to Paris three summers ago. Forgoing frames, I backed them with leftover foam board from science project displays.

After a jaunt on the balance beam, everyone reveled in circus bingo.

Gabe refilled the mysteriously disappearing bingo pieces while Mary did the calling.

My fearless party crew led the girls in games too wild to photograph while Erik demonstrated his awesome juggling abilities. The boys handed out tickets at the end of each game which the girls exchanged for prizes.

each girl snuck into the photo booth

Our gourmet menu included corn dogs (yes, corn dogs), grapes, popcorn and cupcakes for the grand finale.

Ah, almost forgot the lemonade.

little sisters are always welcome

In the end, it's all about giggly girls playing their heart out, skipping around the kitchen and hugging as they leave.

And me, six days later I'm taping streamers back up when they fall, rearranging the clowns... trying to make the magic last just a bit longer.

marriage is all about family

2012-01-24T07:48:00.000-08:00

my new favorite fence photo at my favorite fence

I have a special affection for January brides for many reasons, but primarily because I was one, twenty-one years ago today.

I hesitate talking about my marriage, because marital bliss is a rough subject for many people. But it's important (once a year or so) to assure others it's possible after twenty-one years to feel still feel exactly like this:

The sealer at Clint and Katy's wedding said many things, but he kept coming back to one phrase, "Marriage is all about family."

"It's never just between two people," he expanded, "it involves everyone in this room; generations before you and generations to come. The work of marriage is building a family and nurturing each other."

Our anniversary isn't marked by jewelry or romantic getaways-- it always seems to come when our money and time are needed for other things. Par for the course, tonight I'll be at the Blue & Gold Cub Scout Banquet while Erik attends a church meeting and runs Xander to his orchestra concert. Erik's gift to me is baking 150 breadsticks for the banquet and making a Costco run.

So it goes, in different directions and often side by side as we work toward our common goal-- building a family.

I'm still amazed I talked him into it all those years ago.

Mary at eight

2012-01-21T14:43:00.000-08:00

Ah, she's a clever little thing. Wednesday morning, Mary suggested, "You should check me out of school for birthday pictures today because I know the rest of the week is really busy."

How could I resist?

Of course, within five minutes out of the car, Mary was ready to be done, but she smiled for me and we dreamt of returning in the summer when the Ferris Wheel is laden with seats and color and we can row a boat across the pond (I'd really like to shoot engagements here: the bridge, the allee of trees, laughing on the Ferris Wheel, kissing in a cloud of birds...).

one of those captures that startles me

warming up with a cup of ice cream

I have much to write, much to say, but I'm stumbling over my words, typing and erasing.

The pretty backgrounds and twirly dresses are a delight, but they don't tell much about Mary. Undoubtedly, we spoil her in many ways, but we hope she is not spoiled. Quick to help with chores, full of kisses and cartwheels, she fills our house with laughter. Oh, she's not perfect-- she whines and bosses-- but she apologizes quickly, sheds tears and promises to be good from "now until forever."

random Mary trivia:

We don't cut her hair. It may not be a lot, but we think her fluff is really cute.

Despite her antics in the videos, Mary is not a performer. Other little girls beg for the lead in ballet, while Mary begs to skip the recital.

Nine out of ten days you'll find Mary in a skirt or a dress.

She's extraordinarily proud of her five brothers and never forgets to pray for them.

Mary at eight from Michelle Lehnardt on Vimeo.

Ah, Mary, you are a delight and an adventure for all of us. Happy birthday little love!

creative passion

2012-01-18T12:10:00.000-08:00

Long weekend, enough snow to eliminate a bike ride but not enough for sledding, chores done, viola practiced and Xander sat down to play some lame online game.

"Get up! Do something!" I enthused. "You need to find a creative passion for your empty hours. Choose a subject, learn a skill, become an expert."

My children are familiar with this lecture. I don't care if they knit, juggle or write novels; I simply want them to find a passion they love-- one that calls to them at night with new ideas, something they run home from school to put the finishing touches on and search for tips on how to make it better next time around.

Monday, Xander poured his energy into this video. You can imagine the chaos with all these little actors running in and out of my house, costumes and props flying everywhere. Video is a fabulous outlet for kids because it involves planning, storytelling, props, costumes, filming and editing skills (and the internet is full of fabulous tutorials).

p.s. it starts out tame-- but gets exciting pretty quickly.
p.p.s. sure wish I'd cleaned that smudge off my lens.

into the woods from Michelle Lehnardt on Vimeo.

Gabriel at ten

2012-01-15T17:05:00.000-08:00

Perhaps the best way to illustrate Gabriel's personality is through his interactions with Mary. Endlessly patient, he includes her in games with his friends, reads her stories on dark nights and constantly sets her to giggles with silly songs, wild dances and endless jokes that only the two of them seem to understand.

My two January babies share a bedroom (yes, Mary has a pink room that sits empty) and their laughter often keeps the older kids awake. I'll have to split them up eventually, but not yet.

Wondering how he might change, I wrote about Gabriel on his seventh birthday (wow, those photos are overphotoshopped) and made this list:

1. sleeps with Baby Bear

2. takes Jedi Training very seriously

3. curls into my lap during family prayer

4. eats Frosted Mini Wheats every morning and carefully turns each square sugar-side up

5. sings and dances with wild abandon

6. refuses fruit unless under great coercion--Aha! He eats apples and bananas these days.

7. insists on a chapter of Harry Potter every night-- reads a chapter of the Book of Mormon with great dramatics.

And only mom is allowed to call him Gaby-baby (always).

Phew, he hasn't changed as much as I'd thought.

Since they were so sweet for photos, I bought these two a cream puff on the way home. They shared so nicely (you should see my car!).

Darling Gabriel, no matter how many decades you age, may your Christlike heart remain the same.

Friday the 13th

2012-01-13T09:45:00.000-08:00

Lucky me! I'll be spending the day with this cute couple at their wedding. We took these formal portraits on New Year's Eve (which I LOVE doing because it takes off some of the pressure for the wedding day) but I still have plenty of ideas for today's photos.

getting ready

Clint's first look at Katy in her dress

Don't you love Katy's natural elegance? She wears the dress it doesn't wear her.

Sadly, Clint has a bad cold and we are all concerned that he makes it through the wedding, Ben sent this compassionate message:

I know everyone is worried about Clint this week but I'm hoping he stays nice and sick. I figure Dad had pneumonia when Mom and Dad got married and things have worked out pretty well for them. Maybe there's something to getting married then you're sick. Sorry Clint, but my prayers are for your lungs to fill with mucus. Actually maybe not that bad. Good luck with the wedding everybody.

Hmm, I'm glad Ben has so much faith in his parents, but I wouldn't wish wedding day illness on anyone-- here's to a gloriously happy day!

the answer is...

2012-01-11T06:12:00.000-08:00

Oh, you know Utah customs-- no one can simply ask someone to a dance or reply with a simple 'yes' or 'no'-- we have to do something silly and fun.

So when Stefan was asked to the Sweetheart's Dance we replied with this giant cupcake with a DVD hidden in the middle.

Thirty-nine seconds of groove.

Yes from Michelle Lehnardt on Vimeo.

Suzanne's girls

2012-01-10T18:28:00.000-08:00

I'll confess, Shelah and I often talk about Suzanne the moment we part ways on our morning run; she heads south, we lope east and we gossip, "Suzanne is the nicest, sweetest person I know."

"But she's also completely down to earth. And she never judges me."

"You should have read the thank you note she sent me. I think I'll frame it and put it in my front hallway."

You get the idea; we're terrible muckrakers.

Suzannie, much like today's writer on Segullah, thinks she's just ordinary. I've never agreed with that assessment, but after spending an afternoon with her beautiful, delightful, spunky little girls, I am in awe of Suzanne's natural, patient, conscientious mothering.

Meet Kate, age 10, constantly looking after the little ones; helpful, gracious and unerringly polite.

Ellie, age 8, sweet and shy; a dancer and a violist.

Claire is the wild one!

and Sarah Jane is the baby.

We caught a few of Ellie in her baptism dress,

the sisters together,

and of Claire, just being Claire.

Suzanne, you are extraordinary. Your little girls will change the world, one smile at a time.

p.s. I did give Suzanne her disk months ago- I'm not that slow!- but it does take me about this long to create a blog post. Still working on our honey harvesting post from September...

book day

2012-01-07T10:46:00.000-08:00

Every day of vacation (even on Christmas), Gabe asked, "Are we doing the book project?" Finally, on the last day before school started again, we dove in.

Few things define our family like our love of books. Bookshelves dominate every room, each child (and parent) has a stack of novels spilling from their nightstand, meals and bedtime discussions revolve around "have you read?" and we are constantly creating wish lists.

To me, buying books is high priority. I'd rather skip a vacation than skimp on books; forget Disneyland, give me Peace Like a River (did you click on that link? One penny for a hardback copy!).

But our abundance of reading material is an organizational nightmare. Several times in past months we've been unable to find beloved tales-- hence, Gabe's dismay-- it was time to completely renovate our system.

Gabe and his best friend Will took over picture book duty. Despite every child reading advanced books, we're still not ready to pack the picture books away. Will we ever?

The boys laughed as they sorted the books, "We can see your various stages of book buying mom-- library sales, thrift shops, garage sales, Scholastic flyers..." I'm now a big fan of Amazon; especially those one cent books.

All day, the kids recommended books to each other-- "You haven't read The Thief? You have to read that." I laughed as they practically bore testimony of favorite books-- "It changed my life."

Oh, well, maybe that was me. Words have always been my lifeline and my solace.

When Stefan was little, I worked hard finding books appropriate for his age and still challenging. Patrick McManus books (if you have boys, go buy all of these right now)and the Redwall series were perfect fits.

All of this book moving kicked up masses of dust and dirt. Erik and bunny took on cleaning duty.

Of course, there were casualties along the way. All day long we chided each other-- "Stop reading and get back to work!"

Even after eight hours of work, our system is pretty haphazard. No Dewey Decimal at our house-- it's more like 'favorite series' 'favorite stand alones' 'childhood classics' 'World War II books' (one of my especial weaknesses) 'books Gabe should read this year' 'books Mary should read this year.'

One of our key ideas was that every book on our shelves came with our recommendation of 'this is worth your time.' With that in mind we filled baskets with rejected tomes and in one of those serendipitous moments we opened the door to find a flyer for a book drive on our porch.

I' m just thrilled we made a little room for the books we'll fall in love with this year.

What's on your wish list?

Penelope

2012-01-04T19:20:00.000-08:00

Why don't we hear the beautiful name Penelope more often? It signifies a girl who is clever, loyal and capable. For this little cherub I think we can add captivating, adorable and cherished to the list.

Spunky Nanette wanted nothing to do with me and my camera; but we tricked her.

Isn't she gorgeous? Nanette looks a lot like her mother, who is also camera shy.

Hmm, if I looked like Kaitlin, I think I'd make you take my photo all day long.

Our one and only photo of the girls together.

Can't resist the baby on the shelf.

my favorite of the day

Thanks for sharing your lovely babies with me, Kaitlin.

more pink prettiness here.

sort, dust, simplify

2012-01-03T10:55:00.000-08:00

Diligent little Gabe carefully boxed the Christmas village, while the rest of us tackled the tree-- it took hours and finally Stefan lopped off the top 4 ft. just to make the job easier. Was anyone else as amazed as me at the dust and dirt accumulated under Christmas decor?

Not everything made it back into boxes-- some items thrown in the trash, others in the DI pile-- and so it goes.

I am frankly terrified of January today. For the last few months I've let dust and dirt and white elephants multiply under Christmas festivities- I've told so many people, "I'll do that for you in January." and now I'm so overwhelmed I want to curl in a ball and sob.

The coming month is laden with excitement-- six birthdays, a wedding, a huge concert for Stefan, our anniversary, Mary's baptism, engagement and baby photos... along with the basics of homework and lessons, practicing and dinner. I've been like the teenager putting $2 worth of gas in car and never filling the tank.

Each person in my life is important to me and I want to do the very best for them; I pray I can. I also want to blog-- I have at least thirty back posts pending, memories and thoughts I want to record.

So, feel free to email me if I've made a promise to you; I'm so scattered I could easily forget something. But also know I've made a list and intend to work through it methodically, checking off projects one by one. And I also intend to enjoy all the light and happiness coming my way.

Christmas

2011-12-26T17:33:00.001-08:00

Christmas morning gifts us with sparkling lights, dollies, stockings overflowing with chocolate, marzipan cake and banana cream pie for breakfast. But nothing, nothing compares to the sight of this boy smiling at us from Italy:

We laughed as much as we talked, jostling for position in front of the screen, peppering Ben with questions and laughing again at everything, everything, everything.

After nine months and nine days, we finally heard his voice, saw him move and laugh and make goofy faces. And I don’t think I knew the weight of worry in my heart until it lifted at his words, “I’m so happy. I’m SO happy.” For seven months he's been in a foreign country spending every day with strangers (many who wish he would just go home); letters are wonderful, but to see his face, to hear him laugh.. ahhhhhhhhh, I finally know that he's OK.

I repeated his phrase the rest of the day: dancing in the kitchen, playing dolls and legos, hugging our friends at church, “I’m so happy. I’m SO happy.”

In some ways it seems cruel to limit phone calls/skype to twice a year, but the scarcity makes those calls so precious and all of us so precious to each other. My little family gathered round, laughing and talking with Ben, was truly all I wanted for Christmas.

But of course we had other presents.

My wildly creative boys like to construct their own gifts-- mid-December brings a flurry of wax, wood, nails and saws to my kitchen counter (“take that out to the porch!”) as they brainstorm over gift ideas. Wisely, I requested nice notes rather than a gift. When I suggested Dad might like heartfelt words of love rather than a wood and paint creation, Stefan scoffed, “At this point it’s not about what dad might want; it’s about what we want to make.” Hans nodded agreement while furiously eating Babybel cheeses simply to harvest the wax for candle making. Hmm, later when they inserted firecrackers in the candles and blew them up in the backyard, I think they’d abandoned all pretense of gift-making.

A Mayan sword from Stefan-- "because you've been reading about Mayan history."

A somewhat nice note from Xander and a homemade box from Hans. Hmm....

Stefan was the proud recipient of a scarf from Xander and a Babybel candle from Hans.

Clever little Mary created sock puppets for everyone.

And you should have heard her shriek with delight when Xander presented a new doll bed, "It's exactly what I need!"

Other gifts included a key to the city for Hans, pre-peeled clementines for me, drawings, a rubber band gun and a very interesting calendar.

Happily for me, I still received sweet little notes-- “Thanks for being so involved in my life.” “I love you so much you have no idea.” “I love the way you see the best in me.”

Priorities: chocolate and legos.

