Do Not Overcorrect

Three weeks ago, I was in my bedroom.  It was a Sunday morning around 9:30 a.m. and my mom sent me a text asking if I was home.  I would normally have been at church at that time, but I wasn’t.  I don’t remember if my kids were sick that week or if it was a battle with intense depression that kept me home that morning.  It doesn’t really matter.  I was home, and immediately after responding to my mom’s text, the phone rang.  

She began to relay her story from the previous night.  She and my step dad had driven to Idaho to take some costumes to my sister.  They met in the middle to save them both the full drive.  It was late.  My step dad saw a deer crossing sign flashing and mentioned it to my mom.  My mom was driving the speed limit going around 80 mph.  She took her foot off the gas to slow her speed a bit.  She noticed a car pulled over on the shoulder of the freeway and changed lanes to give them room on the side of the road.  As her jeep crossed over the center line, she realized what had happened.  A huge moose had been hit and was lying length-wise in the middle of the passing lane.  

My heart started beating faster, my palms began to sweat and I wanted to scream or run or cry.  My head started spinning and I had to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming.  An internal dialog commenced as I continued to listen to the details of her story.  “Okay.  Just breathe, Maria.  She’s on the phone talking to you right now.  Don’t panic.  Just listen.  It’s okay.  Everything is going to be okay.”  My mom thinks there was probably 1-2 seconds from the time she saw the moose to the time they hit the moose.  She knew she couldn’t swerve to try to avoid hitting the moose or the jeep would roll.  She also knew she couldn’t run over it with one tire.  She had to try to center it or they were going to roll.  She put on her brakes, gripped the steering wheel and did her best to line up the jeep to hit the massive creature dead center.  They were launched into the air, did a 360 turn and eventually landed on the road again.  My mom described it as a reality version of Dukes of Hazard.  

My heart skipped a beat.  My mom.  My mother.  My rock.  The one person who has been there for every major and minor event in my life.  My most trusted confidant.  Memories flooded my mind.  

Angie and I preparing the best runaway plan ever contrived by an 8 year old, ready to escape the injustices of our middle class American lives.  Our bags were packed and our matching banana-seat bikes were prepped to go.  In her infinite wisdom, my mom inquired about the bags.  “We’re running away and no one can stop us!”  Without the slightest emotion or pause in her dialog, she replied, “Would you like me to pack you a lunch?  I think you might get hungry on your journey.”  Sigh.  Really mom?  Even running away isn’t going to rustle your feathers?  

She’s compassionate.  She’s nurturing.  She’s full of wisdom.  I don’t know a single person who does not like my mother.  Not one.  To know her is to love her.  Truly. 

I remember having a nightmare when I was very young.  It was so vivid, so realistic.  I remember relaying the details of my dream with all the drama and intensity my little girl heart could muster.  I was in a swimming pool and a shark was chasing me.  I couldn’t swim fast enough to escape.  She listened and expressed concern.  And then…she empowered me.  She told me that a dream is in my mind and even though it might be scary or seem realistic, I have the power to change it.  My mind can turn that dream around any way I decide.  I hesitantly closed my eyes and began the dream where it had ended.  Before long, I had visions of a powerful young girl who found her courage, turned around to face the shark, punched him in the nose, and rescued her entire family from utter destruction.  

My mom was determined to teach me what I needed to know and not leave me to my own devices.  I remember our first sex talk when I was about 9 or 10.  She was sitting in the laundry room sorting clothes and gave me a basic definition and understanding of the birds and the bees while my wide eyes stared at her in horror, praying to be anywhere but there.  She followed up regularly with updated bits of information she thought I was prepared to hear.  I was always shocked and devastated and wanted to escape, but she insisted on pushing through the awkward moments.  There were several times in my teens when friends whose parents were not nearly as open about answering sensitive questions came to me knowing my mom would answer any questions I had.  I found myself avoiding her when I sensed anything important was about to take place.  So she got creative.  

As a 15 year old with my learner’s permit, we headed out to log some miles in the big old van we affectionately referred to as “the bomb.”  It was a beast of a vehicle and incredibly intimidating for a young teen learning to drive.  I needed some practice on the freeway so we headed north on I-15.  My mom directed me where to turn.  Truth be told, she didn’t care.  I was captive for at least an hour.  It was nothing short of a hostage situation, and the stakes were high.  She was determined to keep the lines of communication open between us even if I felt uncomfortable.  We ended up driving down Sardine Canyon with the chaos of construction and shifting lanes to navigate.  My mom was cool as a cucumber as I gripped the steering wheel tightly and prayed this was not a 20 mile long detour with no exit in sight.  This moment?  She chose THIS moment to tell me she thought it was time to have another talk about sex?  

