Baseball Rant

Can I be vulnerable and petty and angry here? 

Isac had to make a tough decision and he is no longer playing baseball with the Madison Bobcat Varsity Team. 

 I know how this looks. What kind of person quits halfway through the season? 

Well, I can tell you that it isn’t the kid who pays for baseball from the time he is 12 by mowing lawns because his parents can’t afford it. It isn’t the kid who creates a baseball league for his little brother and plays for hours in the backyard every day to help him get better. It’s not the kid who shows up to practices and games with a desire to work hard and make things fun for his teammates and coaches. It's not the kid whose entire family comes to every game and cheers their guts out, talking baseball around the dinner table each night. It’s not the kid who made no errors in the outfield and had a competitive batting average the few games he played this season. 

No. That kid doesn’t quit. He loves the sport too much. 

And he’s not afraid of fighting for his position. With parents that have always taken a backseat to interfering with coaching decisions and sports drama, the kid is used to fighting his own battles. 

Now, the kid that has a long conversation with his coach, hoping to be given one reason why he has been pulled off the field after only playing three games, one reason that his coach wants him to stay, and instead is told, “You're doing great but I need to give more experience to the younger players on the team. I’m not going to have you play. If you decide to quit, I support any decision you make;” the kid that talks to the assistant coach who admits, "I better not tell you too much or I might lose my job, but we've got a lot of parents funding the program and yelling at the head coach about their kids' amount of playtime;" that kid’s not quitting the team, he’s being let go of the team while others are playing for the wrong reasons. 

Really, I’m the one that needs to let go of my pride about how others will see my son when they learn that he’s done playing (see, I can’t even say the word, “quit!”). 

I’m pretty sure what I’m experiencing is what psychologists would call “expectation grief.” I expected that Isac would be given a fighting chance to play his senior year. I was wrong.

Announcements

My pregnancy was much like the others. For the first trimester, I slept as I made dinner, taught career exploration classes, cleaned the house, talked to my kids, attended a teacher improvement course at BYU-Idaho, and prepared simple dinners. Sometimes, I slept laying down while Ellie napped. Mostly, I slept standing up. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was eating, trying to stay ahead of nausea one cracker or pickle or peanut at a time. They say exercise cures first-trimester exhaustion and nausea. I believe it. But the craving for a cracker and a nap was strong and I preferred that remedy. 

 

It was hard to keep a secret from my older kids, who would quickly question why their mom seemed to be one of the walking dead. On a drive home from the Dollar Store, I was chatting with Sophie and I said, “guess what?” “You’re pregnant!” she teased. I was only going to tell her what we were eating for dinner, so her response caught me off guard. Later that night, I pulled her into my room to tell her the news. She was thrilled, jumping up and down with excitement. Isac and Haddy were told individually few days later. “Cool! I’ve always wanted a big family!” was Isac’s response. Haddy’s response was surprising: “What? We need a bigger house” was her concern. Spencer couldn’t have been happier. “I need a little brother!” he exclaimed.

 

Just when I was ready to announce my pregnancy to the world, the world made its own announcement: Covid 19 had spread across the globe and was now considered a pandemic. Schools and churches and businesses were closing. The slogan, “Save lives. Stay home” started circulating the internet. At first, I didn’t take it very seriously. But on March 12, the church announced that all gatherings were suspended--including college classes--and I realized that this was going to affect my life personally. That night, I gathered with 10 other book club members in Ashley Yost’s living room and the pandemic was the only topic we discussed.  “Did you hear that the Idaho Falls Symphonic Concert is cancelled?” “The BYU-Idaho production of The Cherry Orchard is going to be recorded!” “Classes are going to be held remotely!” “The grocery store has no canned goods.” “I’ve heard that you can’t buy toilet paper at Walmart!” “Kids are going to finish the school year at home.” We parted ways that night, shaking our heads and speculating about when we’d meet again. 

