Hope

Recently we spent some time up in Logan, Utah, at one of our favorite places: the American West Heritage Center. It's a living history place where the kids can throw tomahawks, card wool, pull a handcart, ride a pony or a train, milk a cow, hunt for chicken eggs, stop by the general store for some hard candy, and learn and experience novel things about life in the American West. We love it there.

On this trip we stopped in the Woodwright Shop, which was being manned by a talkative grandpa named Jack. I noticed this picture on the wall and asked who the man was.

"That's Patch Peterson," Jack said. "He started this shop. That's what happens when you use a high-speed drill with a low-speed bit."

He went on. "He left two years ago. He can barely see anything anymore."

Instantly, I felt a little sick. I always feel uncomfortable when people in their 50s, 60s, or 70s talk about one of their eyes not working very well anymore. I only have one eye left. In a couple decades will my world go really fuzzy or completely dark? I try not to think about it too much.

Hope is a choice, I often tell myself. I can't live in fear of going blind. I can't live in fear of my cancer returning. I can live in fear or live in faith. I am alive. I don't want my life to be over because I had cancer. I remember the words of a friend who lost both eyes to cancer: "Life being blind is still a life worth living."

I swallowed hard. I tried not to panic as I processed what Jack told me about Patch Peterson. He finished with this: "He's about 75 years old. Now he has to carve by feel. Some of his stuff is for sale in the gift shop."

Patch lost an eye and now, in his 70s, is pretty blind. But he can still carve well enough to sell his stuff. "Life being blind is still a life worth living." Hope is still there. Hope is a choice.

No Wonder

He wakes up early and goes to work to provide for our family. His weekends and evenings are crammed with classes, homework, and church obligations, but he still works to find time for weekly dates with me and quality play time with our kids. I never wonder about his priorities: I know that we are most important to him. And every once in a while, I find he has done something like this:

The note on the mirror reads: Bathroom cleaned by your loving husband

No wonder I love Cameron so much!

Preparing Kids for General Conference

Around the time Jake was one I started wondering what I could do to help him enjoy general conference. Needless to say, I was wondering a little early. At that point in time conference consisted of hauling out enough toys to give us a couple consecutive minutes to listen to a talk before being dragged off to the next toddler adventure.

Now we work hard to make general conference enjoyable, and I think we succeed. Earlier this year I made a little game of general conference memory that we play every week at family night for 5 weeks leading up to conference

I copied mug shots from lds.org of the First Presidency and Twelve Apostles and pasted them into a plain document. I printed the document twice. Then I cut out the photos and taped them to the front of 30 index cards. I wrote the names underneath the pictures.

Because our kids are still young, we divide into teams and take turns trying to find the pairs. Then we review some of the talks from the previous conference or share stories or details from their lives. We feel pretty darn good about ourselves when our kids can recognize some of the general authorities in the following months. 

It so happened that Abby was on the winning team for two weeks in a row last spring, so Cameron convinced Jake that Abby was the secret weapon to winning. It is super cute to hear a 4-year-old begging his 2-year-old sister to be on his team. 

No matter which team wins, I think the game serves its purpose: the kids look forward to conference and learn a few things along the way.

Pears Anyone?

When your son comes in from school and announces that his friends are coming over to help him run a pear stand, do you
A) Wonder where all of this self motivation is when he needs to clean his room?
B) Regret that your pear tree didn't produce a better crop to pad his college savings account a little better?
C) Run for your camera?
D) All of the above.

D. Definitely D.

Stages

Right now Grace is in a delightful self-feeding stage where her desire doesn't quite match her skill level. Foods like oatmeal, pasta, and rice end up more in her hair, on her clothes, in her highchair, and on the walls and floor than they do inside her. I assume she enjoys the squishy feel of the oatmeal in her fingers, and I try to not grumble when I clean up her aftermath. Babies and children go through stages--they learn and grow and move onto something new.