I knew the basics.  I’d experienced the embarrassment of the 5^th grade maturation program and aced my 8^th grade health class, but apparently the time had come to have another talk.  This one involved physiological details of the male anatomy.  I’ll spare you the details as I prefer my blog not end up flagged as inappropriate.  Seriously?  Mom!  Really?  Can we PLEASE do this another time?  NOPE!  We had that talk right then and there with my blood pressure sky high as I carefully made my way through the life-sized obstacle course, bobbing from side to side with every turn up, over and around the orange barricades.  

I smiled at the memories.  My mom ALWAYS did what she felt was best for me despite my fears, frustrations or level of discomfort – a sign of a truly great parent.

My mother.   What would I do without her?  Just the thought brought an ache so deep in my chest that I felt my heart might literally break.  But she was talking to me now.  She was on the phone with me.  I shook my head back and forth to gain my composure.  Okay.  I’m back.  

My mom continued her tale.  She told me the one thought that kept going through her head was, “Don’t overcorrect.  Stay calm.  DO NOT OVERCORRECT!"

The jeep landed and she held tight to the steering wheel, instinctively listening to the words echoing in her head.  She didn’t move the steering wheel as they flew through the air and turned around completely.  She held on tight and her body jerked forward as they landed hard, experiencing first-hand multiple laws of physics in action.  She held the steering wheel and adjusted it ever so slightly as they landed, slid and eventually came to a stop.  The jeep stayed upright.  They were alive.  They had survived.  

Her story continues with heroic splendor.  My mom kept her calm.  She called the police to tell them about the accident…and the moose.  It was clearly a danger to everyone.  When all was said and done, 10 cars reported accidents as a result of the moose in the road, but there were zero fatalities.  With an accident involving a moose, that is rarely the case.  They were lucky.  Or more accurately, they were blessed.  

The officers took them to the gas station down the road, and they shared stories with strangers now forever bonded together by a unique connection with a dead moose on the highway.  The car who originally hit the moose started talking about the second car to hit it and how they watched in horror as the jeep flew through the air, spun around, landed and slid.  My mom hesitantly replied, “Um, yeah.  That was us.”  The police officers turned to her in wonder.  “Where did you learn to drive like that?  How in the world did you manage to keep the jeep upright?”  I couldn’t help but SMILE as I listened to this portion of her story.  Yep!  She’s pretty amazing!  Just try to picture my cute mom in her silver jeep driving Dukes of Hazard style.  The jeep lands, she realizes they are both okay and takes a deep breath.  She proceeds to dial 9-1-1, reports the accident, informs them that there is a moose in the passing lane that needs to be removed and then sits and waits for the police to arrive.  

As much as I admire my mom and her super human abilities, she is but a mortal.  It would be foolish and prideful not to acknowledge divine aid that was clearly an integral part of this experience.  The words, “…I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up…” echoed through my mind (D&C 84:88).  Yes.  That’s EXACTLY what happened.   

I tried to say something, but I was speechless.  Other than a few weak attempts at humor acknowledging a potential career as a stunt driver, I didn’t say much of anything.  I tried.  My thoughts bounced like a ping pong ball from past to present to future and back again, but I could not find words to describe it. What was I thinking?  What was I feeling?  Is this really happening?  

We finished the conversation with a small discussion about her thoughts for canceling the birthday dinner she had planned that night with the family.  “We didn’t get home until after 2 in the morning and I didn’t have time to shop.  Plus, I think I may have injured my shoulder.  I don’t know if I’m just sore or if maybe it’s out of the socket or something from gripping the steering wheel so hard when we landed.  It kind of jerked my arm when we hit the ground.  I think I might need to take some Motrin and see how I feel tomorrow.”  Oh my goodness!  Just the idea of her logic and apology over needing to cancel dinner makes me laugh.  "Yeah, mom.  I’m pretty sure it’s okay to postpone a family dinner when you are involved in a traumatic car accident in the middle of the night."

I hung up the phone and just sat and stared at the wall.  It was so much to process.  “Thank you for keeping my momma safe, Lord!”  Tears streamed down my cheeks.  I sat in silence.  And like a broken record, the words so clearly spoken to my mom repeated over and over in my mind, “Do not overcorrect.  Do not overcorrect.”  

I love stories.  I love analogies.  I devoured the scriptures last year as I taught parables spoken by the Savior in the New Testament to 10 and 11 year olds.  I love the simplicity of such stories and yet the continued LIGHT and KNOWLEDGE that come from studying and pondering them over a lifetime.  The Lord speaks to me in a similar manner.  

As the words, “Do not overcorrect” swirled through my head, I immediately saw myself in this story.  The past three months have been extremely difficult, possibly the most difficult extended period I have ever experienced in my life.  And now I saw my trials through the eyes of the driver of the jeep.  I was behind the wheel.  I was obeying the law.  I was appropriately cautious.  I saw the sign warning of deer and moose and slowed my driving accordingly.  I changed lanes to make room for a car stopped along the side of the road.  And then I saw the gigantic obstacle in my path, fully aware there was no way around it.  I could not swerve and avoid it.  There was no time to stop.  I had to grip the steering wheel, center the jeep and allow myself to hit the moose.  I flew through the air, spun around until I was dizzy, and landed hard and rough with the momentum of a 6^th grade science experiment gone awry.  

