Carly's world.

Carly's world is spinning and changing.

In Carly's world, preschool was as good as it gets. She loved her teachers and loved going twice a week while still getting a lot of time at home. The end of the year brought an "End of Year Celebration" and a field trip to the zoo (which the twins got to go to; little big kids). She had a good year, and reading the evaluations from Fall, Winter, and End of the Year showed me just how much she has grown. She has really blossomed and loves learning. It is typical, now, for me to say she knows all her letter sounds and can count from 100 to 1 backward and reads Tolstoy. She doesn't. We will be working this summer to get her ready for Kindergarten. But I can tell she is ready to spread those little wings of hers, and I can't wait to watch her fly.

[First and last days of school. Growing brick by brick.]

In Carly's world, daddy is gone too much. The weeks since we have been back from Pullman have been long hard ones for daddy, and in turn, for everyone. I dare say we have held it together rather well, but Carly has always been a daddy's girl, and she feels his absence. She misses him and his role in her evening routine. She misses the one-on-one attention from him, the nightly reading of picture scriptures. The other night she was refusing to go to bed and she cried, "I just want my daddy!" I wish she could have a little perspective, that little 4-year-old brain of hers, that this is but a moment in time and before we know it we'll be settled and scheduled again. But I have a hard time keeping that perspective myself sometimes. When daddy does come home, when daddy does make it to a baseball game, when daddy can tuck her in at night . . . she's beaming.

[When grandma's in town you get pony and camel rides at the zoo.]

In Carly's world, mommy is packing all her stuff in boxes. And mommy is looking a bit tired and overwhelmed. I think the reality of our move is starting to sink in. She is showed pictures of a house she doesn't know, frames are coming off the walls, shelves are being emptied. As exciting as a move can be, it is also hard. It is hard for adults who fully comprehend the benefits and understand what is going to happen. I can only imagine how Carly feels. We are leaving the only home she's ever know and a place we love. It is hard on all of us.

[Morning story time with big sissy.]

In Carly's world, all her friends have moved away. One by one we have bid them farewell, with another one driving away tomorrow.  Her little friend Remi moved in May, and a week later Carly was whining and cried "I want my Remi back!" Her "best" friend moved last week, after one last playdate for the books. Later, we went to the park and Carly asked if any of her friends were coming. I couldn't help but reply, "There really aren't too many left." It is hard to watch, her little heart more impacted by these goodbyes than I was expecting. I know how she feels. My heart aches with every goodbye, because her little friends are the daughters and sons of my wonderful friends. I have gone through this Michigan journey with these wonderful ladies. At times it felt like we'd never see the light at the end of the tunnel, that it would never end. Now I'm wondering how it ended so quickly. What a blessing it has been to have friends to laugh with, complain to, eat with, and run with. These friends have been my sanity and Carly's joy. Goodbyes are too hard.

In Carly's world, t-ball isn't quite what it was cracked up to be. She loves playing t-ball with daddy in the park, but when you're on a team you only get to hit once per inning, and you have to stand out in the field waiting for a ball that never seems to come. Carly can often be found sitting, twirling, facing the wrong direction, or digging in the dirt. Luckily she has a most excellent coach who is great with the kids and does well to get everyone a turn getting the ball. Yesterday she didn't want to play at all and seemed to actually be feeling emotionally overwhelmed by the prospect of playing first base (with all the craziness in her life, I'm thinking first base was just the straw that broke the camel's back). I stayed by her at the beginning of the game, talking her into a little confidence, and by the end she was going much better. I'm not so sure t-ball is her thing beyond playing as a family for fun. But she certainly can whack the ball off the tee. I'm impressed every time. And just because this needs to be recorded to remember: her team is called the Honey Bees.