You can be a shepherd or a wise man in our Nativity, but the roles of Gabriel and Mary are taken.

My Christmas day photos aren't lovely by photographer's standards-- the light was terrible, images grainy, our hair messy, eyes out of focus...and yet to me they are beautiful.

You've heard William Vaughan's words-- "The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a family all wrapped up in each other."

It's a Jolly Holiday With Mary

2011-12-23T09:08:00.000-08:00

Two Marys, two red coats and an afternoon downtown to create a Christmas greeting for Ben and all of you. Between the two songs I used-- Mary's Poppin's 'Jolly Holiday' and 'Extraordinary Merry Christmas' from Glee-- they sing Mary or Merry at least a hundred times.

Now tell me, should we send it to Ben? Will it make him feel extraordinarily homesick or extraordinarily loved?

It's a Jolly Holiday with Mary from Michelle Lehnardt on Vimeo.

p.s. Most Marys are annoyed by the song 'Mary, Mary Quite Contrary' but they are just fine if you sing 'Jolly Holiday."

one week before Christmas...

2011-12-18T19:31:00.000-08:00

Don't ask my why I've never used my camera to take video; suddenly I can think of nothing else. Yes, I have a houseful of children but Mary stars in this video simply because she was the only child willing to stay in her church clothes this afternoon.

One week before Christmas.... from Michelle Lehnardt on Vimeo.

the castle

2011-12-15T11:55:00.000-08:00

I won't lie-- it took half the day: shopping for ingredients, mixing the dough, sketching designs... about halfway through only Xander was still with me.

Mary had switched her focus to hair salon; you can see Hans on the computer in the background.

No worries, Xander likes working without interference. I'm pretty sure James Bond looks like this when he rolls out cookies too.

Since the smell of gingerbread you're not allowed to eat is almost torturous, we make Chocolate Gingerbread Cookies to sate the masses. If you like chocolate and gingerbread you NEED to make these.

Once the pieces are baked we begin construction. It doesn't matter where I place the castle or move the barstools, Xander insists on sitting on the counter. We use a stiff butter frosting; not that yucky royal icing.

Erik is a loyal beautyshop patron.

How cute are these two?

Yeah, this cute.

But once the decorating begins everyone is interested again (I don't care if you've been lifting weights Stefan, zip up your sweatshirt).

Xander, of course, remains on the counter.

Oh, it's fabulous.

My nerdy children add mathematical symbols to the decor.

Can you find Ben's name?

Looks good enough to eat; but you'll have to wait till New Year's Eve!

a wake

2011-12-12T17:23:00.000-08:00

My grandmother claims her first memory at six weeks of age. I may have been skeptical in the past, but I believe she remembers lying in a cradle, watching the lantern swing from the tent pole on the way to her father's funeral. Just two days before he planned to go home, kiss his wife and meet his new baby daughter, John Wallace Strohecker was killed in a mining accident-- the emotions must have been so intense even a tiny infant would grasp a lasting impression. And I wonder if her father was there, whispering in her ear, "Remember this. Remember me."

Not until Sunday night did I mention catching a flight to my grandma's funeral the next day. "What!?!" Mary wailed, "You can't leave me! My mommy can't leave." Arms wrapped around my neck, real tears streaming down her face, she clung to me and cried, "Don't go. Don't go. Don't go...."

She was still wailing as we gathered in the hall for family prayer, "Whose turn is it?"

"Mary's." I answered, "let's skip to Daddy."

"You can't skip me! I'm praying."

We knelt, bowed heads-- "Dear Heavenly Father, please bless that mommy WON'T go. And bless Ben in Italy. AMEN!"

And so, I left a bit reluctantly the next morning. We are not a family who gathers often and I dreaded the questions and comments-- especially with the devastation my family has suffered in the last two years.

But as we entered the coffee shop where her wake was held (a cozy lovely place with velvet benches, vintage table and plush couches) we were greeted with open arms, firm hugs and expressions of delight. My cousins marveled that I have oh-so-many kids and we compared names and ages, college plans and favorite books. Despite decades of little communication we communed like dear friends, well, like family.

John Wallace was an extraordinarily well-educated man for his day and he chose gentle, quiet Zoe for her love of books, music and children. "I would rather live in a home with children, music and a wife who loves me than all the wealth in the United States." he wrote while they were courting.

For generations, our family has been marked by a love of books and learning-- a trait that often made them feel lonely and different from their companions. Ruth Ann was never without a book, never missed a day reading the newspaper.

Grandma Ruth Ann

Raised by her widowed mother and grandparents on a farm with no indoor plumbing or electricity, Ruth Ann emptied the slop jars every morning, milked the cows, bleached the linens, swept and dusted-- in the afternoon she was free to play with the dogs. She scarcely saw any other children until moving into town at age 11.

After the wake, we talked and marveled at our shared family traits. Each girl took home a piece of grandma's jewelry and we all promised to write and visit more often. My uncle, my mother's only sibling, hugged me with real affection and told story after story of my mother.

my mom at 5-- isn't she adorable?

To speak of my mother, with someone who knows and loves her, is like water in a desert. Our mourning has been crippled, halted by much graver events and we all cried at her absence.

Her father's death colored much of Ruth Ann's life. In her personal history she wrote over and over-- 'if only my father were alive.' Still, she married well (a bookish brilliant man, of course), raised two incredible children and nurtured beautiful gardens.

Later, I went to dinner with all but one of my siblings. When did we last sit around a table together? We laughed and teased, retold childhood stories and surely drove the waitstaff crazy as we lingered well into the night.

And something miraculous happened, despite the destruction our family has endured, we realized we can form a new sort of family. Brainstorming, we hatched a plan to visit my brother Dan in New York next April-- for the first time in more than twenty-five years, all five of us will gather together.

I'm leaving a lot of space between the lines in this post-- you can interpret them however you'd like-- but my message is this: no matter how broken your family the future holds surprises, new possibilities.

After ninety-four years on earth Ruth Ann finally met her father. I'm sure her mother greeted her eagerly as did my Grandpa Harold and her daughter, my mother. In heaven, I believe our earthly limits on communication will dissolve-- love and understanding flow freely. I believe in the immortality of the human soul, I believe in the resurrection and I know the day will come when "God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away." Rev 21:4.

Cara Mia!

2011-12-12T15:17:00.000-08:00

How I love eight year olds! More loveliness here.

mail

2011-12-08T09:59:00.000-08:00

It's almost cliche (OK, it is cliche) to suggest there's nothing quite like real mail. I keep a file of sweet, handwritten notes and cards and pull them out on gray days just to make me smile. These two aren't even written to me and give me an ear-to-ear grin.

the postcard from Ben:

Dear Mary, Sorry it's taken me so long to send you a card. I just took a little while to pick the perfect card to send you. I had a couple. Some had hills and flowers from Tuscany and others had horses racing in the Palio, but I thought this castle was perfect. Can't you imagine a princess living here? That's why I picked it. I can't wait to bring you back to Siena, I think you would really love it. As much as I love Siena though I have to say that I really miss you. I'm glad you're excited to talk on Christmas because I am too. I thought about that for the first time about two months ago. Thinking about talking to you made me so happy that I just started laughing. I can't believe how lucky I am to have you as my sister. I remember when mom first told me she was pregnant with you. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone so I just smiled instead. I smiled so much that I even grinned while swimming at swim team. I love you little Mary. Love, Ben

and the birthday card from my adorable niece Lizzy to Hans (keep in mind that Taylor Swift sings when you open the card):

Happy Birthday Hans! Since you're such a manly man we knew you could handle a girly card. Also we're (me and my mommy) sending you a girly book (kind of, sort of, not that much) in the mail. I liked it, so sorry if you don't. You know what they say--- give people gifts that you'd like to receive. hearts. Lizzy

p.s. If I were receiving this card I would like someone to tip me off that if I rubbed it against my face, I'd sparkle. Just sayin'.

I do realize this is the sort of post only I am interested in, but I can scarcely think of anything I'd rather record.

And maybe it will put a grin and some sparkle in your day too.

greedy

2011-12-05T14:44:00.000-08:00

While photographing this cute boy, I asked, "So what do you want for Christmas?"

"Hmm, not really anything," he replied, "I already have a lot."

Eleven-year-old Isaac isn't a kid with a cell phone, an iPad or a TV in his room, but he is well-clothed, well-fed and adored by his parents. His dad always makes time to shoot hoops in the driveway or drill math facts; his mother celebrates daily life in a thousand little ways.

Much is said this time of year about selfish kids penning mile long Christmas lists and demanding the latest toys and electronics. I'll make the assertion that kids do feel greedy at Christmas-- they want more of our time.

Xander recently created a Christmas wish list filled with items like:

make homemade peppermint oreos (check!)
read a Christmas story every night
go to mountains to cut Christmas tree (check!)
make gingerbread houses
cut paper snowflakes
go to the festival of trees (check!)
see the lights downtown
set up train under the Christmas tree (check!)
act out the Nativity
light the candle chimes (check!)

it goes on....

You may recall Xander asserting he'd like my attention 25 hours a day. I honestly don't think he's that unusual. Children love the magic and pageantry of the Christmas season; gifts are just a small part of the celebrations.

Now don't get me wrong; I love presents. I delight in creating or finding just the right surprise and I am often so excited that I can scarcely keep a secret. More than once I've insisted that someone open a gift a week early because I can't wait another moment.

I'm certainly not suggesting any child with a Christmas list is selfish. Dreaming of a gift outside of usual purchases is part of the magic of childhood. When else can a child ask for a doll or a new Lego set?

I still remember Ben and Stefan's excitement over this train Christmas 1996; if only all our gifts lasted this long.

"Entitlement" is another negative word oft applied to today's children. It seems unfair to label an entire generation as selfish and lazy. I'll suggest our children are entitled-- to our time. The Proclamation to the Family reads, “Children are an heritage of the Lord” (Psalm 127:3). Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, and to teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens wherever they live.

Isaac's baby sister Grace

I suppose I'm a defender of kids as much as I'm a defender of teenagers. Kids are good, good, good-- it's only we adults who mess us they world; who turn Christmas into a commercial circus.

My apologies if my words are preachy, I write this as a reminder to myself this season-- if I'm too busy for my children, I'm simply too busy.

Now off to mix up three batches of gingerbread...we've got a list to tackle.

our lovely darling Christmas tree

2011-12-03T17:05:00.000-08:00

Much to the chagrin of the three reading older boys, Mary and Gabe giggle nonstop, smearing chocolate on each other's faces and swatting each other like puppies. By the time we spot the treeline, everyone is anxious to spill out of the car and begin our annual search for a tree.

I think, when I tell people we cut our own tree, they imagine a Christmas forest with one beautiful little pine after another vying for the crowning spot in our family room. Rather, it's kind of bleak-- miles of sagebrush, lots of aspens and here and there a few evergreens. Most of the trees are way too tall at 50 or 60 feet, others are tiny and many have branches only on one side. Our goal is never to find the perfect tree, just one that will work.

saw=power!!

scrambling over logs

resting

Hans to the rescue

Gabe carries the saw down the mountain.

Erik and Stefan lead with Hans and Xander in the back.

it gets a little wild when they race down the mountain-- see poor Hansie in the back?

Once we reach the car, the real task begins-- tying the massive tree to the roof.

it's huge, HUGE

Upon seeing our tree, people ask two questions--"How did you get it home?" (answered above) and "H0w do you get the star on top?" We used to tip it sideways to decorate the top, but this year we came up with the brilliant idea of scooting it over to the balcony.

We use the same star my sister gave us twenty years ago-- small, simple, beautiful.

Helping Mary find the perfect spot for pink dolly.

Hans risks his life to place Santa correctly.

Once the top is decorated, we move the tree to it's proper spot (shedding needles and covering our hands and hair with sap).

Should I be nervous about my baby girl on that ladder? I'll be honest, ladders make tree decorating twice as fun.

Kitty watches the fun from Grandma Zoe's Christmas village.

We used to ration our ornaments- two per branch-- but with the addition of Grandma Zoe's boxes of beauty we hang with reckless abandon. Every limb is lush and heavy with sparkling glass.

I'll be honest, photos simply can't do it justice. You'll need to stop by and see it in person.

Because somehow, the barely passable tree in the woods always becomes absolutely

perfect.

p.s. if you live in Utah and want to cut your own tree, you can buy a permit for $10 at the Heber Valley Ranger Station the Saturday after Halloween.

visit. teach.

2011-11-30T08:27:00.000-08:00

oh, I know neither Evelyn nor Coleen will like this photo. But how do you capture the faces of angels?

They scarcely had time to compliment my carpet and settle themselves onto the couch before I said, "I want to learn everything you can teach me. I don't want a surface relationship. I need your wisdom."

My new visiting teachers laughed and leaned back against the couch as we shared our stories. Between the two of them they've had nearly 150 years on this earth: both have buried children and suffered numerous heartbreaks, they've also nurtured happy marriages and are pillars of good in our community. They share a silly sense of humor and are devoted to their children and grandchildren. By the end of the hour we'd finished a box of Kleenexes and parted in a flurry of hugs and "I love you"s.

Lucky for me, they are assigned to visit me each month, just as every Mormon woman visits two or three others in her area. In the year since their first visit, Coleen and Evelyn have offered wise and generous advice, hilarious anecdotes and even left a basket of food on my porch when my beestung face was too horrifying for the grocery store. More than simply asking after me, they tell me of their own struggles. And I love that, I value deep conversations; I love people who share their hearts.

Their friendship doesn't end at my doorstep. At church, Evelyn calls me over for a hug or a compliment about my children; she saves a seat for me in Relief Society. Treating me like a true friend, Coleen calls me into her house to meet one of her children or college friends-- who also tell me their stories. I can always count on Coleen and her husband Dean for a hug and a smile and a bit of parental love.

Visiting Teaching goes both ways. It's just as important to be receptive to the women who visit as it is for them to show up each month. I haven't always been good about that-- sometimes I've begged off as being too busy or assured them I'm fine-- I wonder what friendships and knowledge I've missed? I'm grateful for the women I visit who open their homes and hearts to me. Sometimes a surface visit-- how do you do? how was your trip? this is the lesson-- is just right. Not everyone craves close relationships. But I am so grateful for these beautiful, strong women who have embraced me with arms and hearts.

Abundance

2011-11-25T17:26:00.000-08:00

I'll admit it, occasionally I feel envious of my friends who make a dish or two and go to a huge family gathering for Thanksgiving. It would be lovely to sleep in, play soccer with masses of cousins, aunt and uncles and join hands round the table to give thanks.

But my children revel in the preparations. They've taken ownership of treasured recipes and pride in the results (though it's twice as much fun when we join my sister).