I wish I could say the moose analogy currently finds me at the gas station with a grin on my face as those around me comment on my incredible driving skills.  I’m not even sure I can tell you what part of the analogy I am currently experiencing.  It seems that unlike my mom’s real life experience, the moose analogy finds me flying through the air, spinning and landing hard and rough over and over again.  The words that likely saved the life of two people very near and dear to me echo in my own mind as I ponder this analogy: “Don’t overcorrect.  Do not overcorrect.”  

This is not one of those trials that happens over the weekend and you are able to move on with a fist bump and a smile.  It is proving to be a much longer trial of intense proportions.  One of those fall-to-your-knees, sobbing hysterically, hoping you remembered to feed your kids that day, talking to yourself in the car on the freeway kind of trials.  It’s hard!  I’m not going to pretend otherwise.  I barely make it through the day more times than not.  I see the wisdom.  I catch a glimpse of God’s purpose and plan in all this chaos.  But the reality of this experience is less than glamorous.  Learning is uncomfortable.  Personal growth is painful.  And scary.  But I’m beginning to believe that like the car accident, surviving this moment in my life may actually be possible.  

As I am metaphorically launched through the air, spin around and come crashing down over and over again, I remind myself again:  “Don’t overcorrect.  Stay calm.  Don’t panic.  Make minor adjustments as necessary.  DO NOT OVERCORRECT!” 

Black Boot Update

When I found out I would spend six weeks in a big black boot, I had plans for a fabulous boot burning party.  OK.  I can do this.  I have to do this.  I will do this.  But I am going to seriously celebrate when the torture of wearing this blasted contraption 24/7 comes to a close.  I had glamorous visions of unstrapping the boot, stepping onto the plush green grass and then running, leaping and pirouetting to freedom.  A new beginning.  The end of my pain.  I saw it unfold before me in great detail.  I know, I know.  The unrealistic expectations created in the wrinkles of my mind are laughable.  

I went to see the orthopedic surgeon every two weeks.  He was pleased with the progress I was making. I was optimistic and excited that my quirky rule-following nature had made me an excellent patient.  I showed up for my 6 week visit and was told my healing had surpassed his expectations.  Internal fist bump and congratulatory self-talk instantly commenced, “Sweet! You freaking rock, Maria!  Way to go, girl!”  The doctor gave me instructions for easing into life without the boot.  At that point the likelihood of breaking or injuring my foot again was pretty slim.  “Nice!  Okay, let’s move on then.”  But transitioning from wearing a boot 24/7 to walking in a shoe was not smooth and seamless.  Apparently I’d grown more attached than I realized to the protection and security the boot provided. 

The moment of stepping away forever from the captivity of the black boot was disappointing and anti-climactic.  Whatever super mom, save-your-precious-daughter kung fu moves I performed on the stairs that resulted in broken bones and joints in my foot apparently also displaced a couple bones in my ankle.  I had no range of motion whatsoever.  I walked sideways with stiff, Frankenstein-like steps.  Oh boy!  This is going to take some work.  After a chiropractic visit, I am less awkward walking on my foot and have a list of exercises that should improve my range of motion over time.  My foot aches and swells easily.  But there is visible progress.  I finally recognize my right foot as the other half of a missing pair, although at this point it resembles a distant cousin rather than a twin.  

My life continues to mirror that of my foot in more ways than I wish.  My moments of despair are accompanied by hope and healing.  But…like my foot, my progress is slower than I would have hoped or expected.  I love stories of miraculous healing and tender mercies.  They inspire me to carry on when life gets tough.  But “…by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).  I was awaiting my defining moment of foot healing glory…but it never came.  Upon reflection, I realized that healing is almost always a process, not an occasion.  I’m learning patience.  I’m learning to trust the Lord.  Keep moving.  One step at a time.  Listen.  Obey.  Don’t stop.  There are angels round about me, both on earth and in heaven.  I have seen and felt that reality.  But I get distracted.  I catch a glimpse of the storm that surrounds me and I lose sight of the Savior.  My faith wavers and I start to fear.  I forget grace.  Grace, the strengthening power that comes from the atonement of Jesus Christ.  The ability Christ has to make up the difference when we have given all we have to give and still fall short.  I lose sight of it often.  Sigh.  

This update is not about the moment I stepped out of my black book.  It’s an explanation of my process, a process that is much more difficult than I imagined.  I'm cautious, even fearful.  I limp.  I wobble.  I hop.  I instinctively pause on my left leg with flamingo-like balance.  I gently flex my foot as I drive.  I take a deep breath and smile as I see the road up ahead.  There is hope and joy and freedom.  And then, like a tortoise in its shell, I retreat to the comfort and protection of my trusty old black boot.  Two steps forward and one step back.  The momentous event of my dreams was less than glamorous, but my slow and steady process to happiness and healing continues.

