making it mean something

Out weekend felt kind of short around here.  Mr Renn's Saturday was snagged by Give Kids a Smile Day and while it was certainly a worthwhile cause, Saturdays with Daddy around are oh so precious around here.  So our little men are emerging from the weekend a little more stir-crazy than usual.

In the spirit of contemplating heavy decisions and vast options, Mr Renn and I turned Saturday night into a date night at the Ogden Temple.  It's the last week that it's open before major renovations, (and the Bountiful Temple was closed for cleaning) so it seemed like the perfect time to go.



We capped the night off by gorging ourselves at Sizzler and trying desperately hard to stay on-track with a productive goal-oriented conversation.  I have an uncanny gift for derailing conversations with passionate tangents.  It's a problem.  Especially with all-you-can-eat shrimp lying around.

Since Mr Renn and I are serving in the Nursery at our church, where the Captain also hangs out, we've been getting some pretty embarrassing behavior from him.  He would be the child who won't sit for 23 consecutive seconds during singing time, dumps his water and steals other kids' pretzels, and bellows a red-faced NO at any poor soul who dares try to steal the toy he's playing with.  It's lovely, really.  Also, my sister insists that peter-pan collars are only for girls.  Please tell me it's not so!



And I am such a tired lady by the end of Church.  How is it that I can't seem to manage coming home and collapsing in a heap of nap-ness?



Sunday night, while searching unsuccessfully in my parents' game-closet for Guess Who, I stumbled upon my old Spirotot.  (And a few travel-sized Spirographs).  I'm kind of enamored of them (in a frame them and hang them on the wall way), and so are my boys (in a use up an entire ream of paper way).





There's something irresistible about preschoolers and art.  I am trying (trying trying) to enjoy it and not mind the veritable sea of sketches, and to not mind too much the daily misbehavior that always ends in drawing on something besides paper.  You should see this boy's face light up when he shows me what he drew.  Good mom moments.

outside of my comfort zone

This:



is me getting my eyebrows overhauled by an overzealous sales associate at Sephora.
It was my first time, I made HSF join me and hold my hand.
We were being helped by a 22 year old with dark roots and about 15 braids when madame zeal trotted over and gasped, "Can I do your eyebrows?!"
Um, sure.
My eyebrows are not my favorite feature.  I'm pretty sure most of my cousins will concur.
But she gushed about them for 5 whole minutes and walked away leaving me looking like this:



Um, okay.
Then, after spending enough on makeup to get myself in trouble... I have proceeded to spend today with a bare face determinedly sanitizing until I can uncover all the mystery little boy pee smell from the bathroom.  And the boy's bedroom.  (Because, *sigh* that's how my life goes... )

Glad I could pretend for a few hours that there was some glamor in my life.
And for the record, shopping with the HSF is way too much fun.  Just ask the annoyed associates at Janie and Jack's.  We were there for over an hour enthusiastically showing each other how cute everything was.  It was cute.

When Life gives you Bananas

What, pray tell, does one do when one's kids get a little overzealous with their banana peeling?  I walked into the kitchen today and found 4 bananas unpeeled, and not a bite out of any of them. *sigh*



Fried Bananas

2-3 TBSP butter
4 peeled bananas, cut into 1-2 inch pieces
3 TBSP dark brown sugar
(optional) 1/4 cup whole nuts (I used walnut halves... someone at my mom's work has a walnut tree!)
1/4 tsp cloves
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp poppy seeds
(optional) 1/8 tsp banana extract
(optional) 1/8 tsp coconut extract
Juice of 1 lime or 1.5 TBSP bottled lime juice



In a small to medium skillet, saute the nuts until they are fragrant.  Chop the nuts roughly and set aside.

Add the butter to the hot skillet and melt it over medium heat.  Add the chopped bananas and the brown sugar and stir gently until the sugar is dissolved.



Add the extracts and lime juice and stir until incorporated.
Add the nuts and poppy seeds and simmer until the liquid is syrupy.



Serve warm to someone cute.



I finally got myself a Flavor Bible and have been having gobs of fun with it.  I'll inevitably be sharing some of my culinary successes here.  I promise to withhold the mediocrities, and only share peeks at my failures for your entertainment.

Why Hello There

Behind the scenes around here we have been scrambling to secure a future.  Mr Renn's residency goes through the end of June and then we need somewhere else to go.
This puts Mr Renn and I in an interesting predicament.  We have to make big decisions.  together.  That requires an awful lot of effective communicating (which requires staying awake through conversations).  I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one with a spouse who struggles on this point.
But there are some boys who are relying upon us to take care of them and provide them with a life where they can thrive.