We start on Wednesday with the pie crusts: Hans separates the eggs, while Mary chops the butter. Making as many pies as possible is the unwritten challenge-- why?- I have no idea.

She loves wielding that knife.

A new recipe from Lisa, Stefan is in charge of the White Chocolate Vanilla Bean Banana Cream Pie.

Go big or go home. I buy one of these chocolate bars every fall. Per pound it's cheaper than chocolate chips and oh-so-delicious.

It's so lovely.

Everyone is enthralled with the chopping; Stefan's still working on his pie.

One lick for you,

one for me.

By noon the kitchen is really a mess.

One layer of banana slices, one of custard.

Stefan is especially qualified to make this pie since he eats about six bananas a day.

Gabe- "How can I help?"

Stefan- "Could you make me toast with peanut butter and honey?"

and he does. Gabe is good that way.

Making mini Mary-berry pies.

What's better than one Mary in the kitchen? Two.

She fits right in.

We gave her an apron and let her crush cranberries.

Getting just a bit sour over all the lemons she's juiced.

Cranberry puree is serious stuff; we need every last bit for our traditional cranberry ice.

The process can make you a bit crazy.

Cooking the meal and setting the table on Thursday seem almost easy after the previous day's work.

The dishes and the cloth are all my mother's: she watches over us, nudges me when a pot is about to boil, whispers that the wild rice needs more parsley.

And I know she admires little Mary setting the table (shh, don't tell my sister we used paper napkins).

We love the details like the chicken butter dish and tiny salt and pepper bowls. Xander created the boat place cards.

Between kitchen tasks, the boys and Erik rake leaves and cause trouble.

The last hour of prep is always the hardest-- so many tasks must be perfectly coordinated for each dish to arrive on the table piping hot. Take out the turkey, start on the gravy, mash the taters, put the rolls in the oven. Is that cranberry ice ready? Spoon it into goblets.

And then we sit, and give thanks and thoroughly enjoy.

Chess takes over once the meal is cleared. Those quiet, calm matches from the movies couldn't be more different from our house-- chess involves, laughter, yelling, teasing insults and victorious cheering. Fritz took this match.

Suddenly, all the too-full tummies want dessert. We ended up with two pecan, banana cream, lemon, two chocolate mousse, macadamia, sour cherry and chocolate macadamia (banana cream was the first to disappear; we ditched pumpkin at the last minute).

And today, as we are washing load after load of dishes and wiping mashed potatoes from the floor, I found our stack of "hundred thankful things" from Monday night. The various lists are both sweet and silly, but to the bottom of mine I'd like to add one more-- I'm grateful to have a refrigerator full of leftovers for the weekend because I am completely and thoroughly

worn out.

if you're looking for Christmas gift ideas

2011-11-22T09:07:00.000-08:00

Xander says, "These bendy straws are the best thing that ever happened to me."

Life altering experiences available at your local grocery store. ;)

Madeline

2011-11-20T15:02:00.000-08:00

While Madeline ran to change I texted her Aunt Brenda:

You didn't tell me Madeline was gorgeous!

Brenda:

Yep. She's an absolute sweetheart too.

I was completely charmed by darling Madeline. She's charming, funny, polite, enormously talented and smart to boot (did you get that Harvard application done, cutie?)

It's an enormous compliment to be asked to photograph another photographer; I won't pretend I wasn't intimidated.

Love this girl; can't wait to see where she's going in life.
more photos here.

fifteen

2011-11-18T17:09:00.000-08:00

"Could we just do my pictures without a shirt?" Hans offered half-joking.

And truly, only half joking, because my boy has been the incredibly-growing-Hans these past months. Happily, Hans is just as sweet as he is strong; just as smart as he is funny. It's unusual to find Hans in anything but a good mood. Here's his attempt at frowning:

Hans trivia:

The first of my children to really know what he wants to do, Hans is set on med school. He's passionate about genetics and cell structure and all kinds of things that he tells me about and I nod my head and pretend to understand.

A voracious reader, Hans consumes dozens of novels a month, but he never misses reading the scriptures.

Grandpa Fritz is his hero because he's so happy.

Honey or Nutella? He'll never be able to decide which is better on toast.

He worships his older siblings and adores the younger ones.

As a little boy, Hans was dangerously allergic to nuts, milk, eggs, wheat, etc. He's completely outgrown all of his allergies (though like a true nerd he has glasses and an inhaler).

Speaking of glasses, Hans has one of the strongest prescriptions I've ever seen. He can't find his own feet without contacts.

And speaking of nerds, Hans owns it. Call him a nerd. He'll agree.

Converse. Always.

OK, maybe one photo of those guns.

it's not that we are into long hair; I'm just terrible about getting haircuts scheduled

Lucky enough to share a birthday with this gorgeous girl, Hans danced his birthday away at her quinceanera.

I'm absolutely in love with this tradition; I'll write a post on it soon (along with about thirty other backposts I need to get to!).

The Latin culture knows how to celebrate fifteen, but the rest of us? Ben put it best:

Do you know what turning fifteen means? It means everyone is going to start telling you how close you are to being sixteen. "Just one more year and you'll be driving and dating and smoking."

Maybe not smoking.

Anyway fifteen seems to be a countdown birthday. But don't make it that way, enjoy fifteen because it's a great age. You have so many good qualities that I could tell you about, but really the best one is that you are you -- Hans. You are the perfect package of Hans and I wouldn't want it any other way.

I hope you have a good birthday. You know I wish I could be there. I'll be thinking of you all day on the 18th. Have a fabulous day and enjoy being fifteen, not almost sixteen.

Love, Ben

Katy & Clint

2011-11-13T10:29:00.000-08:00

How to describe Katy? Smart, silly, incredibly witty, flawless fashion sense-- she’s the sort of person everyone wants as a best friend. Just a year ago, Katy stepped off the plane from her mission in Paris, France. A whole slew of boys lined up to date her and Clint is the one who captured her heart. After getting to know Clint, I think he’s equally wonderful-- and that’s high praise.

Orchard photos are all the rage these days, but this is Clint’s literal back yard; the apple boxes bear his family name. He knows how to drive the tractor and when to harvest. They left a row of unpicked apples just for this shoot and we took advantage. Oh we had fun! You won’t see a serious photo in this entire set; these two can’t stop smiling when they look at each other.

Katy’s gorgeous sisters, Mary and Abby. I love these two. Abby is a junior in high school, a fabulous violinist, clever and silly (I value silly). Mary is like Mary Poppins-- practically perfect in every way. Not only is she nice enough to write Ben every week, she fills me in on stories and little tidbits that don’t make it into the family letter.

I've said I believe I can predict the happiness of a future marriage by the engagement photos-- the way they speak to each other, their movements and actions. The way they look at each other when the camera isn't focused on them. And for these two? I see a lifetime of joy. More photos here.

heartache

2011-11-12T09:18:00.000-08:00

It looks cruel to me now-- the photos of my four year old boy with a violin crooked under his neck. We did the group lessons, the workshops, the charts and flashcards, listened to recorded pieces almost constantly, practiced as Shinichi Suzuki suggested, "only on the days you eat" which included holidays and vacations. Tiger Momma had nothing on me in those days.

For the most part, Stefan thrived on the discipline, sailed through the curriculum and was playing the Bach Double with Ben by third grade (though not quite on the level of Stern and Mintz). His progress (along with everything in our family) slowed down a bit with Mary's arrival, but violin has been a constant in his life for more than thirteen years. It's a good gig-- have you ever walked into an orchestra room?- dozens of gorgeous, polite girls fill the chairs; firm friendships are created and there is the innate satisfaction of adding more beauty to the world. Anytime Stefan is stressed or worried, he comes home and picks up the violin, filling the house with concertos, allegros and sometimes, often, theme music from Harry Potter or Star Wars.

On this night, Stefan's efforts at the violin redoubled. More than anything, he wanted to participate in Concerto Night. With his extraordinary teacher, he auditioned several pieces, settled on his concerto and got to work. For the past twenty months, he has rehearsed two to three hours a day-- when our family settles down to watch a movie, he slips off to the office to practice his scales, he's become a familiar fixture for my running friends-- his silhouette through the window as he practices at 6 a.m.

Our school is a magnet for college professors who want the best high school experience for their children and for all the old music families who train generations of prodigies. Living in this unique little pocket of musical and academic talent; we knew the competition would be fierce. And Stefan's year is the most talented batch of kids we've ever seen-- dozens of bright, good kids who've devoted themselves to notes and scales.

As the audition crept closer, Stefan increased his practicing to three to four hours a day, he studied scales for perfect intonation, sang the piece for more musicality, worked with his teacher on dynamics and showmanship; Praeludium and Allegro has more than a thousand listens in our iTunes account. Every night he performed it for us and in the last few days before the audition he stopped by each of our neighbors homes to practice playing for an audience. All this while finishing college and scholarship applications, Sterling Scholar, six AP classes and taking the SAT for the National Merit Scholar contest.

In typical Stefan fashion, he was cheerful and calm about everything; the audition went well and he said the judges cheered at the end: "That was incredible!" "How can a person move his fingers so quickly?"

So he wasn't nearly as nervous as I when the list was posted yesterday.

And his name wasn't on it.

He called me, delivered the news matter-of-factly and went off to rehearse in the pit for the school musical (which is where he is again-- all day long on a Saturday). Because that's what instrumentalists do-- they play in the dark, beneath the stage, while others stand in the spotlight.

Later, he came home and we all cried and raged a bit. Why? He's not the only disappointed one: his friend Danny, who seemed like a shoo-in with his flawless Tchaikovsky, was also passed over, the first chair cellist didn't earn a spot, all the brass were left out.

It's a different sort of disappointment when you have truly done your best. Stefan stood with his hands out, "I couldn't have done anything more." We've all had times when we threw something together, didn't get the award and knew it was our own darn fault, but to have worked so hard, for so long-- it's heartbreaking.

Oh, I know there's a silver lining. His increased determination these past years have made him a much better violinist. But I also know what happens to boy violinists in college. The path to a career becomes so intense that music, by necessity, slips to the side. Concerto Night would have been a marvelous opportunity to celebrate his work of the past thirteen years.

Stefan will certainly have other successes; I believe that everyone who works hard and lives with a kind heart has delights and surprises beyond their imagination in their future.

Sure, we have to buck up, count our blessings and move on. We need to congratualte the kids who made it and Stefan has to learn all of their concertos to accompany them come March. But for now, I am sorrowful. My mother heart wants every happiness for him. We could certainly use some kind words; I could use a mother of my own.

the season

2011-11-11T09:24:00.000-08:00

You’ve received those desperate emails, “Please, we need a coach for your child’s team! Anyone? Anyone? Please, I’m begging you.”

I let it sit for a day, giving anyone who might actually be qualified the chance to coach Mary’s soccer team, then offered up my services. “You’ll be fine,” the coach coordinator assured me, “at this age you simply need to rotate the kids so they get equal playing time and point them in the right direction toward the goal.”

A few days later, clutching the bag of equipment and a few drills printed off the internet, I showed up on the practice field to meet my new team. Somehow, I’d missed the memo that most girls switch to an all-girls team at age seven and found that my co-ed team consisted of eight little boys and Mary. Oh boy.

They are, the cutest group of boys you can imagine: Ben, Charlie, Spencer, James, Wes, Cooper, Ashton, Bryson. I just know that Mary will come home from high school with a crush on one of them and beg me to bring out the old soccer team photos.

Even with Xander’s help, the first practice was a bit of a disaster. I don’t have a commanding presence. I’m not good at yelling or getting people’s attention (at Young Women’s I always had to get someone else to bring the room to order). Whenever I hear parents complaining about the school teacher who can’t control her classroom, I feel empathy for her; I would be that teacher.

And so, at practice, rather than lining up under the goal for drills they climbed the goalposts, swinging and calling like monkeys. When I called for a scrimmage they ran for the swings, one boy squirted me with his water bottle.

Our first match was against a yelling coach-- you’ve seen those-- a guy who screamed and harangued the entire game. And then there are the yelling parents (I may have had one set of those on my team) who belittle their child and others on and off the field. One parent told me, “You can’t put X in for the last five minutes. He’ll make us lose.”

“It’s his turn to go in; everyone gets equal time.” I replied. And then felt vindicated when X scored and tied the game.

I’ve read that 70% of kids drop out of organized sports by fourth grade simply because they feel like they are not good enough. I find that terribly sad. What happened to play? What happened to gathering on the field for a game of baseball, soccer or football? I felt like coaching this team was my opportunity to tell each one of these kids they are good enough.

As the season progressed my little team grew in confidence and began working together-- passing the ball, defending, cheering each other on. As the only girl on a field full of boys, Mary transformed from “I don’t want to play.” into a great defender.

And maybe I was a little cocky as we entered the last game of the season, “We’re playing the best team in the league! They’re going to smash us.” my cute little players informed me.

“Don’t give up before we start.” I told them, “you have to believe we can win.”

But faith wasn’t enough. Suddenly we were competing against a finely tuned machine: tiny little players who passed with grace, knew actual plays and relentlessly kicked the ball toward the goal. They were a full year or two ahead in skill of any other team we’d played. Even better, their coach didn’t lead by screaming or racing onto the field; he offered gentle encouragement, excellent direction and more than once I saw him offering hugs and wiping tears.

Hands down, the best part of the game was Xander standing at the goal to offer our keeper encouragement. As a ball soared toward the goal, Xander reflexively kicked it away. Immediately his hands went to his mouth as he realized what he’d done. Both teams laughed and yes, the other team scored on a penalty kick.

My darling team scrambled on defense, our keeper blocked dozens of shots and still, we lost 9-0; I honestly felt pretty good about it. After the game I got some pointers from the winning coach and I’ll be studying up on soccer this winter. I’m still determined to give each player equal time, to make each child feel loved and valuable, but I’ll also teach a few more skills, because I owe them that too.

Mary-Martha

2011-11-02T11:08:00.000-07:00

At 4:30, every Thursday, she rang the bell. Half the household ran to the door yelling, “Mary-Martha, Mary-Martha!” as she stepped into the hallway, issuing greetings and smiles, radiating warmth like her own little sun.

She usually came straight from dance practice-- sweats covering her leotards, her black violin case swinging from her shoulder-- and for the next thirty or forty minutes teased and laughed as she infused Xander with her skill and love for the violin. She fixed his posture, drilled his scales, worked his pieces with him; she cheered when he got things right and gently corrected mistakes. It was her wisdom that nudged me to find him a new teacher and eventually his switch to viola.

I’m a big fan of teenage tutors (I’m a big fan of teenagers in general). They are young enough that they remember how hard it is to learn new skills, they understand the disconnect that often occurs between lessons and practicing, but they also have enough experience to proclaim the benefits of doing things right, of creating good habits.