 

Every month, I looked forward to meeting my friend and Eliza’s doctor, Marie Horne, to measure the baby and listen to her racing heartbeat through the monitor. Eliza Jane was growing and developing splendidly. Because they couldn’t attend the ultrasound with me, I facetimed with Trevor and Spencer and we oohed and ahhed at her perfectly shaped head and tiny fingers and toes. The ultrasound tech kept the gender a secret and Trevor and I were able to open an envelope that contained pictures from the ultrasound and the words “It’s a girl!” printed in white letters against the black photos. I quickly bought a pink balloon and stuffed it in a gift bag filled with pink treats to announce the gender to the kids. They opened the bag eagerly, and the helium-filled balloon slowly emerged, dashing Spencer’s hopes for a brother and confirming Sophie’s suspicions. Later that day, I invited Spencer on a drive and we talked about all the reasons why having two little sisters would be exciting. He resolved to make the most of it.

Meant to Be

Eliza Jane was always meant to be part of my life. That much is certain. But the details about how and when she’d arrive couldn’t have been fuzzier. And I know about fuzzy details.

Some of the details are clearer in hindsight. One year before Eliza was born, I was passing along her older sister Ellie’s outgrown baby items within 24 hours. The doodads, boppers, high-chairs, low-chairs and everything-in-between-chairs had cluttered the living rooms long enough; baby girl clothes went to young mothers in the Iona 7th Ward under the direction of my mom, the Relief Society President, as soon as Ellie stretched them out. It wasn’t as though I was eager to be done with all things baby. But Ellie was a miracle, and I knew I wouldn’t get another. She’d be raised as an only child and I’d be happy about it.

Having four kids and a baby wasn’t how I’d planned things. Oh, I knew I’d be a mom; it was a career, a destination for which I’d study and plan as a kid. Maybe, just maybe, I’d marry and have six babies so that they could sit at the dinner table like my family. 

 

In the first eight years, everything was following the blueprint: I’d married the man of my dreams and four beautiful babies had come. But it wasn’t looking good for numbers five and six. We still didn’t have full-time work, but our hands were full. 

 

Four years passed and Trevor turned to me during general conference and declared, “we need to have another baby.” It was a clear prompting and we started planning. Perhaps, in nine or ten months, a fifth child would complete our family. 

 

Number five, Ellie Mariann, took her sweet time. Three years passed and seven-year-old Spencer Barr would be dethroned as the king and baby-of-the-family in 2018. We now relished every milestone Ellie achieved as though it would be our last chance to enjoy a first giggle or clap or step; we passed along anything she outgrew before we let ourselves think of the finality of this stage of parenthood.  And then I started feeling queasy. 

 

One January afternoon, a pregnancy test was purchased on a whim. I went numb when I saw the indicators reveal a positive result. That morning, the challenges of raising teenagers had been weighing heavily and all I wanted to do is sleep. In an instant I knew why I was so exhausted, but how could this be? It had seemed impossible to get Ellie here a little over one year ago. Was it possible that another baby would follow in spite of everything? 

 

Almost immediately after the questions began, a feeing of peace followed that was inexplicable. It would be okay. No, more than okay. It would be just right. Ellie wouldn’t have to be raised an only child. I would get to experience another round of firsts with another beautiful baby. Although I’d forgotten about my nine-year-old wish for six children, it seems I’d been given that hope for a reason. Number six, Eliza Jane, was always meant to be a part of my life. I’d simply forgotten.

Passionate Toast

I am passionate about cinnamon toast on a Sunday night in the calloused fingers of my guitar-playing husband or the small, dirty fingers of four sandbox-construction-working children.

I am not passionate about anything that takes me out of that moment around the kitchen table. I don't like thinking about the amount of calories in the cinnamon toast, the films I should be studying in preparation for another semester of teaching, the piano pieces I need to learn before Haddy's book 2 recital, the floors that will need mopped in the morning, the journal entries I need to catch up on, or the new budget we need to review. And yet, these details cannot be neglected.

Success follows passion, or so I've been told. So if I can become passionate about the day-to-day details of mothering, seeing them as necessary brush strokes in the portrait, perhaps there will be some measure of success.