And that's not a responsibility we're apt to take lightly.  So the search is on, in earnest.  Somehow or other we are going to choose between good and hard, and good and hard, and better and hard.  That will involve prayer, fasting, and frequent temple attendance.  (Huge perk to living in Utah - frequent temple attendance is possible).  Any other tips for making life-altering decisions as a couple?

sweet 16

I took my little sister out for an early birthday present over the long weekend.  Despite being a dedicated pointe dancer, she had never been to a full-length professional ballet.  I couldn't think of a more enjoyable gift to give, so off we went to the Saturday matinée of Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty.

I think the best part for her was seeing giant posters in the lobby of the two married principle dancers that she met when performing in The Nutcracker last November.  Aparently they are "the cutest thing ever."  I love how teenagers talk in a permanent state of hyperbole.

I'm pretty pleased with how my baby sister is shaping up headed into adolescence.  She's very much a teenager, but she's kind and thoughtful, and responsible. And the girl knows how to work hard when she wants something.  We are 3 days shy of 13 years apart.  We were thiiiiiis close to sharing a birthday.  And she's about old enough to drive and date and such - I feel old.  

After the show (which truth be told, hadn't that much plot to it, but you don't go for the plot, do you?)  We grabbed drive-through ice cream and talked on the way home.  I think sisters are pretty awesome, and I hope my boys get one someday.  

It's a jolly holiday

Happy President's day!
I hope you're doing something fun.










We're all about fun around here.
(And Mr Renn would point out that his snow fort puts mine to shame).

growing green

i had intended to spend my single mother nights watching a Katherine Hepburn movie marathon. I still think that would be a fun way to treat myself if I stumble upon any large blocks of alone time. But somehow instead I spent the nights Mr Renn has been away (job-interviewing) poring over these:



I have an enviable list of exact species I should very much like to plant someday. I just need some dirt.
If you happen to have dirt, I hope you are doing something fun with it. Few things are as therapeutic as helping something grow. (And plants don't talk back or require potty training).

systems in place

At 4 months and 1 week post-partum, we have generally settled into the semblance of a groove.
There are parts of our groove that I love, and there are parts that I'm rather mortified over, but so it goes.



Our gentleman has agreed to start sleeping more like a mortal-sleep-requiring-being and I usually get at least a 4-hour stretch out of him at night.  So come 7am, I am capable of peeling myself out of bed.  (That doesn't mean it's pretty).
I try to get my mandatory shower in before all 3 kids are awake (this works about half of the time), I fight the battle of "you will make your bed and get dressed before breakfast" which never seems to get any easier.  My mornings are a blur of changing diapers and wiping noses and digging out from under messes while my kids make new messes for me.  Our gentleman lately stays in the same outfit day and night until he renders it unfit for use via either orifice.  We go through enough laundry without changing his clothes just because morning or night have arrived.  I check email or read books while being nursed and count myself blessed if nothing expensive is obliterated before lunch.
Lunchtime means I can put the Captain down for a nap, and be amazed at what a difference there is between parenting 2 kids and 3 kids. Most blog posts are composed in that brief interlude.
Late afternoon finds me scrambling through my bag of tricks and then gritting my teeth and bearing the 4 o'clock and 5 o'clock witching hours.  The closer I get to 6pm, the more the clock seems to stand still.
Other adults coming home doesn't actually mean I get a break, but it's true that a change is as good as a break, and the dynamic of home changes considerably once everyone is gathered in.
Sitting down to dinner together is inevitably the crowning event of the day, even when it is an exasperating ordeal.



Dinner is followed up by wrestling the boys into the tub or into PJ's.  A good game of hide and go seek is had by Mr Renn and the ambulatory boys.  Then we sing.  We read.  We pray.  We read some more.

That is followed up by the inevitable 101 reasons Sir O needs to get out of bed.

But eventually, all 4 of my boys fall asleep.  (Mr Renn is usually the first, I won't lie).
Then I decompress a bit and more often than not, I don't feel terribly productive about my day.
So I set some goals and make an ambitious to-do list for the following day - and try really really hard to stratify what matters most in the life of little-old me.
Which inevitably leads to parting with ideals I formed in the ignorant bliss of burgeoning adolescence.  And being rather sad about it.  But also happy about where I am and what I'm doing - happy in a deeper seated place than I anticipate.