In Carly's world, comic villains are downright scary. She recently started getting into Wonder Woman after picking out some Wonder Woman underwear. We picked some superhero story books out at the library. They were kid books, but still had the well-known comic book villains because a superhero needs to beat someone. Well, I filled her poor little brain with terrifying characters and here we are 10 days later and she won't go to bed alone. She says "the bad guys just go around and around in my brain." She asks "Is the Joker real? Is Mr Freeze real? Is Poison Ivy real? Is the Penguin real?" What?! You can't remember your lower case letters but you memorized all the villains? It was a big fat mom fail on my part, and we are still working on getting her to feel comfortable at night. She was still fascinated by Wonder Woman though, and after years of princesses I thought it was a nice change of pace. So I found a book on Amazon that told the story of Wonder Woman's origin as an Amazon princess. The book only had two scary pages, one where she beat burglars and one where she fought a dragon. I ripped those pages right on out, and now we've got the perfect Wonder Woman book for Carly.

[Even Queen Elsa needs to work on her lower case letters.]

Carly's world is feeling shakey. I can see it in the way she reacts, hear it in the tone of her voice. She seems to feel unsteady, unsure. It has lead to behavior issues, rudeness and being disrespectful. It has been so frustrating, because Carly is such a good kid with a love for life and a heart of gold. The other day I was putting the kids down alone and Carly wouldn't stay in her bed. I was frustrated, and told her to lay with me on my bed until the babies quieted down and then we'd go back to her bed. She was asleep in minutes. She was so tired. I looked at her sweet sleeping face and I was reminded that this is my Carly, and she still has a heart of gold. She's just struggling. Things are changing. She just needs to know her mom and dad are there for her no matter what. She's little, I thought. It is ok to let her be little. Since then I've been laying on the ground at the foot of her bed while she falls asleep. Not too close, but not too far away. And while a gaggle of parenting experts would tell me I'm wrong, I want her to feel secure. I want her to know she's taken care of and loved. That, despite the change and the tension and the crazy, we are a family and we'll always be together.

I love my sweet firstborn. I'm proud of her goodness, her humor, her sense of fun, and her desire to do good. She's my helper and my friend. It is my job to be the steadying hand in her unsteady world, and I've set new goals to be just that. She is my world, and I'm thankful to be a piece of hers.

considering lilies.

When Chris accepted the job at Washington State, we decided to buy a house. We were waiting, because if his job was not in a place we could see ourselves staying long-term, if it was a "starter" job, we wouldn't take the plunge yet. But he got the perfect job at a great school in a great place, so we decided to buy a house. Eight years of marriage and three kids in a small two-bedroom townhouse have me aching for a place that fits our family. We got the job so early in the grand scheme of things, it left a lot of time for waiting and wondering and planning. Finally, we got close enough to start the ball rolling. We got pre-approved for a loan, we found a realtor, we started looking online. This has all taken place over the last several months, the waiting and planning and thinking . . . and worrying. As numbers started coming together something became very apparent: Pullman wasn't nearly as price-friendly as I was hoping. It is no Michigan or Texas or Idaho. Our options were looking limited and my very small very basic list of "wants" was looking like it couldn't be met. I began to become a bit disheartened. I clung to hope and clung to faith. Buying a home for our family within our means was a righteous desire. I remember sweeping one day and feeling so overwhelmed. I thought in frustration I just want enough! And that voice, the voice that answers my worries with it's ever-omniscient one-liners reminded me: You have always had enough. We have full tummies and warm beds and coats on our backs and shoes on our feet. We have always had enough.

One February night as I was stressing over houses, Chris told me, "It is like that scripture. Consider the lilies. Heavenly Father will take care of us." I listened to him the way a stressed person listens: my heart believed by my head stood firm in misery. A few days later I was doing my personal scripture study. Our stake presidency had asked us to read the 4 gospels, and I just happened to be in Matthew 6: "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow," the Savior says. "Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field . . . shall he not much more cloth you, O ye of little faith." The Spirit spoke and tears sprung to my eyes. If God will take care of the little things, then maybe me and my little family and my desire for a home would make the cut.