The Black Boot Analogy

I can’t drive.  I have to rest after being on my foot for a short period of time.  I can barely take care of my kids.   Showering is surprisingly difficult, requiring an absurd amount of planning and preparation.  I had no idea how many every day tasks would become a chore when I broke my right foot.  It feels like an eternity ago, and yet seems like it happened yesterday.  In reality, I’ve been wearing this clunky big black boot (the dreaded triple B) for over a month now.  It’s awkward and inconvenient.  I hate it.  And yet I love it.  I need it.  It protects me from further injury.  And over the past several weeks, it’s become a part of me. 

Unfortunately, the clunky black boot was a minor part of the trials that piled up one after another last month.  A nasty virus took out the whole family one by one, cellulitis in Dylan’s eye and high fevers that wouldn’t break threatened to send us to the emergency room three nights in a row, cellulitis in Caleb’s fingers broke out a day later, our “good” car broke down and needs a new transmission in the midst of financial trials, my grandpa got hit by a car riding his bike home from the coffee shop and spent the night in the hospital…  Every day was something new.  I was living my nightmare.  And in the midst of so many mortal trials, the foundation of my universe collapsed.  
As difficult as everything on the surface has been, it amounts for a tiny fraction of the internal torment I am experiencing. 

My optimistic, “I can do this” attitude was shattered in an instant.  My prayers of gratitude and thanksgiving became desperate pleas for deliverance.  My prayers of help me do thy will became “please help me get through this day…or even just the next hour.”  I took each new trial in stride.  I smiled and knew I would get through it.  And then one day I collapsed under the weight of so many trials compounded.  It was simply too much to bear.

MY EMOTIONS CANNOT BE TRUSTED!  I go from feeling numb to despair, from anger to fear.  In moments when I manage to surpass the intense depression I am experiencing, I attempt to reflect.  I have faith.  I trust God.  I know good can come from extreme sorrow and trials.  But it is difficult.  A depression that comes on with such intensity creates a thick fog that clouds reality.  It’s difficult to see the light, to see anything but  darkness.  But I have moments – brief moments – of clarity.  Moments where I am still Maria and feel a divine purpose and connection with a loving Heavenly Father.  I cling to those moments like a starving POW in a concentration camp clings to the last grain of rice in the tiny bit of sustenance he is fed once a day.  Those moments of hope are everything, the only relief I get from hours and hours of torture, torment and despair.  It was during a moment of clarity and reflection that the broken foot analogy came to light.  My initial plan was to write my thoughts in my personal journal.  I am hesitant to publicly share my thoughts, and yet a part of me feels like I need to.  Perhaps it will be therapeutic.  Perhaps someone needs to hear the words I write.  I’m not sure why, but I’ve decided to share my personal thoughts here today. 

The pain I experienced when I broke my foot was intense.  I knew I had likely broken my big toe.  Others who saw pictures thought the same.  But I didn’t realize my foot was broken in 5 places, including two joints.  I had no idea that a similar break can cause long-term problems if not handled correctly.  I couldn’t foresee the panic that would appear in the eyes of the Instacare doctor when she realized that what she thought was merely a sprain was actually a complicated break.  I was shocked at the urgency I sensed when doctors and nurses immediately placed my foot in a big black boot to protect it from further damage.  It happened so fast.  It was like a dream, like watching a movie stuck in fast forward mode.  I couldn’t stop it.  I couldn’t slow it down.  Every moment felt like something new unraveled, but I didn’t have time to ponder or process.  I had to experience it all as it happened and sort it out later. 

I had no idea that after hearing about my break, the orthopedic surgeon had scheduled the Operating Room at the hospital before I even arrived for my appointment the next morning.  It was all so sudden. I knew surgery was likely that morning, but the reality of needing surgery hadn’t fully hit me until I was given the possibility of healing without surgery.  For the first time in twelve hours, I exhaled.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  And then I sobbed.  As bad as the break was, the bones were somehow not displaced.  My foot could potentially heal without invasive surgery, pins, screws and the potential of arthritis and other complications later in life.  None of that was apparent by simply looking at my swollen, bruised foot the day it broke.  It took x-rays – a detailed look on the inside – to make sense of it.  And even with x-rays, I needed an expert to point out the tender mercy that occurred in the midst of such chaos and ruin. 

My heart and soul suffered fractures and breaks that seem to mirror my foot.  Some things you can’t share.  Some things you don’t want to.  Friends and family know we are struggling.  We have had meals and rides and help with kids.  But the extent of this set of trials compiled cannot be seen with human eyes.  It is clear there is damage, but only a look on the inside would reveal the true extent of the hurt and pain and daily struggle that is my current reality.  It is much more severe than the battered exterior may indicate.  And because the breaks are complicated, I have the equivalent of a big black boot protecting my heart from further damage.  One more bump or bruise could be catastrophic.