Sometimes I think that motherhood is like that. My children are learning things at each stage. Am I learning the things I need to learn at their stages?

Have I truly metabolized the fact that a whining, misbehaving child really needs love and attention?

Do I remember the words of a wise friend: "Your children won't remember if the toilets were clean. They will remember if you played with them."

Have I figured out how to give more compliments and praise than criticism?

Do I respond gently enough when they are really just trying to be helpful? Or when their needs to be a little scientist just collided with my need to make a nice dinner?

No. Grace is still working on feeding herself, and I am still working on my mothering skills. Chances are Grace will master the lessons of her stage long before I master mine. But I can keep trying when I fail, keep apologizing when I fall short, and keep remembering that Christ's Atonement is real and His grace is sufficient. Thank goodness.

What's in a Name?

To the untrained eye this probably looks like a very ordinary child's tricycle with a useful handle in the back. Up until recently, we thought so, too.

Then one day Jake was riding in the back bucket while Abby pedaled, and the bucket popped out.

I explained to Jake that Abby's bike is actually a dump truck. Instantly the bike went from being a boring little kid bike to a very cool piece of construction machinery. No local dirt mound has been the same since. Neither has our sidewalk.

What's in a name? Everything.

What Do You Love?

Recently I was watching Grace take a bath. She adores water and had a look of serious concentration on her face as she made huge splashes. I laughed out loud as I watched. I thought of this book:



It's a sweet, rhyming journey about what a dog and his mother love to do together. My kids love it.

Then I started to think about all the things I love in my life right now.

I love listening to Jake tell me what he does in kindergarten each day. I love watching him build creations out of Legos, blocks, boxes, or whatever he has on hand. I love listening to his descriptions of what he just made. He has a brilliant mind (he got that from Cameron), and I love the little peeks I get into what goes on inside.

I love the way Abby curls up to me when I pick her up--it is a feeling of sheer contentment. I love listening to her sing to herself or hearing the things she pretends. I love it when she walks into the room with a doll in her arms, all wrapped up in a blanket, while she pats and rocks it to sleep. It melts my heart.

I love watching Grace walk around discovering things. I love the way she claps whenever someone says "Hooray" or "Yay" or even "Happy birthday". I love the way she wildly waves her feet and arms and breathes harder whenever she gets excited about something--whether it's a banana she wants to eat or going to play outside. She is a lively, happy little soul, and I love it.

I love it when Cameron smiles at me and says, "How did I get you?" or "I'm so proud of you." I love it when he surprises me with a special date. I love it when he takes care of the kids on a weekend morning so I can sleep in. I love the deep, soul-binding conversations we have at times when I know that I married my perfect complement, and I can't wait to journey through eternity with him.

I love it when my kids play together well. I love it when they share. I love it when one of them chooses to be a peacemaker or do something to serve someone. I love reading books to my kids. I love it when we are all playing together and Cameron and I look at each other and smile, and for a moment everything in the world is right.

Life is not always easy. But I am blessed, and there is much in my life to love.

What do you love?

Setting the Record Straight

I recently finished reading Princess Academy by Shannon Hale.

I thought it presented a nicely developed plot with a satisfying ending. Ms. Hale is obviously a talented writer. But I do have one bone to pick with her. At one point in the novel she introduces a group of bandits and, as it happens, one of the bandits has only one eye.

Have you ever noticed the way one-eyed creatures are popularly portrayed as being rather sinister...mean...evil...fearsome?

Pirates.


Cyclops.


Monsters.


Even The Best Christmas Pageant Ever describes the notoriously troublesome Herdman family as owning a one-eyed cat who was "the meaning-looking animal [you] ever saw". They kept a Beware of Cat sign to warn people.

For the record, I only have one eye, but I think I'm a reasonably nice person. Certainly nicer than your average pirate. I would like to read something where a one-eyed person is virtuous and kind.

Perhaps I should start writing.