In Utah-- the land of incredible musicians-- tutors are plentiful. They charge very little, they come to your house, and if they are someone like Mary-Martha, they spread sunshine through the entire household.

Now, Mary-Martha is in her senior year of college. Lucky for me, she needed dance photos. We laughed our way through this shoot, and I hope I captured a bit of the light Mary-Martha brings to the world. Even more photos here.

she even sits like a dancer

boys that cook

2011-11-02T11:05:00.000-07:00

My boys tell me all their friends are surprised they like to cook. And I wonder-- how else can a family get dinner on the table? At five o'clock or so, I pull a pile of food out of the fridge, reach for the chopping boards and call, "Who wants to chop vegetables?" It's overwhelming to slice them all myself, but easy when everyone takes an assignment.

Xander loves to chop and brown the onions; most of our recipes start with onions: lots of soups, pasta primavera, three bean chili...

Sad but true, Gabriel won't eat any fruit but apples. But he's OK with anything in the vegetable family (please don't tell him tomatoes are fruit in disguise).

Hans a-peeling.

Isn't Stefan grate?

Cutting the baby carrots in half is Mary's usual job, but on this night she's on dishes.

It's overwhelming at first (we create a LOT of dirty dishes at our house), but she turns on music and settles into a rhythm-- the rhythm of family life.

Favorite Vegetable Soup

1 onion
4 T butter (you'll use the other half cube later)

brown onion in butter

add:

5 celery stalks chopped
1 bag baby carrots cut in half
1 chopped red pepper
12 baby red potatoes peeled and chopped (I usually put two boys on this job)

add:

6 cups chicken or vegetable broth (I think broth is too expensive, so I use broth granules and water)
thyme, basil, any spice you like

add:

6 cups chopped broccoli

While the vegetables and broth simmer, melt 4 T butter in a saucepan, whisk in 1/3 cup flour, slowly add 3-4 cups milk. Add the white sauce to the soup, stir and enjoy! Not the very healthiest soup, but pretty good and at least three servings of vegetables per bowl.

a very merry un-scary Halloween

2011-11-01T19:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Ben-- Just for your sake, I rushed to get these photos done. Trust me, it was hard, I am so behind on everything and I'm pulling out my hair wondering why I always, always plan more for a day than I can possibly accomplish.

Halloween makes us miss you because you are such a crazy goofy nut with your capes and costumes. I didn't realize how securely I'd indoctrinated you in anti-scariness until Mary Lund told me that you were well known among your friends for staying home from the horror movies and haunted houses. Hans and Stefan are doing the same (holy cow, did you know haunted houses cost $25? Hmm, maybe that was your real reasoning). I don't remember ever saying, "No, you can't go." or "No you can't watch that." (maybe I did?) But I find it gratifying that my anti-scary, pro-fun form of celebrating has rubbed off on you.

I thought you'd want to see the decor.

OK, this is scary! But knowing your love for spider and cockroaches, we couldn't resist. And it would have looked sacrilegious to have bugs crawling over our picture of Jesus.

I never have to wake kids up on Halloween. At the crack of dawn, Mary and Gabe were bouncing around the kitchen-- "Can you comb my hair?" "Where's my frog?" "Can we have candy for lunch?" It was hard to break the news that they had three more hours until school.

extra good practicing

After school the Linkous' stopped by since all four little girls are the princess and the frog. Do you recognize the dress? Aren't you proud of me that I didn't buy something new?

Stefan and Hans are both YOU. Your favorite sweater is a little tight on Stef, but he swishes the cape almost as well as you do. And Hans pulled out your famous Peter Pan costume-- well, at least part of it. We knew Stef had really slipped into persona when he was acting like a goofball and I said, 'Ben! Knock it off!"

Merlin!

Bond. James Bond.

Gabe decided he's going to wear a tux every day from now on.

you. again.

I wore Xander's witch costume from last year. It was actually pretty cute.

As always, the Dazley's held their annual garage-pre-trick-or-treat-party where the overall theme was adorable rather than scary.

especially little red Audrey.

The Monster family deserves some sort of prize.

those eyelashes!

Hans' friends. Definitely adorable.

You know how Utahns' get when Halloween night is warm and lovely (it rained and snowed today). Even the adults were skipping down the sidewalks and Brother W practically broke into song as he waxed rhapsodic about never seeing such a perfectly beautiful Halloween.

So many of the neighbors filled their yards with fun displays. The Bishop had a mini-spook alley (you could have handled it, I promise), the B--s projected "The Nighmare Before Christmas" onto their garage, the A--s served out nachos, the L--s had ice cream and hot chocolate and of course the M--s filled their yard with silly tombstones and offered pound cake to dip in the chocolate fountain.

I love the extraordinary efforts saying, "We love our neighbors." "We love these kids." "We'll do everything we can to make this a welcoming, safe and happy place for your family."

I skipped down the sidewalk, and sang, just a little.

Hugs and kisses, Mom

p.s. Ben can't read the blog or access and web pages besides his email and lds.org, but I send him the blog posts in his email and he scolds me when I don't write. :)

Dear Xander,

2011-10-26T13:30:00.000-07:00

I wish I had better advice for you. I have to say that I didn't like junior high much at all. I remember walking through the halls filled with millions of people. Sometimes I felt so lost and confused. There were so many new people and different ways of living that sometimes I couldn't believe it. So just remember you only have about two and a half years to go.

I'm just kidding. What I think you'll find is that school won't get easier, in fact it will get harder, but you'll get better at it. You have a lot to learn when you make the jump to junior high. Last night I was working in Prato. It was the end of the night and it was dark and rainy. It wasn't one of the funnest or most hopeful moments of being a missionary. But then I started thinking about how long missionaries had been doing just what I was doing in Prato- walking around, smiling at people, talking about the gospel, helping people know who we are and what we have to say. And that gave me hope. Odds were that the doorbell we were at had been rung by missionaries several times before. Years of missionaries have been helping to lay the foundation before me and I'm benefiting from their work and helping prepare the way for others.

So if it helps to think of it, remember that I've been there before. I've stood in the halls of crowded Wasatch Jr. High and so has Stefan and Hans. And we made it! And you will too. And you'll be able to help Gabe and Mary when their turn comes. Just know that I know how you feel and that I'm pulling for you.

As for any tricks? I like toast with Nutella, or cinnamon sugar, or jam, or cheese and a good glass of milk. Just be patient and before you know it you'll be on your mission writing me about what I need to do. I don't know if anything I said will help, but remember that missionaries pray for their brothers at home too.

I love you.

Ben

just be

2011-10-24T15:46:00.000-07:00

I feel a certain measure of guilt that we live in a state full of national parks and monuments and yet nearly every school holiday we choose to stay home. In theory, we love to travel, we love to camp, but with the reality of an intense school/music/sports schedule, we usually need those precious days off to just be.

Of course any non-trip represents financial savings, so I felt completely justified in ordering a stack of books from Amazon. In truth, I buy a lot of books, but not this many at once. Guess which book was read by the most people over our four-day weekend?

Our apple adventures continued with four pies, two gallons of applesauce and Xander's obsession-- dried apples, he prefers the name 'apple crisps.' Our friend Lisa gave us the instructions: peel/core/slice, cut in half sprinkle with cinnamon and place in the food dryer.

Bemoaning our lack of a food dryer, Xander complained to his Grandpa Fritz. Incredibly, Fritz had rescued my mom's 1973 dehydrator from the DI pile when her house was sold this summer.

To me (and Xander), it felt like a miracle, like my mom reaching down from heaven to say, "I'm still watching over you." This silver box was a standby of my childhood-- my mom dried apples, pears, tomatoes, poured out batches of fruit leather and infamously, one year, dried several pounds of hot dogs.

Are there enough apples in this pie?

No, let's add six or seven more.

Even more than apples, my boys love baby Darren. They pull faces, sing silly songs and tickle his feet just to hear his golden laugh.

But no game compares with pulling Kevin's hair. Don't you want to pull his hair? Can you imagine how fascinating it is to a baby?

Hans and Xander offered their hair for yanking but really, it's just not the same.

Rather than hiking , we simply wandered; the boys found a natural teeter-totter that occupied everyone for an hour.

We forgot to look at our watches, drank sunlight, rolled in crimson leaves,

content to just be.

if you need apples, pumpkins and an afternoon in the sun

2011-10-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

I know an orchard where the branches hang heavy, the ground is carpeted with gold and my friend's the Neff's will likely undercharge you for bushels of delicious apples. Tucked in a neighborhood in the heart of Salt Lake, their garden produces grapes, apples, pears, pumpkins, tomatoes, plums, apricots. Call them for their address and a time (801) 484-8468; they will treat you like family.

You may have picked at orchards where the fruit is scarce or hard to reach; here, the branches hang low, apples tumble into your hands and onto the ground and no matter how many you pick, you'll scarcely make a dent in the harvest.

I should warn you-- the fallen apples may tempt your children into an apple war, where boys run and yell and slip in too-ripe pears. Undoubtedly, everyone will eat an apple tasting of sunshine straight from the tree.

Leaving my camera in the car, I was determined to make this a photo-free activity, but who can resist these cute faces?

At home, Xander manned the apple peeler corer slicer while Gabe wielded the Samurai knife. For dinner we had whole wheat waffles with applesauce, apple juice and apple crumb pie.

Gabe (same day-- new haircut) could only glance up for a moment; he doesn't want to chop off a finger.

The only drawback of the Neff's is that they probably won't charge you enough-- you'll try to slip money in the kids pockets and they'll sneak pumpkins into your cart. We felt like bandits taking of with fifty pounds of apples and eight pumpkins, but this morning I found half our money returned in an envelope on my front porch with a note-- "you paid too much."

Hmm, I don't know your weekend plans, but we'll be chopping, drying and saucing in between hikes in the leaves and lazy hours of reading. And sometime today or tomorrow, I need to creep over to the Neff's to smuggle that envelope of cash onto their doorstep.

beautiful, good people

2011-10-15T13:46:00.000-07:00

Every day this week included a photoshoot. I'll admit, it's a bit intoxicating-- finding the right angle, turning toward the light, capturing that perfect moment. It's a privilege to be part of people's lives, to share in their celebrations.

Usually, I limit myself to one (or at most two) sessions per week simply because A. I am incredibly slow at editing, and B. my family needs me home. But the light is so golden this time of year, the orchards so lush that I've been testing my family's patience.

Forget what you read in the papers about spoiled kids, bickering couples and the complete degeneration of society, this week I turned my lens toward:

four hugging, kissing little girls who whisper "please" and "thank you," who adore each other and their parents

a couple so sweet, so silly, so right for each other that none of us could stop grinning,

gorgeous (and humble!) Madeline who is busy filling out college applications and dancing her way through senior year,

adorable Cara in her baptism dress (isn't she breathtaking?),

Brenda and her extraordinarily beautiful children,

and possibly my favorite moment of the entire week, 12 year old Porter asking-- "Can I have a picture of just me and my mom? 'Cause I love my mom."

People are good; life is beautiful.

baby baby

2011-10-14T09:52:00.000-07:00

My darling friend Julie welcomed sweet baby Claire this summer. I hope I'm supportive of all my friends with babies, but I try to offer especial compassion to mothers having their fifth. I don't want to be insensitive to those who desperately want more children-- my own sister is aching for another, cute Mary is aching for her first-- but I want to honor Julie and her husband for the love they offer and the sacrifices they make for their children. As a society we tend to be extremely supportive of first time parents and even second and third, but by the time a family has five babies, everyone seems to say, "ah, they've got this down." For me, that was when I needed help the most. I'm grateful to you, Julie and Joel, for raising these beautiful little people; you make the world a sweeter place.

on the bench

2011-10-10T12:51:00.000-07:00

The Tie Game-- you begin by snuggling with a daddy or a brother with a tie.

It's a miracle. Truly.

After nearly two decades of wrangling wild little boys and their even crazier sister at church, I glanced over and noted all my children sitting quietly.

It's good to ask permission, and then you carefully roll the tie up...

It wasn't for long, within minutes I had to stand up and forcibly sit between two wrestling boys and well, I confess that I may have started some of the giggling by telling Gabe we were having cat food for Sunday dinner. But really, in general, they quietly play the dot game, fiddle with Mary's etch-a-sketch and even listen to the speakers. A pastime of their own invention is the drawing game where they draw little sketches-- five heads bent over one scrap of paper-- and the pen goes to whoever guesses the subject first.

Gone are the days of babies throwing up on my new dress, crying and scattering Cheerios. No one yells, "I'm going to punch you in the face!" and even Gabe has given up his habit of shouting "That's me!" any time someone mentioned the Angel Gabriel.

up, up

So many Sundays, I sat in the lobby with my toddlers, defeated by their antics and wondering why on earth I kept coming. And then there was the week an elderly lady frowned at Mary scolding, "Have you had that child checked by a doctor? She's the most hyperactive baby I've seen in my eighty-five years!" That week I fled to the hall in tears, vowing never to come back.

But of course I did.

and tuck it under their chin.

And so I revel in our peaceful row: boys in white shirts, Gabe with mismatched socks, Mary in a gorgeous dress. Even with Erik visiting other wards most weeks, they are fairly quiet with their games and whispers. I'll never insist on complete silence; it's always been more important to me to help my children feel loved and happy at church than to impress anyone with my perfectly disciplined progeny.

You push the nose button, releasing the chin and eagerly see which silk sliver is going to win-- the wide long section on top or the skinny shorter one on the bottom?

Still, we all have our limits. Last week when the meeting went long, Mary leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Can I go out in the hall and just be bad for a few minutes? Then I think I can come back in and be good."

It's always a tie. ;)

She ran three laps around the building. Nothing wrong with that child at all.

Katherine at eight

2011-10-06T11:48:00.000-07:00

Few subjects are more charming than an eight year old girl-- and Miss Kate?-- she could not be more adorable.

More photos and lots of useful information here.

Happy birthday Miss Katherine!

missingness

2011-10-05T12:17:00.000-07:00

Every Wednesday, I reach for my phone at 5 a.m., lay in the dark and read Ben's weekly letter. There are at least two emails: one for friends (that I post on his blog), one just for our little family and often a bonus post script or two. These weekly bits of sunshine dull the almost constant ache of missing him.

It's been six months and two weeks since we said good-bye and the time has NOT gone quickly. I almost don't know what to say when people assure me, "My son's mission just flew by!" It feels like Ben has been gone FOREVER. I miss his laugh, his jokes, his passionate opinions on art, religion, the right kind of dress shirt, economics, jam flavors, history, etc.

The kids look back at the blog in February exclaiming, "Look, Ben used to live here!" He's been absent so long that they are unsure of when he left.

I'm not complaining. I'm extraordinarily grateful for the missionary program and unmatched education it provides (more on that another time) but I miss my boy. I've never been the sort of mother who needs to be told to appreciate her children; I'm madly in love with each of them.