But how can I measure success as a mother, when so much of the outcome is out of my hands? I feed my children a carrot, pinch pennies, take them to practices, clean up after them, read to them, pray with them, tuck them in, nag at them, hold them, teach them, and then, they go on and do things their own way. I can only hope that cinnamon toast on a Sunday night does something good for those passionate little people...

Sound Effects

Spencer and I went on a walk tonight. We saw a mmmmvvvvvvvvvrrrrmmmmm and a tweet tweet. Did you know that tweets fly away fast when you chase them? We were tempted to pick a aaaappp off the tree. Did you know they grow on trees? We said, "hi," to every vrrrmmmm that drove by. Sometimes, the people inside waved back. We stopped to pet a mee mee that was so soft we had to giggle about it. We saw a big ruff and almost lost a shoosh. We were excited to run home to tell Dadda about it. It was all so exciting, we may not be able to sleep tonight.

Why Not?

Why not write in a blog you haven't peeked at in four years? You have things to say. You have people to brag about, ideas to share, pictures to post. People may be wondering where you are living, what you are doing. Your family, spread out across the United States and now in Germany, may want updates.

So...what's the hold up?

Just start where you are. Don't try to go back to the day you abandoned the blogging world. No need to mention details about Isac's first swimming lessons or Haddy's debut as a tightrope walker in her kindergarten play. You couldn't possibly recap every moment; Sophia learning how to skip or Spencer's crazy dances in oversized rainboots are only one in one hundred memories worth mentioning.

Begin this way: Today, we ate pancakes and eggs for dinner. Seth Hochstrasser and Katie Klingler joined our dinner breakfast party after helping my kids distribute dominoes, race tracks, Barbies, swimsuits, towels, dress-up shoes, Polly Pockets, baseballs, and mitts throughout the house. If it weren't for the fact that much of the day was spent preparing to audition for a play, taking the kids to eat lunch at Porter Park and play baseball at Smith Park, I might have the energy to enforce a clean up. I guess there's always tomorrow...

Who knows? Maybe the next time you write, you'll know how to begin. And maybe you'll know how to explain why your children now look like this:

Here's to You

Here's to Foster family reunions at Island Park,

picking and eating fresh blackberries, strawberries, peaches, and pears,

driving to the top of Mount Ashland,

camping in a yurt at Valley of the Rogue State Park,

playing on rocks, and in rivers and mudholes,

eating picnics, running through sprinklers, dancing in swimsuits,

reading Little House on the Prairie and Farmer Boy and pretending to be Pa, Ma, Laura, Carrie and Almanzo day after day after day,

and to those lazy, crazy, hazy days of summer.

Fiddledeedee

For some time, I've pondered about the word, "fiddledeedee" with amusement.

Who was the first exasperated soul to stub their toe on a bag of beets and exclaim, "fiddledeedee!" Why did Scarlett O'Hara use it in a playful banter with Rex in Gone with the Wind?

My first exposure to this fine word was in the Pehrson home in Driggs, Idaho. As a sophomore at Teton High School, I thought Amy Pehrson's Dad was quite the jester when he uttered it.

Much later, I discovered a family from Colorado who used the word whenever the opportunity arose. "Fiddledeedee" was one of Dad Hill's favorite words after watching The Great Race in his youth.

And now, I find myself revisiting the word when I watch one of the best Donald Duck episodes of all time with Trevor and the kids: Donald Duck: Early to Bed. For a good laugh, visit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghYUX5eeMrE

And while I sit at the computer tonight, catching up on emails and writing in my journal, I may just find myself uttering "fiddledeedee" when I think of the chocolate-chip cookies I burned while writing this post.

The Funk

I think the funk is lifting. I felt it going a few days ago. A complete stranger clutched the pulpit and said inspired words that could only have been directed to me. It lifted at the dinner table when Trevor was telling stories to the kids about our courtship and marriage and I was reminded of the things I value most. Every time (seriously, every time) I crack open the Book of Mormon things become clearer and clearer. People, conversations, and words of scripture speak words that only God knows I'm needing to hear.