People ask me how I’m doing.  What can they do to help?  Sigh.  I wish I knew.  I don’t have an answer.  That shadow of a woman you glance from a distance wearing the same pair of old pajama pants for the third day in a row chasing half-dressed kids down the cul-de-sac like a pirate on a peg leg isn’t simply swollen and bruised.  She has complicated breaks that require expert eyes to assess and repair.  Injuries that only the Master Physician can heal.  Like my foot, there is no quick fix.  My current set of trials requires patience, humility and an enormous amount of faith.  In the meantime, I’m doing the best I can to take one awkward clunky big black boot step forward at a time. 

From Caveman to K-Bub

I have missed a lot of time blogging and there is no such thing as catching up on lost time, but I'm going to do my best to blog what matters most to me.

Caleb is 2.  He turned 2 in August, two months ago.  He had very few words when he turned 2 and the doctor was talking about getting him into early intervention.  Since we've been that direction before with Preston, I politely declined and told him we'd try some things on our end first.  I started him on the listening program and hopefully we can start working on primitive reflex exercises with him sooner than later.  

Caleb has been a super busy baby and toddler.  The past year has had me on my toes chasing, cleaning and attempting to stay one step ahead of Caleb and anticipate his next disaster.  I have to admit that fact has made it much more difficult for me to enjoy the sweet person that is my baby boy.  

I've been in a pretty deep depression as well as experienced major bouts of extreme anxiety the past couple months.  It's been rough!  Several things have happened to flip things around, but that's another blog post.  Needless to say, I have reevaluated some things and am trying to do what matters most to me and let other things fall away.  As part of that, I am trying to enjoy each child and their unique personalities more.  I wanted to start by talking a little bit about Caleb.  

Caleb is kind of like a tank rolling through a town.  He's big and tough and you can usually see him coming.  He knocks things down and leaves a mark wherever he's been.  But he's sweet.  When I put him on time out, he puts his hand over his mouth and tears well up in his eyes.  He's started biting, hitting and pinching when he is frustrated, but he immediately apologizes after he realizes he's made a mistake.  He's aggressive, but loving and sweet.  Kind of a mixture of the older two boys in one little toddler body.  

Caleb LOVES routine and is a creature of habit.  After I change his diaper in the morning, he takes it into the bathroom garbage and throws it away, takes the garbage sack out of the can and takes it downstairs to take out to the green garbage with Preston (whose job it is to take garbages out).  He cries if we don't let him help and is so proud of every new step of independence he gains.  He also loves immitating me in the kitchen.  If something spills, he is the first one to go get out a towel or rag and do his best to soak up the mess.  Sometimes I have no idea anything has even spilled unless I hear his darling little voice shout, "ah-hoh" (uh-oh).  So cute!  He is obsessed with garbage trucks so we try to rush outside to watch as the cans get dumped every week when we hear the garbage truck pull into the cul-de-sac.  He calls ALL trucks "gah-badge chucks" but loves them all.  Since his vocabulary is still quite limited, he uses hand signals to help him tell a story.  I love stories involving garbage trucks, as his little arm shoots straight up in the air to indicate the garbage trucks dumping the cans.  Melts my heart!  

His relationships with siblings rotates, but in general he and Dylan get along really well.  He loves when Dylan tends and is attentive to him.  They read, sing and play games together for hours.  I hope somehow that they both are able to remember the sweet time they spent together as oldest and youngest siblings.  

Caleb is also obsessed with his push toy lawn mower.  He asks for it multiple times a day.  I'm such a softy, I've given up on house rules and it has become and indoor/outdoor toy for him.  When Marcos mows the lawn, he cries and cries until he is allowed to go out and help and observe.  He will pace back and forth pushing his own lawn mower while he watches Marcos cut the real lawn.  

Now that I know some of these obsession and tendency to perseverate and want routine so much is likely a right brain delay, I know what we're dealing with.  I am trying to take that information in stride, knowing their is a purpose in all things.  We've been through so much to learn about Preston's delays and learning challenges.  Every time we learned something new (and still today to some degree) I would get a pit in my stomach and panic for a minute.  It's hard facing a new reality, especially when big terms and scary words are shoved down your throat.  But I feel like I have a better understanding of why this happens, and, most importantly, how to help him grow and develop as he gets older.  Caleb's challenges are nowhere near what Preston's were.  He understands and is clearly very bright, but his speech delay frustrates him at times and I can see the breakdown in what he is trying to communicate and what he is able to.  But thanks to all the work and knowledge we have received over the years, I am much more calm dealing with a less than perfect learning situation (which doesn't really exist anyway).  