The awareness that this is Stefan's last year at home is constantly with us. All the daily interactions-- four-man chess, laughing at the dinner table, watching him do his endless pull-ups in the upstairs hallway, ring-around-the-rosies-- possess and extra layer of sweetness. And Ben's note to Stefan this morning magnified that feeling:

Stefan- Isn't it a bummer to see how much fun our family is and then have to leave? Don't feel too bad about leaving the beehives behind- I've never even seen them! Before long you won't even be at home and then you'll really see how cool our family is.

You were always pretty good at that though- seeing how cool our family was- just make sure you make the most of it now because your days of living at home are numbered and once you leave you can never really come back.

That sounded dramatic, but that's just how I am. Anyway, enjoy being at home, soak it up, notice how good our family is. I'm glad you still have time to read your scriptures amid all they craziness of life. It sounds like you're really busy. Where do you want to go to school? It sounds like you could go anywhere, but where do you want to go?

a postcard from Ben to Xander

An Ode to Toast

Oh toast, oh toast
I love you the most
You once were bread only,
But in the toaster you brown slowly.
Your smell it's so swell.

Give me butter, give me honey.
I'll eat you with peanut butter, jam
Nutella too.

Your crunch and your crisp is so fine,
Pieces of you, I'll eat nine.
I'll always keep you near
To the day I die, I'll eat you toast dear.

Thanks for being my poetry inspiration and my spunky little brother. Love, Ben

best conference ever

2011-10-03T11:43:00.000-07:00

It’s a good thing I watch General Conference at home.

For one thing, you can’t eat strawberry/Nutella/whipcream crepes at church and I might get some funny looks at the stake center or downtown when I exclaim, “Yes!” and pump my fist in the air whenever a speaker says something I particularly like. My children and husband laugh because invariably I look around after the last session ends and gush, “Wasn’t that the BEST conference ever!”

But it was. Really and truly. Every single talk inspired and enlightened me.

At our house there is no debate about breakfast on Conference Sunday-- it is always and forever crepes, the recipe handed down from my French great-grandmother, Anna Diana Maria Frechette (everyone called her Mary).

My little Mary rinses strawberries while I mix the batter.

2 cups milk

4 eggs

2 cups flour

1/2 cup powdered sugar

1 t. salt

mix to the consistency of thick cream

Stefan beheads while Mary slices.

This little tool is my secret to perfect crepes. It's simply a small dowel inserted into a larger one; it spreads the batter beautifully in the pan. We say "crêpe" at our house not the American "crape."

While I cook, the line up begins.

Gabe is worried that we will run out of Nutella.

But we always have another bottle stashed away. Although, General Conference is on television in Utah, we watch it on the internet because our computer is much nicer than our TV.

As always, the boys dump out the Lego bin and build while they listen; it's pretty serious work.

But for little Mary, four hours of indoor church is a bit much. So she set out with a bowl and scissors collecting blooms from the garden,

filled vases,

wiped up spills

more on the honey soon, I promise.

and added white roses as an afterthought ("because they remind me of Alice in Wonderland").

Inspired by Elaine Dalton's gorgeous talk on Fathers and Daughters, Mary set up a post conference picnic. Even if you're not Mormon, you will love Sister Dalton's powerful, gracious, wise counsel.

Every six months our leaders encourage us to read the scriptures, seek grace, serve others and most especially, to cherish our families-- exactly the kind of advice I love to hear.

the red one

2011-09-27T16:04:00.000-07:00

The Garlick family's friendship with ours is a gift directly from heaven. In one short year they transformed our lives-- turning us into beekeepers, expanding my quilting skills tenfold, sharing jokes and recipes and Lisa bestowing her magic upon Mary as her fairy godmother. No one comprehends grief like a parent who has lost a child; and no one has a better understanding of what is most important in life. Lisa's blog is a haven of beauty, joy and wisdom.

I typed and retyped my introduction to their family photos and finally plagiarized Lisa's words:

Family photos...we all love them and yet at the same time dread having them taken. But no family agonizes over this quintessential life event more than a family who has lost a beloved member. The thought of recording this moment in time without them is absolutely unimaginable; as if accepting their absence and smiling about it.

The heartbreaking reality of The Garlick Press family photos continuing without The Red One was inconceivable...until last week. It has taken us over three years to muster the courage.

How I wish with all my heart and soul that our beautiful red-head Jocie was in this shot...that life had not snatched her out of our family photo. But do you see that bouquet of roses I'm holding?...those are for Jocie. Fifteen roses...one for each year of her life with us. Red of course, for her signature gorgeous red hair.

This is the family of The Garlick Press. I adore each and every single one of them. Our faces twinkle with joy and smiles and laughs...overshadowing the dark pain and sorrow from the past few years. My family is my life, my joy, and my hope for tomorrow! May yours be also...

Dean is famous for never smiling in photos; but who can frown when they are next to Lisa?

we purposely chose a shot where both babies looked mad-- because soothing crybabies is Cassandra's life right now and she loves it!

the perfect sibling shot

even better

father/son

a rare shot of Lawyer Girl/Dione when she is not silly. Do yourself a favor and check out her birthday video for Chet.

how cute are they?

the girls

Olivia loves her Nana.

and her momma

rosy

2011-09-21T08:26:00.000-07:00

It's a well-known fact that pink roses attract baby princesses.

they gather from the four corners of the garden

to spin

and fall

and pose

they hold tea parties

and pose some more.

Princesses love to giggle.

But don't let their serene smiles fool you,

inside they are still wild little girls.

Hah-vard

2011-09-18T15:13:00.000-07:00

No one was/is more proud of Stefan's ACT score than my brother Mike-- he paraded around his office announcing the news, called all his friends and bragged to any stranger who would listen.

A few days after receiving the news he sent me a text of this photo:

Stefan-- age 2

Moments later he called me, "I have a lot of Skymiles. I'm sending you and Stefan to Boston, he needs to look at Harvard."

Did I say yes? Of course. Did I cry? Yes, oh yes, I can't imagine a sweeter gesture from my brother.

Everyone who knew me as a little girl was aware that my fondest dream was to attend Harvard: I read books about it, scribbled 'Harvard' in notebooks like a boyfriend's name and wore my singular Harvard sweatshirt to shreds. That dream persisted until my senior year of high school when I obtained an application and learned that Harvard offered no financial aid to middle-class white girls. BYU offered what I needed and I don't regret my life path.

Stefan doesn't need to fulfill my dream (he has plenty of his own) but I want to offer him that option, the chance to look.

Harvard Yard

At the airport and on the plane, neither Stefan or I could get used to the lack of little people. Stefan kept turning his head from side to side--"I'm just used to looking out for my siblings." he explained. Traveling with one child-- especially a seventeen year old who is more responsible that me-- is GLORIOUS.

yes, Mary and Stefan are out of focus and the fence is nice and sharp. I make mistakes like that all the time.

Once in Boston, darling Mary Staples met us at the subway stop and we strolled to her apartment. Mary is the original '101 pounds of fun': the ultimate hostess, the cheeriest friend, the most creative decorator. I feel pretty cool to have a 25 year old friend to call on for visits to Beantown.

Converted from a hotel, Mary's apartment building has an old-world sort of glamour. Although there is an elevator at the beginning of this hallway, Mary always walks to the elevator at the end in order to soak in the ambiance. That's just the sort of quirk I love about Mary.

The couch and air mattress were all made up for us with cheery quilts and Swiss chocolates on our pillows. Can you imagine anything more fitting for Boston than lobster shaped flags? Told ya, she's the hostess with the mostest.

a peek at Mary-style

the chalkboard over her stove--Mary truly lives these words.

looking east from Mary's apartment

Mike told me we HAD to eat at the Chart House. How could I disobey? Stefan and I shared his first lobster.

Boston at night.

First thing in the morning, we indulged in the famous Boston Duckboat tour; it's the kind of thing you never do with six kids, but it seems completely reasonable with one.

And then, off to Harvard. By the time we reached the station, I was giddy-- Stefan had to keep a hand on my shoulder to keep my feet on the ground.

We attended an informational meeting and then a tour given by current students. Some really cool things about Harvard:

1. the first week of school is called 'shopping week.' Students may attend as many classes as they desire and at the end of the week choose the 4-5 courses for the semester. Classrooms are changed to meet demand; not the other way around.

2. over 500 student groups are offered on campus: 5 orchestras, rowing, fencing, football and of course, an LDS Institute.

3. all freshmen live on campus, and not just close to campus but on Harvard Yard in buildings like this:

4. even better, all freshman eat in Annenberg Hall. Doesn't it remind you of Hogwarts? I had to steal this photo from the internet since they don't allow photography in the hall.

5. those eleven AP classes Stefan has been toiling over? Harvard won't give credit-- but they are awfully glad you took them and they might help you get in.

6. they quote the Bible on buildings; I like that, I really like that.

7. After freshman year, the student body is divided into houses where they spend the rest of theur undergraduate career. Each house has it's own dining hall, fitness center, photo studio etc. Are you sensing a Hogwarts theme? This is Lowell house.

8. the Harry Elkins Widener Library was built with donations from Harry's mother after he died on the Titanic. According to legend, the funds were donated with three stipulations: 1. every student must pass a swim test in order to avoid Harry's fate. 2. an exact replica of Harry's personal library must be placed in the center and one page of his Gutenberg Bible turned each day. 3. because another building was torn down to make way for this library and Harry's mother worried that someone more rich and powerful than her might tear this library down, she stipulated that no brick, column or mortar could be removed. In 1997, the college realized that she never mentioned the foundation-- they dug four stories down and one hundred yards out across the yard to create what is now 57 miles of bookshelves and over 3 million volumes (and that's just one of many libraries on campus).

I borrowed this photo of the library from Mary. She takes fantastic photos-- visit her blog, you'll be completely charmed.

Erik flew in at the tail end of a business trip to meet us.

After eating at Giacomo's (you MUST go there if in Boston) and indulging in cannoli from Mike's Pastry, we walked over the Harvard Bridge to visit MIT the next day.

I'm afraid we fell in love with MIT too. The highlights:

1. in January, students don't have to be on campus and there are no required classes. However, there are over 300 optional classes-- everything from chocolate making, to charm school, snowboarding, Eastern Religions and knitting. For people who love to learn, it's an absolute fantasy. If Stefan attends MIT do you think I could spend all of January with him?

2. no classes are held between 5-7 pm in an effort to encourage students to participate in extracurriculars. MIT is known for excelling at 'pirate sports': rowing, sailing, fencing, shooting etc. Heaven for my sword weilding boy.

3. MIT has a great sense of humor. Students take pride in 'hacking'- creating ingenious pranks. Again, so Stefan.

4. Yes, the most common major at MIT is engineering, but you can also major in French, English Literature and all kinds of Liberal Arts majors.

the student life building

5. Students at MIT have temporary dorms and temporary roommates the first week; they want to give everyone a chance to find the place they are most happy.

6. MIT students are proud of being nerds-- as our tour guide said, "We all like Star Wars and Harry Potter." The gift shop is full of t-shirts emblazoned with "Nerd Power." Stefan took one look at this tee for Hans and said, "Oh, that says M-I-T in mathematical terms." Hmm, would have taken me all year to figure that out; I guess Stefan really is smart.

For now, preparing for SAT subject tests and filling out applications for schools and scholarships are like a part-time job for Stefan. His decision will come down to acceptance letters and finances. But I am so, so grateful that he has choices. I'm indebted to his wonderful teachers and to Ben, who led by example. It's amazing to note how many people it took just to make this trip possible: my brother for the tickets, darling Mary and her brilliant husband Derek to host us, our adorable friends Kit and Kevin who watched our four younger kiddos while we were gone.

I don't know what Stefan's dream is; he doesn't know. But I am grateful to all those who help him along the path.

the stinging hex

2011-09-16T10:00:00.000-07:00

I was so cocky-- out at the beehives, in my beesuit, checking through each frame in preparation for the honey harvest. Yes, the bees were angry, but I congratulated myself on my calm demeanor and the fact that I was well protected: hat, boots, full-body white jumpsuit, veil and gloves.

Inspecting beehives is a great pleasure. At this time of year the frames are heavy and bulging with gorgeous wax-capped honey. Other frames are filled with eggs and brood, nurse bees and emerging babies-- it's like peeking into the workings of a new world.

As I moved into the lower boxes the bees became more and more furious. I felt a tickling on my face-- this is normal, it's impossible to be surrounded by that many bees without feeling a phantom itch-- and then, almost like they'd synchronized it "one, two, three, go!" I was stung five times on my face.

I ran to the grass and rolled, squashed the renegade bees between my fingers, and went back to the hive to replace the boxes and lid-- but there, another one!-- I rolled again and sprayed myself with the hose until the buzzing ceased.

How did they get in? I don't know. Maybe that miniuscule space by the zipper? Or through one of the grommets in the hat? An angry bee can wriggle through the tiniest spot. Next time, I won't be so smug. I'll leave when they get mad or smoke the hive.

Masses of Benadryl and Advil got me through the night, but I awoke to my left eye swollen shut and my right cheek the size of a grapefruit. The older boys were frankly terrified by my appearance and offered quick goodbyes.

me & Harry, we're like twins

But Gabe and Mary (who leave 90 minutes later) had a little time to process it.

"I still think you are beautiful!" crooned Gabe.

"Even though you look scary, I still love you." offered Mary.

I'm just grateful it's temporary. And I'll tell you what-- I can hardly wait to steal those bees' honey tomorrow!

sniff

2011-09-13T19:03:00.000-07:00

It's Tuesday night, 6:57. Xander, Hans and Stefan have just left for Young Men's/Young Women's and for the first time in 2+ years that I haven't gone with them.

Last week, we had a great activity: driving through the neighborhood collecting cans and boxes for the food bank, listening to Becca's new CD, chattering about boys and school and triumphantly delivering food and money to the food bank itself. Afterward, the bishopric pulled me aside, thanked me for my service and informed me that they would be sustaining a new Young Women's Presidency on Sunday. I started sobbing in their office and hardly stopped for the next five days.

The church is like that. No one asks for or applies for callings, they simply come and, then,

they go.

I was called as Young Women's President just as my mother was dying-- telling her about it was one of our last lucid conversations. The timing seemed absolutely crazy, but I was grateful and excited to spend time with the incredible girls in my ward.

And the timing now, seems crazy again. I've done a good job these last years, but I've carried an enormous burden of personal heartbreak. I was just feeling like I'd gotten on top of my grief, I finally understood the entire YW program, I'd truly connected with the girls and we'd planned a fall replete with quilt making, service projects, picnics in the leaves and a slumber party.