But you know me. The worry continued. Luckily, Heavenly Father didn't give up. Third time is the charm, right? That weekend Chris and I went to the temple. I sat in the room waiting for the session to start and in my head, as loudly as if I was listening to a stereo, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir (and perhaps some of my mother, as I've heard her sing this song on numerous occasions) sang "Consider the Lilies." It is such a beautiful song. And it played in my head the whole session. When I got to the Celestial Room, I went straight for one of those beautiful white Bibles and opened to Matthew 6. I read the words again, but this time it was burned into my heart.

"Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment?"

The Greek translation explains "take no thought" means "anxious concern". In other words: don't stress out so much. But this was my favorite: Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Doesn't life mean so much more than what house you live in? Isn't a nice safe clean functioning house a blessing, regardless of the year it was built or the curb appeal or the kitchen cabinets? Happiness can be found in any home. I spent a significant part of my childhood living in a smaller "older" home. I have the very best memories in that house. It was my home, and I was safe and happy there.

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. Wherefore if God so clothe the grass of the field . . . shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?"

Just in case I didn't catch it the first two times. But how about that "O ye of little faith"? That was for me.

"Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? . . . for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things."

And I welcomed the tears. I welcomed the Spirit burning in my chest. I welcomed the evidence of a loving God. For your Heavenly Father knoweth ye have need of all these things. He knows what we need. What we need. And while sometimes it is in ways we don't expect, He takes care of us when all is said and done.

"But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."

We went to Pullman at the end of May. Our house hunting adventures will be coming to a blog post near you soon; I know you'll be waiting on the edge of your seats. We pulled up the the last house on our first day. It was a house I had written off, a house our realtor said she really thought we should see, but I was just filling time. But when I saw it something jumped in my chest. After our offer was accepted, we scheduled a second showing, a longer one that would allow us to spend some time in the house and take measurements, since we would not be at the inspection. When the time came to leave, I didn't want to go. It was our home. I could see our kids running down the hall from their bedroom, excited for Saturday morning pancakes. I could see family movie nights in the basement. I could see soccer games in the backyard. I could see after-school snacks at the counter. I sat alone on the living room floor, filled with gratitude, while Chris chatted with our realtor, and a song came to my mind.

Consider the lilies of the field

How they grow, how they grow

Consider the birds in the sky

How they fly, how they fly

He clothes the lilies of the field

He feeds the birds in the sky

And He will feed those who trust Him,

And guide them with His eye.

walk the walk.

Chris walked in MSU's graduation in early May. He was initially against the idea. He knew he wouldn't be done with his dissertation and felt like it was awkward. But HELLO we have been here for 4 years and he had worked his cute little tail off and he was on schedule to finish in July and I did not go through all of this to leave Michigan without pictures of him graduating and wearing those very expensive fancyland robes we decided to buy with our tax return because he'll be wearing them for his entire career.

Obviously, I won that battle, because he agreed to walk.

His robes came a few days before the ceremony. He held them up and I saw his initials embroidered into the tag. Tears sprung to my eyes. This man really rocks my socks and to see his success playing out has been sweet. Though when it comes to looking cute in the doctorate hat, naked Q takes the cake.

Chris's parents came up for the ceremony. One of Chris's conditions about graduation was that we find a babysitter for the twins. He was quite enlightened, as the ceremony ended up be ridiculously long. Each doctoral candidate came up and their adviser was to say a few words, lasting about a minute. Well, apparently a "minute" means more to some than to others. We did bring Carly, and she made it through an hour plus, just long enough to watch daddy get hooded, and then it was off into the hallway for a chocolate doughnut. I wasn't all that frustrated with her, as I didn't mind the excuse to sneak out myself.

I called the graduation a "celebration" rather than a graduation. One of the reasons I wanted Chris to walk was to celebrate how far we have come with the people who helped us come so far. Chris's adviser, Jim, and his wife Linda have been such a blessing in both Chris's career and our personal lives. The kids get to see Linda frequently and they love her like a grandma. Chris's friends in the program have helped keep him sane and made the journey enjoyable. Chris parents have been there every step of the way, lending support and watching kids and offering advice. Four years ago this PhD journey felt like a never-ending one, but it is amazing to look back and see how all these people have smoothed out the bumps in the long road.