Caleb is a climber.  He always has been and probably always will be.  I have pictures of him at the top of a ladder next to the attic door when he was 18 months old.  He has no fear when it comes to heights and climbing.  But, he did get nervous this summer in the water when he couldn't touch the bottom.  He got past it for the most part, but he was the first child we have had that didn't feel completely comfortable in the water.  

Even though he has a very independent nature, he is also quite obedient.  He will start to run away or fight something he doesn't want to do, but as soon as he realizes you're not trying to take away his freedom, that you know what he wants and are trying to help him attain it, he will hold your hand and follow you anywhere.  I have to remember that as he gets older.  No trying to control.  Listen, teach, try to understand, and guide him where he needs to go.  Those are going to be important things for this child.  

I LOVE my little blondie!  I know his bleached blonde look will not last long.  It will darken this winter and maybe never have the natural highlights that this summer brought, but I think it's been fun to have such a blonde one following me around.  I love my little mixed latino babies, but I never realized how strange it would be as a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman to have all dark-haired, brown-eyed children.  I LOVE the Uboldi mold the genes of Marcos and me create, but it is fun to have one look a little bit more like me for a brief moment in time.  

Caleb loves to read, especially before bed.  He will read any time of the day, but at night, he would read 30 books in a row if I let him.  He went from not being able to hold still to wanting lots and lots of books.  I still wing it and "tell" the story instead of reading it more times than not.  He loves animals and their sounds so we play up that aspect in all the books.  But sometimes I just read, especially if it's a book that rhymes.  And usually he'll sit there and listen.  Until he's finished.  Then he closes the book, says "the end" (except it sounds nothing like the end for someone who doesn't know him) and chooses another book for me to read.  I love that books are such a big part of his culture.  That's how Marissa was too!  She grew up with little screen time and lots of books, toys and outdoor time.  And she has the BEST imagination ever!  I love that part of our family culture!!  We have plenty of things we need to work on, but I'm proud of many things we have decided to do and been able to accomplish as a couple and as a family.  

Caleb has a big smile and a playful demeanor.  I love connecting with him through words, giggles and his infamous grunt.  He started grunting to say yes months ago and even though he can say both yes and si now, he still grunts to indicate an affirmative answer more times than not.  That is a big part of where the nickname caveman came from.  He is a tough little man who knows how to get his needs met with a series of grunts, yells and unique hand gestures.  He is now able to look in a mirror and point out Caleb and mommy and not just looking for someone he recognizes in the mirror.  I don't know when that happened, but he's recently been talking about it.  It's a good thing, a developmental milestone.  It means he sees himself as separate from the world around him.  Kind of the way babies get separation anxiety.  They realize they are separate from mom and worry she won't come back when they are separated for a period of time.  Anyway, as we've asked Caleb about who is in the mirror or who's ball it is or whatever, he now answers, "K-BUB".  So our little caveman is transforming right before our eyes into our very own K-BUB!  Pretty cool stuff!  

He's becoming a picky eater and clearly has some sensory issues.  He loves his soft blanket on his face, he hates getting food on his hands and wants it washed off immediately, and textures of foods are starting to really bother him when he eats.  It'll be interesting to see how much we have to deal with sensory stuff before we are able to start helping him through Brain Balance exercises, which should help turn things around at some point.  

Caleb loves music!  I started taking him to the toddler Musikgarten class and he adores it!  He loves rhythm and gets calm and really listens whenever I put Musikgarten CDs on at home.  It's been cute to watch him make the connection that we're not in class, but he's still hearing music he heard in class.  He really is a smart little cookie!  

Preston

We're in the middle of Brain Balance and I'm tracking the progress of both Dylan and Preston on a blog specifically set up to document all of that.  Today Preston and I had a conversation that I wanted to share on my personal blog so I would remember.  I thought it was a little too personal to share with the world.  Preston was getting ready for bed.  His mind is so awake right now, and he's growing in leaps and bounds.  This is how the conversation went tonight.

P: Mom, is this way left and this way right? (pointing as he asked)
M: Yes, this is your right hand and this is your left hand.  Good job!
P: I think it'll be left then right then left again to get there.
M: To get where?
P:  My mission.
M:  Oh, yeah.  Well, maybe.
P:  I'm just not sure how to get there yet.  I guess Jesus will tell me where to go when it's time for me to go on my mission.
M:  Yes, Preston.  I'm sure Jesus will tell you where to go.
P:  I guess I'll just have to eat gluten on my mission, right?
M:  Yeah, you can probably eat gluten on your mission.
P:  Am I going to need a cell phone on my mission?
M:  You will probably have some sort of a phone so you can contact people.
P:  I'm just going to be so excited to tell you all about my mission when it's over.
M:  Yeah, bud.  I'm going to be so excited to hear all about it.
P:  You will?  You're going to want me to tell you all about it?
M:  Of course!
P:  Don't worry, Mom.  I'll tell you all about it.  I'm going to do so good on my mission.  You're going to be so glad!  And then maybe we'll have a party.
M:  A party?  Oh, you mean when you get home?  Yes, I'm sure we'll have a big party when you get home to hear all about your mission.