I was ready to savor through the next six months or so, building friendships, planning activities, bearing my testimony of Christ with renewed vigor.

But today I handed my folders and boxes over to the new pres. She's a fantastic woman-- smart, funny, strong-- she'll love the girls as much as I do and she'll certainly be more organized.

Despite my mourning, I know I did my best. The girls have been a tremendous source of light for me; I am always happy when I am with them. Don't believe anyone who says teenagers today are selfish and entitled-- they are good and honest, kind and loving. They take care of each other, befriend the lonely, help at home, read their scriptures daily and pray with a sincerity I want to emulate.

Heartache kept me awake the night they released me, and the next night sleep evaded me again, but instead of laying awake feeling sorrowful, I started remembering every activity (we had more than one hundred!), every lesson where the girls eagerly raised their hands to contribute, getting rained out at 'Happily Ever After' camp and ending in a huge slumber party at my house, the way they still wear their charms from that camp, Pioneer Trek, the river trip, cute notes from the girls, the year that only a few seniors thought they would get their medallion and all eight of them did, gaining my own testimony of Personal Progress, text messages from girls for advice about books and prom dresses, singing around the campfire at girls' camp this June (both the wild and spiritual songs), lifelong friendships formed with the other leaders.

The truth is, I love those girls, I'm not ready to go. Somehow, I thought I'd be burned out by the time they released me. But I guess it's good to leave a party while you are still having fun. I know the girls love and appreciate me and the other leaders. We will be part of their lifelong cheering section. I hope they still chat with me in the halls at church, tell me about their classes at school and show me photos of their homecoming dresses-- I think they will.

And for now, I am sad. And I think that's OK. As adults we tend to brush away difficult changes, offer trite pundits, but I prefer the genuine response from teenagers-- tear-streaked faces, warm hugs, "I'll miss you." "I love you."

I'll miss you more.

Claire

2011-09-07T09:02:00.000-07:00

Can you imagine what a pleasure it's been to work on these photos for the past few weeks? As beautiful inside as out, Claire simply emanates goodness. And oh how I wish you could hear her play the harp.

Even more photos of Claire are posted on my photography site.

what I wish I'd said

2011-09-06T08:38:00.000-07:00

Sunday, I taught the 16-18 year old girls on "Choosing a Vocation." In an effort to veer from the usual fare of "you all should be mothers but you need a back up plan just in case," I waxed eloquent on how they could be anything they wanted, do anything they wanted; I urged them to shut out the voices of discouragement. I shared this article about Kathryn Stockett's sixty rejections before she published The Help. It's a fantastic piece; I especially love the final paragraph:

The point is, I can’t tell you how to succeed. But I can tell you how not to: Give in to the shame of being rejected and put your manuscript—or painting, song, voice, dance moves, [insert passion here]—in the coffin that is your bedside drawer and close it for good. I guarantee you that it won’t take you anywhere. Or you could do what this writer did: Give in to your obsession instead.

I believe with all my heart that these incredible girls can do whatever they want, that they should pursue their dreams. We had a great discussion where they shared goals and we discussed glorifying God in all we do.

And just as the last girl walked out the door, I realized what I'd missed, what I didn't say. Blame it on a shortened lesson time, Fast Sunday or just my general state of distraction, but I wish I'd said,

mothering my children is the sweetest, finest, most fulfilling career I could have chosen. Not a moment of education: scholarly, spiritual or practical has been wasted as I teach and work and pray with my family.

And not a moment of my time has been wasted in raising this family. My children and my husband are worth every sacrifice, every girls' night out I skipped, every job I turned down to spend more time with them.

Because I married young and had children right away, I thought, for a long time, that I'd missed my chance- grad school, a magazine internship, possibly a professorship-- and it's easy for me to see now that those options come round again. In fact, I could have never dreamt of all the opportunities my life would bring. I'm still at the stage where I say 'no' to most things that come my way-- in fact this school year looks like it will be our most demanding season yet-- but the future is full of possibilities. In all those long years that I did nothing but nurse babies and mop the floor my sister told me often, "It's OK that you don't have time to write; when you do have the time you'll have stored up lots to say."

My children are worth my time. Their stories, their games, their pigtails and peanut butter sandwiches are worth my time. I've learned that publishing an article or being paid to take photos isn't the thrill I'd once imagined. One Gabriel hug is worth more than a front page article.

I'm still an advocate of dreaming big. Goodness, I'm the one trying to sell a screenplay, looking up the name of Taylor Swift's agent so I can send him a script. People are certainly laughing at me.

But the soul and center of my life are Erik, Ben, Stefan, Hans, Xander, Gabriel, Mary-- they are the work, the passion that I am excited to wake up to every morning. My family is my masterpiece.

eggs and taters, superheroes and intoxicating books

2011-09-05T10:01:00.000-07:00

The glass door rattled in it's frame as Xander and Mary banged their arrival, "Open the door," they yelled, "our hands are full of potatoes!"

"And my pockets," Mary announced proudly, "are filled with eggs."

Oh we were ambitious! All summer we planned to hike Timpanogus on Labor Day, and we would be there right now, hoofing the 14 mile trail, sniffing wildflowers, laughing with friends and basking in the glory of the peak. But last night upon reports of crowds and bad weather and just plain tiredness, both families agreed to cancel. "We'll hike Mt. Olympus instead," we vowed, "much closer, much shorter. We'll be eating Cafe Rio by 2."

And then, this morning our beds were just too delicious-- "Why get up now?" "I'd rather stay home and read my book." Gabriel spent twenty minutes lying by my side describing his dream and chattering. I pretended to listen, I tried to concentrate on his storylines, but mostly I admired his bright blue eyes, the way they sparkle and shine when he is excited. I stroked his hair and his cheek and reveled in the great joy of calling him mine.

Xander and Mary scoured the garden for potatoes-- one of the few vegetables undisturbed by the chickens-- and gloried in the excitement of SIX eggs in one day. All the chicks are laying these days; our omelets runneth over.

Miss Mary is at the age where her smile changes every few weeks with the loss or gain of a tooth. Seven year olds are constantly growing into themselves.

As alike as two peas in a pod, I've often thought Xander and Mary are boy/girl versions of the same personality-- bright, fiery, creative-- they shift from best friends to fierce enemies once an hour. They drift from the garden to the wood pile, constructing a chair, painting it and emblazoning an X on the back, an M on the seat.

Next they wiggly cart down the hill, attaching a rope to pull Mary behind.

Fishing out his blue capes, Gabriel announces that he and Baby Bear are on superhero duty--"What do you need ma'am?"

Everyone asks for cleaning help-- the dishes, mopping, sweeping the porch-- but he yearns for babies to rescue, fires to extinguish, flights around the earth and back.

Of course everyone helped me make the third peach cobbler in as many days. Peaches must be eaten while they are ripe. No photos of that, the cobblers disappear as quickly as I make them.

The books that kept everyone home-- my sister Ruth sent us a new series, "They're the kind of books you can get drunk off of," Ruth described, "well, not that I have any experience with that, but they make you forget all your troubles."

And it's true, I guzzled them in a matter of days and now they are working their way through the family Xander reading The Demon King, Erik has moved on to book two The Exiled Queen and Stefan is imbibing The Gray Wolf Throne.

Highly recommended escapist reading without the hangover.

I didn't notice until editing this photo, that Stefan was sneaking in a little scripture reading between chapters; such a Stefan thing to do.

Timpanogus will wait for us, I have my eye on a day in late September to climb that peak, but I love, oh how I love an empty day.

And I love that they love,

life at home.

Family

2011-09-02T07:59:00.000-07:00

My darling friend Catherine posted this family video on her blog. It's perfect for Friday; it's perfect for Labor Day weekend. I especially loved what Catherine wrote:

It might look like this is all about having fun, but what it really says (in its own unique way) is that there's nothing like Family. Building strong families builds lives, provides a place where you can be yourself, be held up, feel unconditionally loved. Really. It changes the world. Everyone deserves to be part of something like this.

While my kids were giggling and singing along, I sobbed through the whole video. I most definitely do not come from a family like this one. But I am grateful for families like these, for the stories of loving fathers and grandfathers who adore their children and grandchildren. They give me hope; they provide a model to follow.

And I am building that kind of family for my children, every day with every beat of my heart.

begging, pleading, imploring, groveling

2011-08-24T16:06:00.000-07:00

Remember when I mentioned writing a screenplay with my sister and her daughter Lizzy? Well, it's done. And it's fantastic.

my fearless editors

Our official logline:

Stars Fall is a modern rendition of Jane Austen’s 1818 novel Persuasion. Rising pop-star, April Rain falls in love with Freddy West, a grocery clerk, but is persuaded by her manager and father to end the romance. Five years later, has-been April and now chart-topper Freddy are asked to sing together at her sister’s wedding.

Want to hear more? Of course you do.

The BBC version of Persuasion is somewhat gray, but our modern rendition is filled with color-- a gorgeous beach sunset, a Mad Hatter themed birthday party, the requisite makeover scene (with a twist), a posh bridal shop, Austenesque gardens and a glorious fall wedding. The most famous moment in Persuasion comes when Louisa falls from the pier-- this time, it's the Santa Monica Pier with the ferris wheel, roller coaster, crowds and a forty foot drop to the ocean.

One of the strongest facets of of our updated story is casting our two leads as singer/songwriters. While not quite a musical, Stars Fall has several scenes where songs fit in naturally. We've included song descriptions and suggestions, but ideally, the movie would be produced with an original soundtrack.

Writing this screenplay has been incredibly therapeutic-- whenever my sister and I are tempted to revisit the excruciating events of the past year, we turn instead to discussing bits of dialogue or how to flesh out Rosy's character. The screenplay is charming, happy, laugh-out-loud funny and a delight to the eyes and ears: pure, delicious escapism.

Zoe
August 24, 1943-June 14, 2009

Here is where the begging, pleading, imploring, groveling come in. Today is our mother's birthday-- a day that that I determined we would begin marketing our work-- and I have nowhere to send it. My calls to a dozen production companies and agents were met with the singular question, "Who do you know? We only take scripts by recommendation from someone in the business."

Um, I don't know anybody.

It's completely counterintuitive to me to ask for help; we've studied the books, learned the formatting and the lingo, revised and revised and I believe our writing should stand on it's own. But I need someone to read it first.

So please, please, if you know someone. If you know someone who knows someone, will you please email me (or facebook or leave a comment here)? Or if you simply want to read our screenplay yourself (and help me find those last few typos), I'd love to send it your way.

And thank you, always, for reading and listening and praying with me.

nerd power

2011-08-22T09:41:00.000-07:00

As a joke, Xander set out an outfit that matched Hans for his first day of junior high. Rather than scoffing at Xander, Hans embraced the idea and suggested that they also coordinate their shoes.

"Everyone," Hans reported after school, "thought we were awesome."

I'm telling you-- nerds rule.

No way would Stefan wear his Harvard tee on the first day of school, but he wore it yesterday and I thought he looked cute.

Our new school year goals:

1. eat five fruits and vegetable every day (this is especially hard for Gabe who regards most fruits as poison).

2. write to Ben every week (he's promised chocolate to the best letter writer).

and

3. no screens except on weekends. The grand exceptions to this goal are school work, Khan Academy and TED talks-- our favorite nerd hobbies.

Have you heard of khanacademy.org? It's pretty much the coolest site ever.

Watch. Practice.

Learn almost anything for free.

With a library of over 2,400 videos covering everything from arithmetic to physics, finance, and history and 125 practice exercises, we're on a mission to help you learn whatever you want, whenever you want, at your own pace.

Hans is obsessed with it. He's studied, economics, history, finance, geometry etc. If your child is struggling in any subject (or just enjoys learning random facts); you can find a tutoring video on Khan Academy. AP Physics at our high school has a very low pass rate, but Stefan is going to rely on Khan Academy to learn the subject. Trust me, you'll love it.

TED is a nonprofit devoted to Ideas Worth Spreading. It started out (in 1984) as a conference bringing together people from three worlds: Technology, Entertainment, Design. Since then its scope has become ever broader.

The annual TED conferences, in Long Beach/Palm Springs and Edinburgh, bring together the world's most fascinating thinkers and doers, who are challenged to give the talk of their lives (in 18 minutes or less).

Interestingly, both Khan and TED receive funding from the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation. I like those people; I really do.

I asked the boys to make a list of their ten favorite TED talks and they acted like someone had asked me to choose my favorite child. "But they are all so good!" "Our favorites change all the time."

Reluctantly they offered this list, in no particular order, of really good talks. Finding your favorite is up to you.

Theo Jansen creates new creatures (you can see one of his kinetic creatures on the screen; the boys recommend Googling Theo for better videos)

Benjamin Zander on music and passion (we all love this one)

Cameron Herold: Let's raise kids to be entrepreneurs

Hans Rosling shows the best stats you've ever seen

Pattie Maes and Pranav Mistry demo SixthSense

Marco Tempest: The magic of truth and lies (and iPods)

Lennart Green does close-up card magic

Tim Harford: Trial, error and the God complex

Malcolm Gladwell on spaghetti sauce

Paul Bloom: The origins of pleasure (um, not what you think; we were nervous to watch it until we read the description.

Best of all, Salman Khan on TED-- Salman Khan: Let's use video to reinvent education

Happy school year! May all your nerd hobbies flourish!

summer camp

2011-08-21T13:01:00.000-07:00

No one attended sports camps or dance camp, music seminars or even EFY this summer, but somehow there was always something to do.

As our unofficial camp director, Xander was almost always in the center of the action whether it was baking banana bread,

building Legos,

crafting flower fairies with Mary,

aren't they gorgeous?

stair sledding,

hiking through wildflower fields,

and organizing Wednesday tennis dates with Grandpa Fritz.

Almost every day included a bike ride,

reading on the front porch

and writing fairy stories.

Ever the indulgent brothers, Hans and Stefan allowed Mary to play beauty parlor.

Turnabout is always fair play.

Now my children are hanging over my shoulder--"You left out Wasp Wars and the chickens, rafting the Provo River, hiking to the cave..."

I can only capture a little; we mourn that our days slipped by too quickly. Tonight they are lining up their backpacks, gathering school lunch supplies and reminding Erik that they need blessings before starting school tomorrow. I wish we'd had another week or two of summer but I'm invigorated by their enthusiasm for fresh pencils and new classes. It's time for me to finish all the tasks I've neglected; dot my i's and cross my t's.

And ever, always, every day at home is sweet.

little girls

2011-08-14T17:08:00.000-07:00

They are remarkably predictable-- sidling up behind me, holding hands, speaking in unison: "Mommy/Michelle, can we play in your closet?"

Being predictable myself, I always say 'yes.' And for the next two hours we hear 'clomp, clomp, clomp' on the bathroom tile as they remove all the shoes from my closet, arrange them in two straight lines and hold a fashion show.