Finally, I read.  I pray.  I try really, really hard to fall asleep in time to have rested before our gentleman needs me next.

Then,

I do it all over again.

Captain Laconic

Today was the pinnacle of an exhausting stream of days.  (And tomorrow may be a new pinnacle, and the day after that too...)
But today was all about our Captain.



Due to his alarming lack of speech development between his 18 and 24 month well-visits we found ourselves at an early intervention assessment this morning.  It was kind of like being in a room of wise old grandmothers who love children.  It was also like a Nuremberg trial for my parenting.  I must have been asked 200 questions, all with the sweet implication that of course I should know the answer.

"Does your child seem able to differentiate classes of objects?"
"Does your child have any understanding or expectation of linear time?"
"Does your child have any pet names for objects?"

Uh.......

I had to wonder if the forms they were filling out had a bubble for "don't know" - because every time I answered as such I sort of wished I could disappear into my chair.  Am I really that distracted of a parent?  Am I completely out of touch with my poor middle child?  

Intense self-doubt and parenting young children creates a rather volatile internal dialogue.  I sort of left the appointment feeling like the worst parent ever.
And with a packet of forms to fill out.
Because our Captain is, indeed, not speaking like he ought.  It is the source of endless frustration for all parties throughout our days.  Lots of pointing and yelling and guessing.
Luckily his vision and hearing tested well, and his language comprehension is good, and his problem-solving skills are above average.
I think perhaps most of his exceptionally strong and weak points in the testing can be attributed to having a certain Sir O for an older brother.

But for now there is speech therapy in his immediate future.  Because I really wanted another ball to juggle.  I'm starting to think that juggling requires more confidence than I have today.

Today (and yesterday, and the day before) I really just want a long nap and a recoup.  But there is no prep-period in parenting.

And tomorrow Mr Renn heads out of town (boo) for a job interview (yay!) leaving me to single-parent for 60 hours (boo) and then spend a long holiday weekend with us (yay!).  If ever I was to be allotted a prep-period, now would be a good time for it.

Anyone know which button you press for that?

The Friz and Me

I'm not especially keen on Sir O's latest attachment to my parents' collection of Magic School Bus books.  I've been trying to get him attached to The Little House and Bread and Jam for Frances.  But he's determined that the most colorful book with the least palatable form of didactics will be his favorite.  Se la vie.



But while reading one of his favorites, The Rot Squad, Miss Frizzle told her class, and subsequently told me, to "Take Chances!  Get Messy!  Make Mistakes!"

Wow.  Really.

If I could get over my fear of doing exactly those things, then I could experience such a revolutionary freedom.  I think a lot of us get so caught up in trying to avoid risk, avoid messes, and avoid mistakes that we create a rather narrow version of reality for ourselves.

Which reminded me of a favorite, if over-used passage from Marianne Williamson,

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

So I've been contemplating what fear is keeping me from doing lately.  And sadly, the answer is "quite a lot."  I'm awfully afraid of failure.  But I'm also aware that life is too short to be afraid of good things.  And a lot of good things require that you're out in the realm of taking committed chances and living on purpose.  So I'm recommitting to my principle of not making decisions based on fear - and I'm mapping out some concrete goals, a few of which involve this blogging space, a few of which involve my family, and a few of which involve just little old me.  I don't want to wake up and be in my twilight years and wonder what I did with my life.  It's time for being alive, and living intentionally.

A few small adjustments I hope to make in the coming months:

• planning date nights in advance so they actually happen, at least 2x/month even if they cost money.
• actually starting a company for wedding flowers and events (I need a tax id# to have an account with a wholesaler).  I was going to wait until after our move - but I figure having a Utah tax ID might be useful anyway - since I will inevitably be in and out of Utah for the rest of forever, and want to be able to do weddings here.
• allow myself to start planning a garden without an actual garden to plan
• encourage Mr Renn to go to every job interview that he can secure, and not pressure him to make a choice until we have all our cards on the table
• Purchase a web-domain so I can begin the process of weaning myself from blogger and exercise more control over my site.
• Start keeping track of all those blog-post ideas that I never actually remember when I sit down to compose a post.
• More actively seek out opportunities to learn from other people - both for the knowledge and for the relationships.  This means not being afraid to ask - or rather asking despite the fear.
• Find more ways to be cognizant of people outside of my home, and look for opportunities for me and my family to serve others.  (Even if our service comes with sticky fingerprints and missing pieces)
• Find more ways to show my Husband I love him, and that he's important to me.  (Because severe sleep deprivation sometimes takes it's toll in the most important places, and taking one's spouse for granted always seems to be the first thing to slide).