I seriously can't believe how mature this conversation was, not to mention spiritual.  This kid.  He's pretty amazing!  He has a heart of gold!  It's incredible to see how much the Brain Balance program is helping him already!  I can't wait to see how he continues to grow and develop this year.

Lessons Learned From A Princess Party

Today is Marissa's 4th birthday!  I honestly cannot believe she is that old already.  It seems like yesterday she was a baby.  And barely walking and starting to talk.  But nope, she's officially a preschooler!  Anyway, we had a fun party that kind of evolved as time progressed.  Over the years I have learned to tame my excitement towards themed parties.  Now I try to do simple, affordable, but fun and meaningful for the child.  That's not always easy to do.  Even pre-pinterest, I was a little out of control with my desire to tie everything together perfectly.  So...here are a few of the lessons I learned from my very first "princess party" (in no particular order).

1. Pinterest is evil...and awesome at the same time!  If you can get some ideas without going crazy or feeling totally inadequate, you can save yourself some time and effort.  But it's easy to get sucked into the black hole of Pinterest never to be heard from or seen again (just ask Marcos)!

 2.  Practical gifts are not what kids want.  For me, giving dress-ups is painful.  They aren't even real clothes.  But it was the only thing Marissa really wanted this year.  So she got two dresses (the first two non-hand-me-down dress-ups she has ever owned).  

3.  Four year old girls are one of the sweetest creatures to walk the earth!  They can also be the sassiest at times (but that's another post...and picture).

4.  Tell people you are having a theme party.  You never know who else may have had a similar party in the past.  You might end up hitting the jackpot and be able to borrow a bunch of cool decorations...FOR FREE!  Thanks Amy!

5.  Every little girl wants to feel like a princess.  And when she does, you're probably doing something right.  Not in the "I'm so spoiled I don't know what to do with myself" sense but in the "I am precious and treasured beyond measure" sense. 

6.  I'm only going to have a 4-year-old girl once.  I must cherish these moments!

7.  Brothers are cute, protective, and Marissa's biggest fans.  They also LOVE Olaf.  

8.  Getting 4 kids to smile simultaneously is nothing short of miraculous.  I'll take 2 out of 4 any day!

9.  Babies don't hold still for long (especially 10-11 month old boy babies).  Baby Olaf looks like he's MELTING! 

10. Even if you aren't planning on throwing a friend party, when your only daughter wants a princess party, you have a friend party.  

11. Girls pose! Even when they don't realize they're posing.  I think it's hidden somewhere in the second "x" chromosome. 

12.  I am still a total a tomboy!  And the mom of 3 boys. Look at the arm on those beautiful girlies!  Way to knock down the cups, chicas!

13.  Twirling in a princess dress is a MUST! 

 14.  Simples games are the best!  Throwing snowballs at the "ice castle" was a total hit with this crowd!  They could have played it forever!
15.  Four friends at a party for a 4-year-old is plenty.
16.  You can't invite everyone you know.  It isn't personal, it's practical!
17.  Pleasing the birthday girl is what matters, not what the rest of the world thinks.

18. Again, tell people you're throwing a party!  You might end up with a guest appearance.  One who brings darling princess crowns and wands for all the guests.  And then hosts a fun sing-along.  

Thanks MaryJane! 

19.  I can almost see why people buy pointless accessories for their daughters.  I may be super practical and frugal but LOOK HOW CUTE!!

20.  I just LOVE this girl! 

21.  A sing-along is a total hit with a bunch of Frozen fans!  Really!

22.  Kids love opening presents! (Shocker, I know!)

23.  And have a difficult time not helping the birthday girl to open presents.  ;) 

24.  My sister has an amazing cream cheese frosting recipe.  

25.  I can cook, bake and follow a recipe, but I will not be hired any time soon as a cake decorator.

26.  Despite my lack of skills in the decorating department, a simple cupcake with a Frozen character on a stick is a total hit with the 3-4 year old crowd (and the Olaf fan club)! 

27.  Magical moments don't happen every day!  

28.  Be grateful when you capture one! 

29.  Marissa is actually quite good at sharing if people ask her nicely to play with her things.  Not so much when things are taken from her (as is often the case with her brothers). 

30.  She's happy in the old hand-me-down dress-up as well as the new ones.  It doesn't seem to matter as long as it's sparkly, shiny, and you can twirl in it. 

31. Olaf is cool enough that a 10-year-old boy is willing to participate in a Frozen birthday party. 

32.  Middle Olaf was even willing to pose with Elsa.   

33.  Having Baby Olaf sleep during the princess party was BRILLIANT!  Big pat on the back for me right there!  

34.  Pay attention when your baby starts crying.  I was so excited to finally get a shot of him with his Olaf shirt that I didn't realize he was being bit by ants.  Poor kid!  