I'll make no apologies for my shoe collection; I love heels, I love color and I love the delight the little girls take in modeling them. Mary and Sarah have named each pair and provide a narrative for each other as they sashay down the aisle.

'Red Rover' is perfect for a day on the town.

'Black Beauty'

'Day In The Park'

'Wedding'-- yes, those are the shoes I was married in. Pretty boring. My cute husband has aged much better.

and their favorite pair--'Beauty.'

Admit it, you'd let them raid your closet too.

And they always put the shoes back much neater that I do.

light and dark

2011-08-11T09:11:00.000-07:00

I have much to write about and thousands of photos to share-- silly kids, a fantastic visit with my brother in New York City, summer antics, flower fairies in my roses-- but today my heart is heavy. It is my grandfather's funeral, Ben is struggling immensely in Italy (but maintains a good attitude in an incredibly difficult situation), and we are packing up my mother's home for the new owners who will take possession at the end of the month.

The destruction of my extended family since my mother's death is almost more than I can bear today. Yes, I know it's a commandment to 'be of good cheer' but I always take comfort in 'Jesus wept.' I am counting my blessings, embracing my children and praying for peace. Tomorrow, or next week, I'll write about the good, the beautiful, the wonderful, but today I simply have to walk through the pain.

Sunday dress

2011-08-02T15:49:00.000-07:00

I've already made the disclaimer that I'm not much of a seamstress. It's true-- sure, I've sewn pillows and Halloween costumes and such, but much of what I see on a printed pattern is foreign to me. Most of the terms and markings don't make sense to me and I end up skipping steps, slopping through detailing. My creations were good enough for late night trick or treating but I've never made a dress that could stand the light of day.

But how could I resist the Mary dress in Girl's World? The skirt is literally two rectangles sewn together and gathered with a string, the bodice so simple that even I wasn't intimidated-- no snaps, no zippers, not even a button. We did decide to add sleeves to the pattern (which truly tested my ingenuity-- if you look carefully they are not really even) and I substituted a wide pink ribbon for the fabric sash (which covered masses of mistakes at the waistline).

For months I've had my mom's fancy Viking sewing machine waiting on my counter; this seemed to be the perfect time to use it to embroider little flowers around the neck and hemline. And when we found a pink flower from an old broken headband we knew the project was inspired.

It wasn't until Mary slipped the dress over her head on Sunday morning that I realized it was my mother's favorite colors--yellow and bright pink.

If you are like me, a bit afraid of the sewing machine, try this pattern. You might turn out something pretty enough to make people think you know what you are doing. I'm just trying to decide what to make next...

Hike to Kolob

2011-08-01T15:38:00.000-07:00

"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others." -- Pericles

We meet in the mountains

because it is a little closer to heaven

and there, our sometimes narrow perspective opens wide under God's great blue canopy.

Parents, brothers, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends of Parker Bradford meet to mark the day an 18 year old boy gave his life for a drowning friend.

And so we gather, embrace, exchange introductions and pray. Generous and openhearted, the Bradfords have extended this day not just to commemorate Parker's life but for many many others who have buried a child.

They are the most amazing people I've ever met; I never want to become one of them.

Lisa and Dean created a new Jiggystick just for the occasion 'Huckleberry Hike.' The Garlicks don't simply talk about love, they express it in tangible ways.

As we ascend the mountain, we all drift from group to group sharing stories and connections, speaking of things as they really are and things as they really will be. Everyone is treated like family: offering snacks and water bottles, jackets and a hand to hold down the steepest part of the trail.

All paths lead to a mountain cabin where we wash our feet, share a meal and watch the kids form new friendships. My incredible friend Lisa unrolls a quilt created from Parker's clothing. Melissa and Randall laugh and cry as they examine every square-- the swimming suit the paramedics cut from his body, the basketball shirt from his last tournament, the wife-beater that he liked to wear when playing his drums under the Eiffel Tower (can you imagine how the girls swooned?).

I cried with them, mourning their boy and imagining-- what if these were scraps Ben's clothes sent home from Italy? Or Gabe's after a car accident? What if Xander contracted an illness and I had a blanket filled with hospital gowns and tattered t-shirts?-- I cannot comprehend their loss, but I have always had the gift of knowing how much my children mean to me. Each of them--their faces, their quirks, their faults and strengths and the scent of their hair-- is a universe to me. To lose a child would eviscerate me, leave me weak and trembling, prostrate on the ground with grief.

My friends have lain on that dirt-covered ground, slowly pulled themselves to their knees and reached out to lift up others. As Mormons, we can sometimes be glib about enormous losses-- "Don't worry, you'll see them again." "They are in a better place." "You need to move on." My friends told me they were often told to forget that child, to put them out of their mind. But forgetting, (as Alma Callister said) is the antithesis of the sealing ordinance. We believe we are sealed as families for eternity, wouldn't that inspire a continued relationship?

I never met Melissa and Randall's Parker, or Lisa and Dean's Jocie, but I feel like I know them through the words and actions of their parents and siblings. I've listened to stories of their goodness and their silliness-- I've laughed at their antics and cried for vast black hole of their absence. Yes, there are people who become 'stuck' in grief, who can't work, or sleep or care for their families. But Melissa taught me that those are people who have been to told to 'move on' and haven't had an opportunity to express their sorrow-- no one has been there to weep with them, to speak of their loss, to find a way to increase their bond with the person they have lost. I look to my friends in the way that they mark the birthdays, occasions and even the death dates of their children as a strong and healthy way to heal.

I know that angels attend each of us. I know my mother is with me; I feel her near.

True tragedy lies in breaking eternal relationships. No power, no person, on earth or in hell could separate me from my children. And if they precede me to heaven (no Lord, anything but that), I will extend my arms and heart and find them there too.

practicing grace

2011-07-28T05:14:00.000-07:00

Once in a while, you come across a talk or essay so eloquent, so profound, that you want to shout it from the rooftops. My friend Chelle referred me to Brad Wilcox’s July 12th BYU Devotional and it is truly one of those messages. I highly recommend watching it here, downloading the MP3 here or reading the PDF here.

I'm even talking about it over at Segullah.

Sunday dinner

2011-07-26T16:55:00.000-07:00

Not only do Kit and Kevin find a place for Stefan to stay in France, watch our children when we are gone and include us in every family gathering-- Kevin's parents have also taken us on, offering a shoulder to cry on, cheering for our successes and inviting us this week to Sunday dinner.

I believe that children with aunts and uncles and grandparents and friends who adore them are imbued with a potent sense of confidence; that love also serves as a powerful incentive to do good.

How grateful I am to their family for opening their hearts to us. And how glorious to spend an evening in their garden as sunset spreads the lawn with gold and laughter fills every pathway.

my boys can't get enough of baby Darren

I think you have to be a Utah gardener to appreciate Carma's remarkable hydrangeas.

The boys learned a Swedish game called Kubb-- have you heard of it? They loved it. We want to build a set.

Am I photographing this cute moment or taking the opportunity to tease Kevin about his capris? Both.

cheering a grumpy Eden-- she's faking it, she just loves Gabe's attention.

coming home

2011-07-21T19:17:00.000-07:00

Waves of heat rose from the black asphalt as Mary and I sat in the Park-and-Wait lot, searching for Stefan's flight information. Each time PARIS- IN TRANSIT appeared on the board we shouted "Stefan!"

By two-thirty, tired of waiting, we drove to the airport curb and stepped out of the car where we leaned over the railing searching for our Stefan in the distance. In his nearly two week absence, we had nothing but a short message saying he was happy and well. But my mind burgeoned with questions: Was he well fed? Did he make friends? Was he lonely? What adventures did he have?

Soon, spying Stefan walking out of the terminal; we skirted the barriers and skipped across the crosswalk to meet him. Greeting him with hugs and squeals (Mary and I are girls, you know) we traversed the few steps to the car and peppered him with questions all the way home.

he brought me this tres chic dotted scarf-- pretty, yes?

He was joyful, animated as he described his new friends, their home, the village, the way that their French seemed unintelligible when he arrived and second nature by the time he left for home. I could tell by the lilt and colour of his voice that he hadn't spoken English for several days.

At home he opened his suitcase (the boy knows how to pack) and we all sat on the floor eating chocolate as he distributed gifts and described Bastille Day, watching Harry Potter en Francais, eating great rounds of cheese, fireworks in the streets, the rainy day where he read a French novel in one afternoon, the gracious family who embraced him as one of their one.

One day he took an hour train ride into Paris by himself. Desperate to practice his French, he visited a half dozen patisseries and purchased Eiffel Tower keychains from any vendor kind enough to indulge him in a bit of conversation. In Notre Dame, Stefan couldn't find anyone to talk to until he spotted a priest in the confessional. Entering the booth, Stefan spoke with the priest for a good twenty minutes about the scriptures, humility, repentance--- but he wasn't very happy upon discovering that Stefan was a Mormon.

He missed his camera (not a single photo), running, bananas (he eats six a day) and his violin. Upon walking into the house he turned on 'Scene de Ballet- De Beriot' (we are convinced that at least 4,000 of the 4,919 hits on that song are from Stefan) and reached for the bar in his doorway for his routine 240 pull ups.

Every photo of his return turned into a group shot, we went to dinner to celebrate his return and now he is juggling a barrage of requests to play legos, jump on the trampoline, go on a bike ride.

How I love gathering my children back to the nest, how I miss Ben every day and how I pray that they always return safe and well.

Lake Powell

2011-07-20T16:12:00.000-07:00

I came to the lake exhausted, drained. Weeks and weeks of little sleep, emotional turmoil and heavy responsibilities had worn me to fray. My days were so full that I couldn't find a moment to think.

But at Lake Powell, there is nothing but time. Time to relish the company of these people who know and love me fully (and oh, how we missed Ben!). Time to laugh at each other's jokes, slice a melon for every meal and line up seven sleeping bags as we admired the Milky Way.

Time to leap off the houseboat (our first time with a houseboat, which was both terrifying and wonderful),

teach Gabriel to ski

(it didn't happen; maybe next year)

paint pink toenails,

learn dumb card games,

(as Hans channels his inner Brad Pitt)

swim for hours

(Mary and I wrapped our arms around each other's shoulders and kicked back and forth across the lagoon),

learn to slalom,

and to cut,

eat ice cream,

and drive the boat.

They call this the "football team" pose,

but Mary makes it cuter.

To spare him sunburn we bought Gabe this $5 shirt at Walmart's; but his absolute lack of competitive spirit made us laugh at the words.

Mostly we just laughed at everything

admired the sunsets

and sailed for home revived and renewed.

Yes, it's a lot of photos, but my kids look at old Lake Powell blog posts all year long; I think they find peace there too.

sharing just a few

2011-07-19T14:45:00.000-07:00

of my favorite photos of these two: Patrick & Isabella- the wedding

I love the way he thinks

2011-07-18T12:32:00.000-07:00

Fresh out of bed this morning, Gabe instructed me, "OK, mom, I'll run up to my room to get my glasses and robe and you bring up "Ticket to Ride" on iTunes so I can dance around while I unload the dishwasher."

And dance he did.

I didn't have the heart to tell him that unloading isn't his job today.

finally

2011-07-14T11:45:00.000-07:00

I've created a photography blog.

I'll continue to share photos here and links to my new blog. But for some time I've wanted to separate my personal and professional blogs. I love to speak the truth; I enjoy sharing my personal life, but there have been days that I feel badly about sharing a heartache right next to someone's bridal or newborn photos. Photography is something that has brought me great joy; I love the opportunity to frame life through my lens, to search for beauty. Often taking photos is the best therapy for a hard day-- my troubles dissolve as my mind shifts to aperture, shutter speed, back lighting, ISO, how to capture the curve of her cheek or his genuine smile.

My heart has been wandering down memory lane as I've copied photos from the last three years onto my new blog. I'm amazed at what I've produced. Perhaps that sounds vain? But it's so easy for me to see the photos I didn't get, the mistakes, the discard pile-- and I'm in awe of all the portraits I've done right. Last week, I told my sister that I'm terrible at baby photos, so I was surprised to review dozens of captures that I truly love. I honestly believe I receive God-given help with my photography. Before every session, I pray to see people as God sees them and I receive help beyond my own skills.

The blog isn't quite done. I have several photos from last winter that I need to add; I need to publish prices (I am oh-so-terrible at charging for my photography), and I need to add an 'about me' page. What shall I say? I think my best skills are capturing each person's true beauty and love between family members. I'm also a generous photographer-- if you want a disk, I'll make if for you. More prints? I'll get them to you at my cost. I don't think I'm very good at photographing families. It it OK to admit that? Ooh, I also need to add information about various products-- engagement books, wedding albums, mini accordion books, birth announcements. Phew, that sounds like more than enough to keep me busy for a while.

Coming soon... Isabella and Patrick's wedding day.

nectar

2011-07-11T16:25:00.000-07:00

Our days and nights have whirled past in a small cyclone of activity-- the end of school, a weeklong visit from my sister, girls' camp, Lake Powell and a river trip with the youth of my church. I've hardly seen a washing machine or a flush toilet in weeks.

In the midst of the work and stress and fun, we may have neglected our bees just a bit. July is the season to add honey supers-- a box on top of the hive to collect the honey we plan to steal in September. Bees are ambitious foragers, in addition to producing enough liquid gold for their colony of 60,000, they provide an excess of up to one hundred pounds of honey a season.

When we opened the hive to remove the sugar water feeder (they only need it in early spring) we found that our enterprising colony had already built masses of extra comb filled with sweet oozing not-quite-honey. Shrieking with joy, we pulled off chunks of honeycomb and enjoyed an early taste of our future harvest.

Raising bees requires a certain amount of faith-- will they really produce? is our water source adequate? are they protected? will our neighbors hate us? are we crazy people?-- and to glimpse the fruit of our labors (truly the bees' labors) gave us joy.

For two years I've fought desperately each day for happiness: counting my blessings, praying, reading my scriptures, writing, admiring my children. I know I've been blessed, but I've also been mourning the loss of both my parents. I believe I've done a good job of smiling through the heartache, planning activities, recognizing beauty-- but it's been exhausting.

For so long I hoped that the person who hurt me would apologize or make some effort to ease my pain; finally I gave up and turned completely to God. And my Heavenly Father is so much better at healing hearts! For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. Rev. 7:17.

I'm happy again. Rather than laboriously counting my blessings, each Godly gift seems present at every moment-- the trees, the sky, every person I meet. The world is luminous and filled with hope.