Orson Scott Card says, "As long as you keep getting born, it's alright to die some times." I think he's right.

Where to Build Our Sandcastle

I love watching waves roll in and out. Because the strength of the wave is random, it’s hard to pick the precise moment when the tide stops going out and starts coming in. I never can tell where to build my sandcastle.

Knowing what the future holds for our family is even more difficult than calling the tide’s turn. This much is certain; Ashland is only a temporary haven for our castle, though we've taken great care to make it beautiful and inviting. It is also certain that we will have busy days ahead with auditions and applications, boxes and Magic Eraser cleaners. We're certain that things will work out...God's proven that to us time and again. We're just not certain how.

We're trying not to get seasick in these waves of change. We knew this day would come and so we plan and work and pray and think and discuss, but mostly, we wait. Well, that's not true. Mostly, we pray. Praying gives us the patience and peace to wait. I can see us in that "waiting place" Dr. Seuss talks of in Oh, the Places You'll Go. You know the picture: people standing around waiting for "planes to go, or buses to come, or trains to go" or "fish to bite, or Friday night."

"What are you waiting for?" I ask myself as I stand at the linen closet trying to decide which towels should go and which should find a new purpose. It's time to get packing and cleaning! But then, I look at the calendar and I know I have until November 1st before those towels should be turned into rags.

And then I sigh in relief. I have 3 more months of teaching the girls in my Young Women's class, playing at Lithia park with the kids, exploring the mountains with Trev, and seeing the Claysons in church. I'll get to pick peaches in the orchard, camp in Grant's Pass, schedule play dates with Emmy and Blaine, ride bikes to pick blackberries, walk with Leisa and Aslan, and jog at the OSU track. And who knows, maybe in that 3 months, we'll figure out if the tide is coming or going and where to build that sandcastle.

Crazy for the Coast

In July, Trev had 3 days without performances, so we raced to set up camp at Harris Beach, Oregon, and were sad to see those days slip by so fast.

The water was frigid, but we finally dared each other to body surf while the kids watched in the sand. They had always suspected that their parents were crazy. Now they knew.

The campsite was a comfortable distance from the wind-beaten shore, but we couldn't help ourselves from exploring the beach every day. When the wind had blown sand into every pore and we could no longer hear or see or smell, we drug our bodies back up the steep cliff to our tent to rejuvenate by the grace of fire and junk food. We were grateful for the sand in our ears that helped us survive each night of night terrors and bathroom needs.

Call us crazy, but we're counting down the days 'till we can load up the tent again.

The Freedom To...

Today, I enjoyed the freedom to watch veterans, swamba dancers, activists, and roller skaters parade down the streets of Ashland wearing and saying whatever they wanted.




I enjoyed drinking a Wild Cherry Slurpie from Seven Eleven for the first time in years and sauntering home in my flip flops with Trevor and 3 heat-exhausted children.




After dumping a sticky Sophia in her crib, turning up the AC, and drinking 2 glasses of water, I enjoyed the freedom to teach Isac and Haddy why we celebrate, love, and fight for America. Trevor and I had a pretty attentive group as we told stories about our forefathers, read scriptures about freedom, and recited the pledge of allegiance with candles in hand.

My stomach wished I hadn't had the freedom to top off my huge dinner with a slice of apple/blackberry pie, but my taste buds were delighted.

And crazily enough, I enjoyed the freedom to sneak into the kids' room at 9:45 p.m. and wake them from a dead sleep to see the fireworks. We drove to the park, found a spot to sit, and snuggled in a gray blanket just in time to watch bursts of color. While Sophia buried her head in my shoulder and asked to go "back, back," Haddyn "oohed" and Isac spurted out "awesome" at every explosion.

And now, I've enjoyed the freedom of sharing a glimpse of our day with you.


What freedoms are you thankful for? Check out this video and bask in your freedom.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkTKQsYWBxc

Be Prepared

Never leave the house without an extra diaper. You may think a blowout is not likely to happen. You may think that your diaper packing days are through. You may be wrong.