What can you do, big or small, to make your life a little bit less afraid and a little bit more on purpose?  Is there a chance for failure involved?  Can you try it anyway?  Do tell.

You Should See: Return to Cranford

This may be the only time I ever, ever recommend a sequel.
Ever.

I adored Cranford when we netflixed it - I mentioned it here.  It captures beautifully the essence of  Elizabeth Gaskell's writing.  And her writing, by the way, is such a sublime blend of compassion and humor that I wish more authors chose her as their benchmark.

The sequel, however, made my heart absolutely sing with buoyancy.  It ended with such a perfectly loving and dignified moment that I pondered it for a solid week and cried more than once in related thought.  I utterly adore Miss Matty Jenkyns and her overfull mother heart.  I suppose her character is meant to be adored - but there is some absolute eternal truth about her character that can't help speaking to my soul.

I can't think of many better things a story (written or performed) could hope to accomplish.  So if your soul is in need of a song or two, I suggest you seek this one out.

I've got sunshine, in the month of February

I keep waiting for the day when I'll stop feeling bad about not being able to do everything that's expected of me.

Still waiting.


In the meantime, one particular gentleman has discovered just the button to push to eliminate the possibility of a grumpy mom.  It looks something like this.

Letters: the boy thing

Dear Progeny -

It's a mystery to me how a girl like me found herself in the land of little men.  Somehow I managed to overlook this possibility when I assumed and embraced motherhood.  There were inevitably a lot of things I missed in my imaginary debriefing.  Kamikaze climbing, methodical speed-dumping, incurable bed-wetting, and a complete incapability for sitting still.  These are the things that make me tired these days.

I am tired, and often frustrated.  But never for a moment am I looking for a way out.

As God would have it, there were other things I didn't adequately anticipate when I took the leap.  I never knew about the way my heart would dance at a baby's first smile, or how perfect a sleeping newborn would feel curled up on my chest.  I certainly didn't realize how much more I would laugh as a mom, both with and at my boys.   I never anticipated how strong the instincts to kiss pudgy cheeks and babble baby talk would be.



I never knew how good it would feel to be so overwhelmingly needed.  How much I needed to be needed.

I never knew how fulfilling it would be to have moments when my children do the best things without provocation, or when they become enraptured with things I already love.

And I certainly didn't know about the sunlit song a mother heart sings when a crying boy can only be consoled by her.



Clearly I was under-informed.  Luckily I made the right choice anyhow.

It is hard - oh so hard - to stay with it all every minute of every day.  The hard part is the relentless nature of the beast.  Anyone can pull an all-nighter or watch a rowdy crop of kids for a few hours.  It's the sleepless nights for months on end - the never ever being able to turn your back on your boys that tests you and
stretches you and makes you wonder how you ever found life difficult before you had kids.



(Side note - while I was typing that paragraph my children earnestly endeavored self-endangerment.  If they live to adulthood there will surely be scores of guardian angels involved. - That's the vague version.)

I would not trade my boys for rest or leisure or even for peace - but I am beginning to think I'm earning a pretty posh nursing home for my old age.  If we all live that long; and I hope we do.  I'm endlessly curious about the adults these boys are becoming.

In the meantime, dear boys, cut me some slack.  A few low-key waking hours might be good for all of us.

Love, mom

I could host a giveaway

I've never had a 4 1/2 year old before.  The learning curve is steep, I tell you what.
One of the side-effects of raising a preschooler appears to be a proliferation of their art.  I'm happy for it, I love to see Sir O all wrapped up in a creative pursuit.  But then there's the predicament.
What to do with the piles and piles of drawings?
Anyone want some?  I'll be happy to mail you a bundle.  Mostly he draws "Christmas Trees" or "people with houses"  And occasionally "Valentine Hearts".  If he doesn't like how a specimen is shaping up, he'll just put an exasperated "X" through it and move on to the next one.  I try to intervene as little as possible, primarily to keep the crayons from being strewn all over the house.



There are inevitable casualties (usually clothes and markers colliding - the clothes never seem to win).  And the other day I caught him going nuts with the dry-erase marker Mr Renn has been leaving me love notes on the bathroom mirror with.  He'd turned the bathroom vanity light bulbs into a chorus line of smiley faces.  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or be furious.  (Visions of exploding lightbulbs and all...).