I wish I could sit here and talk about how strong and supportive his wife has been. Rather, she was a little crazy, giving birth to twins and losing her mind and getting easily frustrated, stressed, and overwhelmed. She held it together as much as she could, but poor Chris often did more than his fair share. I'm so so grateful he is such a good man. I'm grateful he understood and loved and supported, when often he was the one who needed understanding and love and support. I sometimes feel Chris has come this far despite of me rather than because of me, but I know he would disagree. This is a journey we have taken together. These have been 4 of the sweetest years, and this time will always hold a most special place in my heart.

After he walked the walk, he went back to talking the talk. He had a meeting with the stats consultant that afternoon, so he quite literally dropped his robes off in his car and headed off to work. Isn't that the most friendly reminder that you're not done yet? After his meeting, though, we did meet him at Red Robin for a celebratory dinner. Because it was graduation day, after all.

Two days later we celebrated his birthday.

Thirty-one years old and looking better every day.

I could not be prouder of him.

And I could not love him more.

chicago & the cubs.

We wrote a bucket list upon moving to Michigan, and downtown Chicago was on it. Our time here is ticking away, and we knew Chris's dissertation was about to heat up, so in March we took the plunge and headed to the "big city". We went during Grandma's spring break, and she joined us. It turned out to be the best decision ever, because taking three very small children to one very large city when you are not city people requires a one-on-one ratio. And we like hanging out with Grandma whenever we get the chance.

We headed to Chicago and visited great-grandma, Baga. We stayed at a hotel and swam the night away. The next morning we hopped on a train to downtown.

Our main objective was Shedd Aquarium. We enjoyed the endless fish, whales, giant crabs, turtles, and sharks. We didn't enjoy the insane amount of people. Quinn is obsessed with labeling things "baby", "mommy", and "daddy" (small, medium, and large) so she kept squealing "dada wish!" "bebe wish!". It was outrageously adorable. Carly still talks about the huge spider crab. John, the social kid, mostly tried to join total stranger's families. At one point a family was sitting all together and he went over and put his hand on the dad's shoulder and took a seat. I dare say the high point for the kids was when Grandma bought them over-priced souvenirs. Carly got a blue baby seal, Quinn a pink sparkly sea turtle (naturally) we named Tutu, and after looking extensively at all the stuffed animals, John settled on . . . a pair of binoculars. And you want to know just how brilliant my firstborn is? We were thinking up a name for her new seal. "How about Cecelia?" she suggested. I was kind of surprised. "Um, sure, that is a fancy name for a fancy seal." "No," she said. "Its Cecelia like "Ce-SEAL-ia." That, my friends, is one clever 4-year-old. 

After the aquarium we walked up Lake Michigan to Millennium Park. John and Quinn completely zonked as we walked through the city. John missed the Bean all together the first day, but when he saw it the next morning he declared "Space!" He's pretty spot on with that description; it could easily be from outer space. That evening while everyone else went to bed, Chris and I went out on the town, wandering for hours doing nothing in particular but enjoying each other and the sights.

We aren't exactly city slickers. I'm sure we looked like quite the production to the city-dwellers surrounding us, but while we had so much fun, by the trip's end I was longing for openness and quiet. Kudos to people who love cities. I'll remain a not-so-frequent visitor.

[We found the lions! I have always wanted to see them in real life.]

While we visited Baga during our March trip, Chris's mom got an email from his uncle (who lives and works in Chicago) saying he bought Cubs tickets at an auction. As a Sox fan, he'd never step foot in Wrigley, so he offered us the tickets. We had been in discussions of our own to go to Wrigley before we moved, but there was only one weekend that would work: Easter weekend. Not to mention how expensive tickets are for games at Wrigley. So we decided to forget it. It just so happened that the tickets Chris's uncle were offering were for the day before Easter. It was fate. We couldn't say no.