Today, Sophia and I are thankful for disposable diapers and disinfectant sprays. Church bathrooms are not convivial places to clean up catastrophes (nice alliteration, eh?).

For those of you who don't have young children, disregard this post...for now. At some later point in time, you may find this advice helpful.

Maybe When I Have the Time...

When I have the time, I might just post something brilliant here. I might remember why I even started a blog.

For now, you must excuse me while I clean up the black beans that spilled out of our ripped beanbag chair (why not fill a beanbag with actual beans?). Oh the wonderful things I will do...when I have the time.

Blackmail

It's all fun and games 'til someone pulls out the scrapbook and starts digging into your past. We all have those photos that should never have been taken. Seriously, what inspired my mother to take a picture of my 4-year-old backside when I sported a super swimmingsuit wedgy? Why did a picture of me picking my nose ever make it into the books...a constant reminder that some habits weren't the easiest for me to break.

Now that I am a Mom I find myself following the same disturbing pattern. Something about the sight of Isac bopping into the room wearing Haddy's dress and hair bow made my fingers itch to take a picture. I'll keep it tucked away somewhere and use it only when necessity demands.

Somethin' to Smile About

After a great audition, Trevor is happy to announce that he's been asked back for a second season with OSF. As you can see, we're grinning about the news.

Sophia wants her grin to display 8 teeth, so 4 more are cutting through her sensitive little gums right now.

If you asked Haddy about the news, she would fill your mind with stories about her life. Her stories would involve mean witchies and dancing princesses. She'd probably even pull out a book from the stack that she's been memorizing and make you laugh with her interpretations of it.

Isac is more reserved. When asked, "Are you excited to be in Ashland another year?" He replies, "Dad, will you just wrestle me again?" As long as Dad's in the picture, he doesn't care where we are.

As for Trevor and I, we hope that another year in Ashland gives us opportunities to do more than we've been able to do the last 4 months. There are so many people to see, places to go, and ice cream flavors to sample.

I Belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

Isac ran in the house after Church and yelled, "I go to the Church of Jesus Christ!!"

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Um....Heavenly Father loves me."

I hadn't thought of it that way, but it was undoubtedly true.

God does love us. He loved us enough to send Jesus Christ to the earth, who organized a Church with all the keys to happiness. When this true Church fell into spiritual decay, a complete restoration was required. Our loving God called upon the Prophet Joseph Smith to be the one to reorganize Jesus Christ's Church upon the earth. Today, the Church is led by President Thomas S. Monson.

In a time when the world may seem dark to many, a great light has penetrated the earth. The gospel of Jesus Christ brings light and love into our home. Membership in the Church gives us peace, knowing that Heavenly Father really does love us.

*We love this website that reminds us about God's love for us. If you ever need a lift, visit it! We dare you! http://www.mormon.org/

You Have Your Hands Full

An old lady stops us on the sidewalk and exclaims, "You have your hands full!"

A man states, "You're pretty busy, aren't you."

An inquisitive woman in the grocery store asks, "Do you plan on having any more?"

After hearing "You have a full load" a third time, Isac turns and asks, "Why do people always say that?"

I can't imagine why.

An Age of Questions

Isac is four. Four-year-olds feel bigger the morning of their Birthday. They walk around the house showing you how high they can reach and what they can climb because they are four. When they crash their new big bikes they get right back on; they can "read" books to their sisters; they cut their own pancakes with a fork. Most of all, four-year-olds ask questions.

• "Mommy, why do you have so many balls on you?" (Freckles...)
  
• "Why does Jesus tell you to eat lettuce?"
  
• "Will I be bigger like a Dad when I am 4?"
  
• "Will I have a lots of hair when I get 4...like Dad?"
  
• "Will I be shot like Joseph Smith when I get bigger?"
  
• "When I feel hot, is that my spirit?"

That doesn't mean four-year-olds don't provide a lot of answers.

• "When I get bigger, like Daddy, I will eat too many treats and get sick...because I can choose that."