When you have three little people that you can't afford to turn your back on - the only practical solution is to handcuff them all to each other so your eyes only have one place they have to be.  Oh wait, that's not practical?  Well then, the chaos must continue.

remind me of you

I've been allowing my brain, of late, to think more than a week ahead.
Because I won't be living in borrowed space forever, it just feels that way.
Mr Renn has his first job interview in 2 weeks, and so far he seems to feel optimistic about the opportunity.
I don't want to rush into any commitments, but a big part of me is very ready to start looking for housing and a school for Sir O;
and for museums and garden clubs and music teachers.
You know - normal mom stuff.
But once I start letting my brain think such thoughts I inevitably get carried away, and start shopping real estate.  What can I say, I'm almost 30 and I want a home.  A lot of 30 year-old moms get by just fine without a home of their own, but most 30 year-old moms will confess to wanting one if they don't have one.
I found a lovely Arts and Crafts home with just the sort of details that make my heart happy.  I kept coming back to the listing every day to try to imagine what life would be like in that house.
Then it sold.  I feel disturbingly sad about that.

Because you know, our taxes claimed I am a "homemaker".  But right now I feel like I only daydream about being a real homemaker.  I have no home to make.  My stuff is in storage, and the temporariness of our living situation makes it impossible for me to develop any roots or wings.

Our next living situation may be even more temporary, but we will get all of our stuff back.  I expect it to be like Christmas - for me and for the boys.  There are so many toys I think they've forgotten they had!  And what I wouldn't give for access to one of my corner-rounders today!

Oh my boys and me.... we are such a crazy bunch.  What are we going to do with each other?

Because I need more little men

My kids are bored.
This is nearly always true of late.  But especially with temperatures below freezing and their sick baby brother eating up all of my attention.



So Monday while Mr Renn was making dinner (bless his heart) I dug deep to see what I had access to craft-wise. (I miss my stuff!) I figured that if I help Sir O make his own toys then he will be occupied while he makes them and occupied while he plays with them and it sounded like a win-win.

So, he helped me make these tiny waldorfian men.  I figured that since we've been reading The Tomten and Under a Mushroom that he'd have something to base some imaginative play on and hopefully, hopefully be content without a screen in his face for some stretches of time.

So far they've been very short stretches of time, but I'm clinging to hope.

Wooden bases and felted wool were purchased on etsy.  Just search for Waldorf under Supplies.  I'm not a whole-hog lover of all things Waldorf - but I think parts of it are splendid.

I remember: popsicles and uninvited guests

Sometimes it makes me sad to think of all the friends Sir O is destined to leave behind and barely remember.  This seems to be the lot of oldest children around here. I didn't live in one place for long enough to grow up with anybody until I was nearly 8 years old.  (To military kids that's nothing - to Mr Renn who lived in the same house all his life, it's a big deal).  But sometimes it's a small world, and serendipity has been known to stop by.

My very earliest memories are from a short time when my parents lived in BYU married student housing.  My very first memory is of falling off of my Big Wheel tricycle.  I was 2 and 3 years old while we lived there. But associated with that whole era every other memory I have involves Danielle.  Apparently we were inseparable.

Memories from that early in life are necessarily non-linear.  We remember things the way we lived them, and I'm now keenly aware of what non-linear beings 2 and 3 year-olds are.  I mostly remember short and vivid moments.  I remember Danielle and I dipping our twin popsicles in cups of water, and wearing stick-on earrings.  I remember her mom giving me a blue pair of plastic clip-on earrings and thinking I'd won the lottery.  

My one and only memory that stretches long enough to have a plot is the time we wandered down near the playground and there was a birthday party going on.  We sort of casually invited ourselves to crash the party and got in line to play a game where you popped balloons that had candy inside.  Totally rational action for a toddler.  I can't remember whether we were found out by our parents, or just went home, but I do remember having pockets full of smarties from the birthday party of some kid I never knew.

About a month before I got married, one of the kids in a class I TA'd asked me if I knew of Danielle.  It turned out that we were at BYU at the same time and very nearly never knew it.  Somehow she'd heard of my name through this student of mine and ventured to find out whether I was the self-same Emily that had once been attached to her hip.  That was just cool, like God giving me a hug.

Then I got to follow her from afar as she had awesome adventures abroad while I atrophied in a desk job for the next 2 years.  

Then I got her wedding announcement and called my parents to share my excitement.  

And now, through the MIRACLE of blogging - I get to watch her family grow (again having awesome adventures abroad - I shall have to be a voyeur).

Pretty soon she'll have a 2-year-old of her own.

Life is just awesome like that.