This time it was a 24 hour run to the "big city". Chris parents were wonderful and offered to watch the twins at Baga's house, and we took our big girl to experience Wrigley Field and daddy's beloved Chicago Cubs.

As it turns out, we need to take the girl to Vegas, because she is pretty lucky. She got a batting practice baseball thrown to her. Then, while she and I were walking the halls to ward off restlessness, an official looking woman stopped us and chatted with us, then gave Carly an official commemorative ball. It is Wrigley Field's 100th anniversary, and the ball was printed with the 100th anniversary logo and the day's game information. She said, "Mr Ricketts hands out only 10 balls each game." Not too shabby. She also enjoyed an over-priced hotdog in true ballpark fashion, got a teddy she appropriately named "Baseball", and cheered the Cubs to three home runs and a victory (possibly the luckiest part of all).

Chris's cousin, Cody, took the fourth ticket and met us at the game (despite being a Sox fan herself). It was fun to hang out with her. Unfortunately, a 4-year-old at a long (cold) baseball game has mixed results, and Carly's attention was somewhat limited. But I'd say all-in-all we had a great day at Wrigley Field.

So we made it to downtown and the aquarium and we made it to Wrigley. It was nice to squeeze in some fun with daddy, since our summer looks rather void of daddy fun. Chicago really is a beautiful place and I'm glad we got to enjoy the big city.

just some things.

[55 degrees outside so we decide to get ice cream in sandals. #desperate]

I don't blog the way I once did. There are all sorts of reasons for this. Like how at the end of the day I have an hour of cleaning to do, and then I want to collapse and watch tv. Or fold an hour of laundry. Like how I've recently decided to read for enjoyment again, and I have read two books in the last few weeks. This isn't a lot for you hardcore readers, but it has been nice for me. The real answer, however, is I tried to watch season 3 of Scandal illegally on my computer and instead our computer has been taken over by all sorts of awful pop-ups and advertisements. Just opening the dang thing is near unbearable. You wouldn't believe how many windows I had to close just to be with you here tonight. You're welcome.

But life is chugging along. Despite the calendar claiming it is May, the weather remains too cold. Well, in March I would have been cheering 50 degrees. Not so much in May. We do get some warmth here and there, though the wind remains rather cold. Yay for Michigan, where warm days are chilly.

We have been having some adventures and have celebrated some occasions, but here I'll talk about all the other stuff. Because one day the little things will be the big things (or so I'm told).

[no bike for John, my finest French braiding ever, classy Wednesday, twin story time]

Quinn is obsessed with her butt. And while her little bum in quite cute, the "butt" in question is actually her bike. She just can't quite pronounce it right, and I kind of hope she never does. She can't pedal, but she likes to wear her helmet and just sit on it. Every once in a while Carly or I will take her for a ride, but she really just likes to sit. It is the best. John, poor child, does not have a "butt" of his own, since he doesn't have a big brother to pass one down to him, but Carly is good about sharing hers. The duo will just sit on the butts, looking at each other happily and thinking they are pretty dang cool.

 [Classy Quinn and Free-spirited Carly: their outfits speak a thousand words.]

We've pretty much been ailing for a month and a half. After Carly's cray cray rash, we got a call saying she also had a UTI, which explained a lot. She went on amoxicillin. A week later she woke up with red bumps all over her legs and arms. We were terrified she had bugbeds. Luckily, the following day Quinn had a doctor's appointment, so I stuck Carly's limbs in front of his face to get a two-for-one and, alas, it was the tell-tale sign of being allergic amoxicillin. Cheers for no bedbugs. Now the magnificent trio has reverted back to deep coughs snotty noses. C'est la vie.

Chris's semester ended and he completed 4 successful years teaching undergraduate classes at State. The dissertation is heating up, however, and we are slowly getting used to less and less (and less) of daddy being around. Chris struggles with not being around; he's a good daddy. Days are long, and will only get longer, but we try to keep our eyes on the prize. 