Beekeeping Magazine quoted a beekeeper with one hundred hives, "From the honey we are getting every day, you would think our bees were gathering up all the nectar in the world, when really it is not a drop in the bucket compared with the amount of nectar there is provided. Nature is surely a lavish housekeeper! She spreads out tons and tons of nectar in her flowers for all creation to enjoy." Mary, 1917

The love of God rests in every flower, every hymn, every person. How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth! Psalm 119:103 A harsh winter can make it arduous to find or taste nectar, but summer always comes again.

I'm trying to keep this short, but I'll add just a bit more. On one of our darkest days my sister sent me this short text: Helaman 3:34-35.

Immediately, I opened my scriptures to read these words:

And they were lifted up in pride, even to the persecution of many of their brethren. Now this was a great evil, which did cause the more humble part of the people to suffer great persecutions, and to wade through much affliction.

Nevertheless they did fast and pray oft, and did wax stronger and stronger in their humility, and firmer and firmer in the faith of Christ, unto the filling their souls with joy and consolation, yea, even to the purifying and the sanctification of their hearts, which sanctification cometh because of their yeilding their hearts unto God.

Yes, I've been wounded, but I know the way to be healed-- fast and pray, wax stronger and stronger in humility, firmer and firmer in my faith in Christ. And my promise is God's nectar: joy and consolation, santification, purification.

Like my honeybees, I have to seek that peace every day (and store some up for the winter), but God is a lavish house keeper and provides more nectar than I could ever drink.

I am basking in God's peace. I feel like myself again; like God's child.

My son, eat thou honey, because it is good; and the honeycomb, which is sweet to thy taste. Proverbs 24:13

p.s. You're familiar with Adam Young/Owl City? Adam's blog is even better than his albums. Last fall he recorded a cover of In Christ Alone that I promise is worth your time.

leaving on a jet plane

2011-07-10T16:48:00.000-07:00

By 1 a.m. we were all a little loopy-- so when I adorned Stefan and Erik with newly found Australian stickers they giggled much like the teenage girls we'd just spent three days on the river with.

I was just happy that we were punchy rather than throwing punches, because when you've been searching four hours for a lost passport it can get a bit stressful.

After turning the kitchen and the office and the garage and the mudroom and even the bathrooms upside down we'd nearly given up. Over and over again we looked through our neat little stack of six shiny passports-- one for everyone in the family except Ben in Italy and Stefan who was getting on a plane for France in the morning.

I'm most definitely not a neat freak. 'Creative' best describes my organizational style. Rifling through my desk and drawers and cupboards would be enough to make anyone lose patience with me. But Erik and Stefan didn't offer a word of criticism or blame as we searched through piles and drawers of miscellaneous junk. I knew if I could just stay calm and listen to the Spirit, we'd find it.

By 1:15 we'd run out of places to look; I Googled passport replacement services on the internet ($470 and not until Wednesday). But in a final search of Stefan's room I hit paydirt-- a folder from his last employer where the required ID of passport and birth certificate were neatly tucked into the training manual. That was at 1:27 a.m., I know the exact minute because my shriek of joy awoke Xander.

And so, today he is on a plane for Paris. As Gabe said, "Eleven days without Stefan will be pure torture." But we are grateful to Kit and Kevin for arranging Stefan's stay with their friends in Saint-Quentin. And the gracious Seube family (whom we've never met) have promised to speak French and only French to our little Francophile. I'm overwhelmed with their generosity by taking in a boy they don't know.

A few years ago we noted that Stefan wasn't simply going through the motions in his required language class, he was reading Harry Potter A L'Ecole Des Sorciers, Le Livre de Mormon, listening to General Conference talks in French and switching Disney movies to the French language option.

I'm far too selfish to send him off as an exchange student, but eleven days should be enough to dramatically improve his skills-- even if his absence is torture for us at home.

Stefan still looks like a little kid next to Erik-- that's comforting.

scenes from the 4th

2011-07-06T08:40:00.000-07:00

strolling toward the parade

Stefan and Hans with their mini-mes.

borrowing strollers as they pretend to be paraders.

After a day of cleaning rooms and running in the rain (truly lovely) it's off to fireworks.

May your days and evenings be filled with joy.

blatantly bragging blog post

2011-06-27T21:48:00.000-07:00

Last week I giggled in a tent at girls camp, Hans and Xander created havoc at scout camp and Erik flew off to Texas on a business trip. All of which left Stefan at home in charge of Gabriel and Mary.

Arriving home on Saturday, I left the tents and dutch ovens and sleeping bags in the driveway while I sat on the couch as listened to their week’s adventures. Mary perched on Stefan’s lap while I asked her about her days with Stefan.

“We played ring around the rosie a hundred times a day!” she boasted, “But (wrinkling her little nose) he did make me practice and do chores and math worksheets. And on Friday we went on a picnic!”

“A picnic?” I was impressed.

“Yes, to Sugarhouse Park. With Sarah! And he made sandwiches and we fed ducks and walked by the river.”

And I can’t decide which makes me more proud: the picnic in the park or Stefan’s newly arrived ACT score. Thirty-six. 36. A perfect score. His first time taking the test. The score of less than one tenth of one percent of all test takers. Only one student in Utah scored 36 on his first attempt in 2010.

Yep, I’m busting a few buttons.

p.s. And if you think I'm proud, watch out for Ben. He'll be spreading the word to the entire Italian mission.

p.p.s. Stefan would like you to know that he opened the cereal box from the bottom this morning-- so he’s not really all that.

Fathers and Daughters

2011-06-17T08:18:00.000-07:00

I opened my paper yesterday to find this lovely photo at the top of Mormontimes (a weekly section of the Deseret News) and the teaser headline FATHERS PROTECT THEIR DAUGHTERS AND GIVE THEM UNCONDITIONAL LOVE pg C9. And there, a lovely article (with photos!) spread across two pages.

It's been a long time since I've submitted a newspaper feature, in fact last piece I wrote for DesNews was published the day before my mother's death. The idea for this article came to me as a spiritual nudge a few weeks ago and I was surprised when the editor accepted my proposal.

I had no trouble finding three sets of exceptional fathers and daughters to interview-- all three live within a paper airplane flight from my home. In truth, I can walk up and down my street or simply look at my four surrounding neighbors and my incredible husband to find outstanding examples of fatherhood. But the families I chose had unique stories I wanted to share: Libbie VanLeeuwen as the much younger baby girl in a family of boys, Rich Allen as the father of six daughters (I've informed my boys that someone has to marry an Allen girl. With the similar ages and interests I'm sure it will work out for at least one pairing-- is that too much to ask?) and Dean Menlove as the father of seven grown children.

Libbie & Craig-- I didn't photoshop those eyes one bit; they are simply amazing.

Speaking with these fathers and daughters and witnessing the love that flowed between them was incredibly healing for me. Interestingly, the first concept each father spoke of was his desire to protect his daughters.

Because of my place in life, the most profound conversation in this project was with Dean Menlove and his daughter Margee. Even as he introduced his daughter he teared up with pride, "Isn't she beautiful? Isn't she wonderful?" And Margee found time in a busy day to talk to me because:

"I'll take any opportunity to talk about my dad."

My first question: "How do you parent your adult daughters differently than your sons?"

Leaning forward, Dean spoke with great emotion, “My girls have tender hearts and feel things deeply. Their emotions are much more intense than my boys, and it’s my responsibility to care for my daughters and protect them from harm.”

“If anything, I need my father more as an adult than I did as a little girl or teenager,” Margee added, “There were teachers and leaders and coaches cheering me on back then, but now I rely on my dad for encouragement and unconditional love. I can show up to a family dinner 20 minutes late, unshowered and feeling impatient with my four rowdy kids. My dad will greet me with joy, telling me how beautiful I am, that he loves my chocolate brown eyes, that I must be getting younger rather than older. Dad always compliments my mothering; he thinks everything I do is fantastic, even if it isn’t.

“I have a wonderful, loving husband,” Connolly continued, “but I still need my dad. Even when I was a little girl, he could look at my face, know what I was feeling and ease my heart with kind words.”

How I wish I'd caught them on video! They spoke so clearly, so beautifully; every interaction infused with respect and kindness.

And I know this is the way it was meant to be, this is the divine pattern for fatherhood.

As we continued to talk, they became so excited about showing me the playhouse Dean built for his daughters that they insisted I come out and see it the next day.

Isn't it incredible? I think I took over three hundred photos of all the beautiful details. Don't get me wrong, you don't have to build a playhouse like this to be a good father/grandfather. But it is pretty cool.

Father's Day can be difficult. Society doesn't place the same expectations on fathers as they do on mothers and sadly, fathers are much more likely to be absent, apathetic or even abusive. But I believe we must keep speaking and writing about the ideal. I intend to raise five excellent loving fathers. For further inspiration, I recommend A Father's Blessing from my friend Catherine and Dads and their Daughters from my friend Tracy. Neither are Father's Day posts-- they simply relate the way their father helped them at a time they needed it the most.

Dean's wife Colleen teased me, "Good luck finding any copies of the newspaper; I think Dean cleared out every store within five miles." And then she became emotional, "You've given us something to be joyous about during a very difficult time." I responded that they had done the same and more for me.

I've been having a hard time; this week was one of the most difficult of my life. I've been aching, praying to feel the presence of God, to know Him, to feel His love for me. And now I understand the prompting to write this piece-- God was telling me, "Look at these men, look at their nature, their love, the way they love their children. They are a reflection of Me; this is the love I have for you."

Here's the link:

FATHERS PROVIDE DAUGHTERS WITH UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
by Michelle Lehnardt
FOR THE DESERET NEWS

(honestly, it's a little stiff; I think I'm much more comfortable writing in first person these days)

a walk around the block

2011-06-13T11:53:00.000-07:00

Every day, and usually twice a day, Mary nestles her babies into the stroller, tucks her hair into a ponytail and announces, "I'm taking my babies for a walk."

Neither seeking nor accepting company, she ventures out alone and arrives home ten minutes later joyful and proud. And what better place to stretch her boundaries than under the safe, watchful eyes of all our sweet neighbors?

She didn't want me to follow her; but on a perfect June evening, how could I resist?

Skipping up the hill,

(she knows she's cute)

past the Bills and the Storheims, almost to the Herrschers and the Jarvis'-- all people who adore my little girl and wish the best for her

sometimes she's silly and lets the carriage roll ahead

but mostly, she's a perfect little mommy

freckles and all.

capstone

2011-06-09T12:58:00.000-07:00

To me, there is no sweeter temple ordinance than the sealing of children to parents.

Kneeling at an altar, husband and wife clasp hands and the child's small hand is placed upon theirs. The words are short-- forty seconds worth-- but profound, as the temple sealer speaks of blessings, and privileges and protection...

Afterward, the family stands, gazing into the mirrors on opposite sides of the room. Their reflection refracts into multiples stretching infinitely in both directions.

I can imagine nothing more comforting for adoptive parents and children-- always, forever.

Darling Olivia's hand-smocked dress was crafted by her talented Nana, embellished with heirloom lace, gold thread and tiny, delicate beads.

It is, of course, extremely unusual to adopt a six-month-old baby with their two-week old sibling present. The entire temple was buzzing with oohs, aahs and whispered congratulations.

This is joy.

first day

2011-06-06T18:46:00.001-07:00

“Xander’s singing woke me up this morning,” Mary informed me, “and I knew I didn’t have to go to school because it was his summer voice, his ‘I’m the happiest kid in the world voice.’”

“I’m not kidding!” she insisted when I smiled, “his voice sounded like shave ice and night games and Lake Powell.”

I love summer. I love my household bustling with children and activity. No other season makes me feel so fully immersed in the cliches of motherhood-- nagging over chores, packing my bag with snacks and sunscreen for a hike, arranging swim lessons, jumping on the trampoline in the evening light. But it is also a season that frightens me. With my children’s constantly evolving stages and abilities, each summer is different from the last. I can’t really know what our days will bring.

The great evil triarch of summer is messes, meanness and moods. Cleanliness basics such as, ‘if you eat a granola bar throw the wrapper in the garbage not on the floor,’ have yet to be mastered by my household. And there are still children that count teasing as entertainment. Teaching my little people to be kind is my primary objective each day and it can be exhausting.

So, here is our plan for this summer: each child needs to practice his/her instrument, do a few chores and finish a math worksheet before playing for the day (Stefan is exempt from worksheets since I don’t know any post-calculus math. His job is to keep Gabriel on task). And then, the day is free for friends, hiking, swimming, etc. By unanimous consent, we canceled our Netflix membership-- which was basically our only form of TV. It sounds a bit idealistic, I know. But our summer is short and fragmented with scout camps, Youth Conference and hopefully a week in both Lake Powell and San Diego.

By August, Mary hopes to hike Mt. Timpanogos (um, yes, fourteen miles round trip) and we plan to ready her little legs by traversing every trail in our local canyon. My middle boys are ambitious about visiting historical sites all around the valley. We are at such a different stage than all those summers I changed diapers at the edge of the swimming pool and sought out benches at the zoo to discreetly nurse a newborn. And though I will always and forever beg Erik for another baby (at least until I have grandchildren), I must admit that it’s lovely to lounge by the pool, tip-tapping away on my laptop while the kids splash and play.

I know all too well how quickly children grow up and move away-- I’ll enjoy mine this summer.

I didn't tell them to go out there-- this is just the sort of thing they do all the time.

enamored by

2011-06-03T16:33:00.000-07:00

sweet Marguerite.

this amazing magazine. Are you familiar with it? No ads, nothing commercial, just soft focus photos and short stories celebrating the prosaic moments in family life. I love it. I adore it. I want to rename my blog "Seeing the Everyday."

Can you read it? The green is especially hard to see: LIFE'S MOST ESSENTIAL POSSIBILITIES ARE REALIZED AT HOME

It's exactly the sort of magazine I want on my kitchen counter-- beautiful ideas for my children to ponder while eating Cheerios.

And they want you to write for them! seeingtheeveryday.com Go write a story so I can enjoy it, please.

my lush, voluptuous garden flourishing from the rain. My peonies have hundred of buds; the roses, thousands. I can scarcely wait for the blooms.

Girl's World-- oh my, if there is a little girl anywhere in your life, you need this gorgeous book: it's tied with a ribbon, it's filled with color drenched photos, the patterns are included in a sweet printed pocket. I'm no expert seamstress and everything seems within my capabilities. When I will find the time to craft the Mary dress, the pillow, the headbands, I can't imagine. But I've collected a nice little stack of fabric and I'm dreaming of pretties.

Honestly, truly, it would be worth visiting Europe just for Magnum bars. And now they are in my grocery store. Yes, I need to run eight miles just to justify one delectable treat, but it's completely worth it.

darling Gabe up to his knees in the seventh Harry Potter. His brothers challenged him to read all seven books before the final movie comes out in July. Yep, he's going to make it.

Ah, it's June, there's so much to love.

Congratulations Isabella & Patrick!-- June 2, 2011