• "For my Birthday I would like a toy store....or....um...maybe just a toy that makes bananas and chocolate into cars."
  
• "Haddy, you need to hold my hand so I can keep you safe." (On a long walk home from the park).


• "You will miss me when I am 5." "Why?" "Because I will be so bigger."


• Trevor was helping Isac ride his bike outside. As they approached a hill, Isac stopped and Trevor urged him on. Isac replied, "No, Dad. I need to stop and pretend something." He then acted out a crash with sound effects and actions.


• Isac was praying quietly in the corner and announced that he had ask for "there to be no food or water" like Nephi when he prayed for a famine. I ask, "but what if I get hungry?" He walked back to the corner and prayed that there would be food and water.

We're happy to have our inquisitive, entertaining, sensitive four-year-old blow out another candle on his birthday cake.

My Relief Society Family

Although I was excited to be with Trevor again, it was hard to say goodbye to my family after a long visit, not knowing the next time we would see each other.

Happily, at Church today I realized that I am still amongst family. I looked around at some of the women in Relief Society that I admire and I knew that these were women from whom I could learn so much--women like my own mom and sisters who prioritize their lives around the gospel of Jesus Christ and know how to nurture and sustain families.

I am grateful to have an extended Church family and specifically, to belong to an organization of women who have a clear sense of identity and purpose. When I am wiping smeared jelly off of the kitchen table and sweeping Cheerios off the floor I must repeat in my mind part of the Relief Society declaration: I am a woman of "faith, virtue, vision, and charity, who...find[s] nobility in motherhood and joy in womanhood." I often disguise this nobility by wearing T-shirts covered with fingerprints and snot streaks on my shoulder, but I repeat the phrase over and over.

Other phrases contained in this declaration are equally empowering. I am a woman who "increases [my] testimony of Jesus Christ through prayer and scripture study." I am not blindly following tradition. I independently pray to know that Jesus Christ is the literal son of God, He atoned for the sins of the world, and amazingly enough, He knows me.

I am part of a "worldwide sisterhood, united in devotion to Jesus Christ, our Savior and exemplar." I long to be like the women in Relief Society who are commited to loving others and trying to do what He wants them to do.

As quoted by the Relief Society, I "dedicate [myself] to strengthening marriages, families, and homes...delight in service and good works...love life and learning...and understand [my] divine destiny." These are lofty goals that give me direction. They help me know how to prioritize my life so that I am not too consumed with things of little importance.

When I follow this declaration, I can say "no" in order to protect the limited time I have to be with my children while they are young. I can find ways to get outside of my own circle to serve others. I can learn from women who have a wealth of knowledge in literature, gardening, maintaining food storage, journaling, cooking, exercising, and parenting. Most importantly, when I feel overwhelmed by inadequacy, I can hold on to the fact that I am a daughter of God. I am making a journey of mistakes but I hope for a celestial destination.

Only a loving God who understands women perfectly would inspire Joseph Smith to organize such a sisterhood. I am so grateful for my Relief Society family.

These talks remind me of who I am...or who I want to be. When I'm reevaluating priorities, feeling overwhelmed, or needing validation, I love reading these talks.

• Julie B. Beck, “What Latter-day Saint Women Do Best: Stand Strong and Immovable,” Ensign, Nov 2007, 109–12. http://www.lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?vgnextoid=f318118dd536c010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD&locale=0&sourceId=e22a26cb31cf5110VgnVCM100000176f620a____&hideNav=1
• James E. Faust, “Instruments in the Hands of God,” Ensign, Nov 2005, 114 http://www.lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?vgnextoid=2354fccf2b7db010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD&locale=0&sourceId=1ed178de9441c010VgnVCM1000004d82620a____&hideNav=1
• Margaret D. Nadauld, “The Joy of Womanhood,” Ensign, Nov 2000, 14–16 http://www.lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?vgnextoid=2354fccf2b7db010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD&locale=0&sourceId=571fa1615ac0c010VgnVCM1000004d82620a____&hideNav=1