For some insane reason I thought t-ball would be a good idea right about now. We've only had a few practices, but I've already decided to only show up if my sanity will be intact. It is so cute to see such tiny people out there "playing" baseball. Yesterday Carly spent quite a bit of time twirling. But she sure can knock that ball hard off the tee. And she has the most perfect stance. Her daddy has taught her well.

[shagging balls with daddy while big sis takes a swing.]

We cut out naps last month, and as crazy as it sounds, my life is entirely more enjoyable. I was spending forever every day trying to get them to nap. They finally would too late, then they wouldn't go to bed until 9 or 10 at night. And Chris had to rock John to sleep every night. It was getting crazy. I didn't want to stop, mostly for Carly's sake. I knew she cherished our one-on-one time, and that is still something we haven't found a way to replace. But I went through with it anyway. I love that we can now have lazy mornings instead of rushing out the door so we can be back for naps. We hang out in the morning, get out in late morning/early afternoon. And bedtime (typically) is nice and early. Granted, this only works because they wake up at about 8 every morning. They inherited their mother's appreciation for sleep.

[cutting naptime has led to Q zonking out in some delightful ways.]

Quinn and John are quite the little duo. It is weird to me when they act like twins. I think of them so much as two different kids, because of their highly contrasting personalities, that when they do something twin-esque I think, weird, they are twins. They have been teaming up to cause chaos more, playing more, fighting more. They are sweet though. Quinn likes to make sure John is ok. If I'm doing something for her she'll ask, "John Boy?" They are funny. They were evaluated twice for speech therapy. They are more than 50% delayed in speech, but they actually tested quite a bit ahead in motor abilities and cognitive comprehension. They know what's going on, and they'll do what you tell them to, they just don't talk. They ended up not qualifying for the program because of that. It is good, but it would be nice to be able to communicate with them better. The contrast between them and Carly at this age is staggering. But every kid is different, and they have made a lot of progress even since they were evaluated. Between noises and a few word combinations, I usually can figure out what they want.

[I take 3 times as many pictures of Q than her siblings because her cuteness to psychotic ratio is the most favorable.]

Carly Carly. The girl is crazy. She is currently experiencing a bout of 16-year-old attitude. "You never want to help me!" "You always say I can't do things!" Wait, what? What year is it? But she's as good as they come. Still just loving school. We've decided to put her in Kindergarten. I just can't imagine holding her back one second longer, let alone a whole year. She'll thrive. And she'll be young, and we'll work with it. But she is so ready.

She has been really in to "projects" lately. We got a package in a big white box and she immediately claimed it as a canvas. She was drawing away on it, then it was bedtime. Chris and I looked at it after she had gone to sleep, and I really admired it. It was a monster: eyes, big square teeth, pointy little legs, squiggles all over his body. Carly had never branched out in her drawing like that, and I was impressed. The next morning I held it up and said, "I just love your little monster! I think he is so awesome!" She looked highly confused. She took it, flipped it upside down and said, "But mom, its not a monster, its an ice palace." The little legs were actually the flags, the teeth were windows, eyes were doors, and the squiggles were sparkling ice. Of course. I laughed all day about that one. She didn't quite think outside her normal box, but she sure can draw an ice palace.

[left: monster. right: ice palace.]

As for me, I keep thinking I'll give up sugar, but then I remember my job is hard and sugar tastes good. So I've been trying to cut back. I instituted "tasty Tuesday" and "sweet Saturday" to try to limit my dessert consumption to twice a week. We've seen mixed results. I'm an advocate of all things in moderation and not cutting anything all the way out of my diet (except gluten, for obvious reasons), but the sugar was getting a bit out of control. I'd get the shakes after putting the kids down, my very own version of Pavlov's dogs. We eat pretty healthy otherwise, so here's to trying a little harder to do a little better (except on Tuesday and Saturday).