35.  Moms sometimes do stupid things to get a good picture of kids.

36.  And it's usually still worth it to us when all is said and done.

37.  Sometimes little princesses just want to play babies and watch Frozen and that's okay.   A couple games got postponed for after the party.  

38.  Have a plan, but learn to go with the flow. When it was clear we had played enough games, we postponed the rest for later.

39.  Big brothers like LOTS of games.  

40.  A simple game in the backyard with siblings is a beautiful thing!

This one was called "keep the ice blocks on Christoff's sled" and was really fun for my boys (and Marissa).  

41.  Sometimes you start out alone on a journey... 

42.  ...but realize you need help (or would rather work as a team) in the end!

Happy birthday, Princess Marissa!  We love you more than you will ever know!  Thanks for all the life lessons today and every day.  :)

A Moment Of Joy

It's been a rough month!  We had two birthdays in March, plus we're getting our house ready to sell (which I've found that after ten years  and four kids is quite a process).  I've been so busy working on the house, and Marcos has been way busy at work.  Needless to say, the kids have suffered.  It's been chaotic and our routine has all but dissolved.  The last couple of days, Dylan has been in his room for timeout more than he's been out.  I've screamed.  I've cried.  I have not been at my best.  Today we were able to watch General Conference as a family.  We put out treats with words and the kids could take a treat when they heard the word during a conference talk.  It was a pretty good conference session with all the kids participating.  After, we ate lunch and the kids asked Marcos to jump on the tramp with them.  And he did.  I stayed inside with Caleb and cleaned up the kitchen.  But...I want to take a moment to reflect on the pure joy I feel right now.  Not the chaos I've been dealing with or the fear or sadness, but the pure joy.  Watching my husband jump with the kids on the tramp while I hang out with the roley poley cheerful little caterpillar, inching his way along the floor in the family room brings me such joy.  So here is a glimpse into what brought me joy today.

Caleb Turns 7 Months

Caleb 5 months (January 2014)

Caleb 6 months (February 2014)

Caleb 7 months (March 2014)

Okay, at this point, I'm thinking blogging, journaling, etc. is a complete loss. I'm so far behind, my computer is a mess, and I've lost pictures. It's devastating! So I've been doing nothing. But there is this nagging inside me to journal, to capture little moments of my life and the lives of my children. Even if it's incomplete. Even if it's not perfect. Even if it's not Pinterest worthy (gasp). So here we go. As I said before, we are having some issues with our computer and consequently our pictures from the last few years. So I can't post exactly what I would otherwise post. But...Caleb is now 7 months old. He has reached some fun milestones over the last couple months that I thought I should mention. Two days before he turned 6 months, he got his first tooth, and four days after that his second one came in. He has been rolling around and scooting trying to explore his world and get into everything in sight for about a month and a half now. He didn't love solid food the first time he tried it, but after a couple more attempts, he is sold. He LOVES squash and bananas and we will continue introducing more food a little at a time. Caleb is very mellow and happy. He is usually content to play on the floor and interact with those around him. He is very tolerant of older siblings, cousins, and even the dog. However, once he is mad, he is definitely irritated. He can go from 0 to 60 in no time at all, and his squeal is as high pitched as any I have heard before. He sounds as if he's about to lose his voice when his squealing goes from happy to mad. It's very unique to him. He can balance on his legs (like our other kids have done with Marcos) but does not choose to very often and instead will let his legs buckle under him when Marcos tries to do "tricks" with him. He is wiggly and squirmy when it's time to change his diaper. He's definitely inquisitive and on the move right now. He is very social, but laid back. He laughs, but in a very chill, mom-you're-so-silly kind of way. He smiles and interacts, but on his own terms. He is a joy, and we are so lucky to have him in our family!

Valentine's Day

If you know Marcos, you know he has the biggest HEART ever! He would do anything for anyone.  He would literally give others the shirt off his back. It's just who he is. But, he's never been a good gift-giver.  EVER!  It used to bother me.  I am sentimental and think a lot about gifts before making the perfect purchase.  But I've had to learn to manage my expectations a bit.  Unfortunately, Valentine's Day is pretty much just another day around here.  After many years of hurt feelings and wondering why Marcos just didn't get it, I stopped worrying about it.  Some people are better at some things than others, and gift giving is definitely not his specialty.  Marcos was out of town on Valentine's Day this year so I didn't give the romantic holiday a second thought.  I helped the kids decorate boxes and get a few valentines ready for a party with friends and called it good.  So imagine my surprise when I opened up the door on Valentine's Day and there was a delivery from 1-800-flowers with my name on it.  Yep, the kid went all out and got me not one, but two dozen assorted roses.  Super impractical, and very cliche, but I have to say, I really did LOVE getting flowers.  So, I thought it was worth documenting this historic occasion.  Happy Valentine's Day, Marcos!  Thanks for being mine!