I've also started the great purge. I basically don't want to take any of our belongings to Pullman. If we could afford it, I'd leave it all and start fresh. We've been living the poor student high life and have very little of actual value (other than our children, of course; and our tv). So I'm Goodwilling and throwing away and selling here and there. It is early, but I have three kids to keep alive and 4 years of life to clean out, so I figure if I start early I'll only be a little insane come crunch time. I had a house in Pullman that was MY house. I was painting it and decorating it in my head and imagining my kids coming home from school and hanging their backpacks on the cute hooks I was going to hang by the door. Someone bought it. Not us, someone else. Apparently it wasn't my house at all, but that doesn't mean I can't egg it when we do go to Pullman to house hunt.

[one morning began with three crazy kitties in my bed.]

There you go.

We're crazy and life is good.

xoxo. 

second chances.

It has been so fun seeing so many beautiful Easter weekends spread all over the social media world. There are so many beautiful families out there, and we have had our share of beautiful Easters.

But this year was not one of them.

I digress. 

On Friday we were in Chicago at Baga's house with Grandma and Papa. It was a beautiful, albeit chilly evening, and we staged an Easter Egg hunt. Baga's backyard was perfect for a hunt for young kids, and they had all sorts of fun. They knew exactly what was in those eggs, so they were totally game. A squirrel knew exactly what was in the eggs too, and hacked a hole right through one of the eggs and spread the candy all over. But the rest were gathered by these eager cuties, and after a bit of candy we enjoyed Aurelio's pizza for dinner. It was a great evening.

We came home from Chicago late Saturday night, getting home after midnight. We knew, when choosing to go in the first place, that it would make for a late night and possibly a cranky Sunday.

Carly woke up first, and promptly pillaged all the baskets of whatever she wanted. I came down and explained that is not how it works. Barbie made her debut in the C house after extensive philosophical debates in my head, but I guess I didn't need to think too hard because, while the girls were initially excited, she hasn't been particularly popular.

Then the chaos began. We had all gotten up late. I made a carrot cake. We had a hectic breakfast. The kids were cranky. So so cranky. And you know what? I was too. And perhaps Chris was, or perhaps he was responding to everyone else's crankiness. We got ready for church in a flurry and spilled out the door for pictures that were totally unsuccessful. We were late, and missed singing He is Risen for the opening song. I love that song and it is only sung once a year. The kids were restless at church and I was sleepy. Afterwards, dinner preparations were all over the place and we didn't have any eggs left for deviled eggs. What!? I love deviled eggs on Easter.

Our one success of the day was the carrot cake. Oh, my, it was divine. It was my grandpa's recipe that I remember loving as a teenager. I made it gluten free, and did I already say it was divine? And that cream cheese frosting. I'd eat it out of a bowl with a spoon. So we had that going for us.

But that night, all I wanted was my kids in bed.

I got into bed and felt sad. This isn't what Easter is supposed to be like, I thought. Then, somehow, a thought occurred to me. Isn't this what Easter is really all about? Isn't it about how life is imperfect and things are hard and don't go as planned, but that it is ok? It is ok because of Him.

I know the Savior's sacrifice redeems severe sin and soothes deep aching. I've used it and I've witnessed it. But in my everyday life, it more often eases the stress of motherhood, brightens my perspective on a hard day, and helps be be better when I lose my patience and my weaknesses are beating my strengths. Easter, of all days, is about second and third and fourth chances.

So on Monday morning I turned up the Mormon Tabernacle Choir version of He is Risen and sang along while I unloaded the dishes. And boy, the Tab can rock that song. On Tuesday afternoon I ate Easter leftovers for lunch and made deviled eggs to go with it. And I cut myself a break and I tried a little bit harder to be a little bit better. And by Wednesday, we were all feeling quite happy.

Then I remembered something. On Thursday evening we had had a Family Home Evening lesson (we do FHE on whatever night daddy can be home early enough). I did those Easter eggs with the little items inside that tell the story of the crucifixion and the resurrection. To my surprise, all three kids became captivated (after being initially disappointed there wasn't candy in the eggs). When I opened the egg with the nail inside, Carly's face registered sadness. She knew what was coming next, and we spoke softly about Jesus being nailed to the cross. I pulled a white piece of fabric out of the next egg, describing how He was wrapped and place in a tomb. I pulled a rock out of the next egg, and we talked about how a big stone was placed in front of the tomb. I told them how three days passed, and I held the final egg. I opened it. "It's empty," Carly said. "Was Jesus in the tomb anymore?" I asked her. "No," she said. "He got resurrected." I showed John and Quinn and John said "Woah!" and Quinn said "Ooooo." And the Spirit was so strong. 

It was a sweet moment. A moment I forgot about in the hustle and bustle that was Easter Day, but a moment that matters more than deviled eggs and cute pictures. 

I'm grateful for this sweet family of mine.

I'm grateful for the chaos that people tell me I'll miss.

And this week, in particular, I'm grateful for second (and third and fourth) chances.

it's all real.

Things have been a little crazy up in here. We ended March and began April with three sick kids. We were in sub-zero lockdown all winter and managed to escape without getting sick at all. But the snotty, whiny, 2-week-long hacking cough caught us. And it wasn't that much fun. The sunshine came out, and we have been enjoying time outside. Finally! The breeze is still so chilly, but I actually felt warmth from the sun, and it was glorious.

About a week ago Carly got a rash. She scratched at it, and it got worse and worse until it appeared infected. Her doctor was out of the office until Monday, so we tried to persevere. We have had night after night of her waking up 2-3 times screaming in discomfort and pain. Days of laying around because she is hurting. The babies got stir crazy; the house fell apart. Did I mention Chris was finishing a chapter of his dissertation? He has been coming home to help with bedtime, then heading to the library until 1 and 2 am. I would get up with Carly in the middle of the night and find he wasn't home yet. It has been a hard and exhausting few days (has it only been a few days?).

I'm not about to number myself among the women who fight for their children's health day in and day out, but watching Carly hurt, and not know what it was or how to help, was torturous. Monday we made it to the doctor, and that night Chris gave her a priesthood blessing. She woke up 3 times that night, still in so much pain, but I knew it was going to get better. I had hope. She got to go to school today and was so excited, she ran off to class without giving Chris a hug. It has been a brief moment in time, but watching my daughter in pain has had me thinking a lot about a Son in pain a long time ago.

A few months ago there was a tragedy in my home ward. A father, mother, and two young teenage sons passed away in their home from carbon monoxide poisoning. Their two older children were serving full-time missions. I knew these wonderful people when I was a teenager. I looked up to them. I remember those boys being born. But it wasn't my loss. I hadn't seen them in many years. Still, I felt overwhelmed with sadness, as I mourned with those who mourn. But the sadness became nearly debilitating. I couldn't sleep. I woke in panic and fear. I just felt so sad. One night I could hardly take it. I couldn't sleep and I was downstairs. I knelt to pray. I prayed for the remaining family members. I prayed for my babies. And then I fell silent. I needed something. I didn't know what question I needed to ask, but I knew I needed whatever the answer was. After a long silence, words fell out of my mouth: "Just tell me it's all real." There was barely a pause before I heard, It is all real.

I was raised in a faith that taught me about eternal families and life after death and forever happiness. And I never doubted, not for a second. But now I have these little people I would give anything for, a husband I cherish, family I live too far away from and don't get to be with nearly enough, and a realization that life moves much too quickly. Here I was, 27 years old and suddenly eternal families meant everything and mortality felt like it was staring me in the face. I didn't have doubt, I just desperately needed reassurance. How very grateful I am for a loving Heavenly Father who will provide reassurances, and for a Savior who made my forever family possible.

It is Easter time. In our chaos, we haven't dyed a single egg or made a single craft. Thank goodness grandmas send Easter packages, or we'd have some empty baskets. But I have been thinking about the Savior. I have been thinking about the peace that comes from faith in Him. I have been thinking about the comfort that comes from faith in Him. And I have been thinking about the joy that comes from faith in Him.

I'm grateful He lived.
I'm grateful He died.
I'm grateful He lives again.

And I'm so very grateful it's all real.