Christmas 2014

I had high hopes of cultivating some new Houston Christmas traditions but alas I was too weary.  We attended Andrew's school production of A Christmas Carol, which was truly extraordinarily well done. I wish I had invited other people because it was probably the best live action rendering I have ever seen.  We sat on rolled up mats in the wrestling room and watched through the open-air windows, since the seating there was superior to our folded chairs on the deck.  Claire repeatedly requested "nursers!", Will and Porter demonstrated their incapacity to sit still for any length of time, and Andrew sat with his classmates in the choir probably not singing and it was perfect.  The night was beautiful and balmy, the play of perfect length (under an hour), capped off with cookies and chocolate milk under the huge great oak, dripping with oversized glowing lights, while kids ran wild in the dark adjoining field.  I loved it.

We took the boys to Toys R Us one night to buy gifts for each other.  Porter couldn't stop shopping for himself.  I can slightly understand, though, since he is the easiest one to shop for.  I couldn't stop shopping for him myself, and ended up having to give one of his presents to Will to even things out when wrapping time came.

The sister missionaries came for Christmas Eve dinner, which brought a lot of cheer, particularly to the boys who went wild with the attention of it all.  Brigham and I spent all day cooking up a feast of mashed potatoes (still in the fridge), fresh french bread, ham, tenderloin and green bean casserole.

After the sisters left, we read Luke 2, opened one present each, pulled out the Christmas pajamas we bought 2 Christmases ago (that would be 2012) and sent the boys to bed.  Then Brigham and I enjoyed my favorite of our traditions:  wrapping all the presents together while watching Its A Wonderful Life.  I kept thinking how we watched this movie in our townhouse when we just had two little tiny boys, and in the basement of our home in McLean.  How happy and especially in love with this man who has given me my own wonderful life--a life that seems to keep increasing in happiness so much that I feel nervous that something is about to befall and rupture this delicate bubble of joy--I feel every time we set to wrapping under the glow of this old movie.

Christmas morning was sweet.  Everyone had one big gift (a lego set for Andrew, a scooter for Will, a Playmobil Dragon Castle set for Porter and a kitchen for Claire (and Porter).  I bought a bunch of book collections at costco, including the Little House series.  I am usually so cheap about stupid stuff and I am glad I got over that to invest in some wonderful children's literature.  We read the Christmas chapter out of Little House on the Prarie and I almost cried.  I want to read a Christmas chapter from her or something similar every year from now on.

 

We got to Skype with Katie on her mission in Ireland, which was a lot of fun.  Brigham has a wonderful family and it brought back a lot of memories from being a missionary in Chile to see her.

Later that night we had Christmas dinner with the Hickman family, our home away from home.  The kids had a wonderful time playing in their playroom, eating their delicious dinner and getting showered with the attention of the Hickman kids, whom even Claire allowed to hold and cuddle her.  The elders were there, which was a lot of fun.  We played a game at the end of the evening and I felt such a happiness looking over and seeing Porter stretched contentedly across the laps of two of the Hickman kids while Andrew and Will raucously and somewhat cluelessly participated in the game.  After one of the elders played a beautiful rendition of a Christmas medley on the piano, I felt our Christmas festivities, though they may not have been all I had hoped to accomplish, were plenty and sufficient.  I am so grateful to families who can open their homes to us when we don't have family here.

I had wanted to inculcate some volunteerism, some hand-made-gifting, some special service into our season but at the end of the day all I managed was loading Will down with Toys for Tots, one hand-made ornament each and a lot of baking and delivering of cookies and bread on Christmas Eve morning (the kids were actually thrilled with this one, at least).  Our cousins had the great idea of the kids hand-making presents for each other and I'd like to attempt that next year.  We squeaked out a Christmas card that probably didn't arrive until after Christmas to 49 people (I wouldn't let Brigham order more bc last year's cards are in my dresser still.)

I was unsatisfied with our photographic recording of our season so today, when we took down the tree,  I forced everyone to pose for me.  Our undecorating efforts will photographically substitute for our decorating ones.  It is great to just let things be good enough.

I have been feeling even more on edge with my over the top unabating nostalgia lately because we are in such a sweet spot with our kids.  Andrew, at 9, is still a little boy, but only just barely.  I think 10 is really wading out into some tween waters.  He is a great kid and as he has gotten older he has shown such wonderful new sides to himself.  Last night he gave a family prayer that had both Brigham and I blinking back tears.  I just am not ready for him to grow up.  Even looking at photos taken just one year ago I can see the changes in their faces and it breaks my heart.  Sometimes it feel just too clear and true that life really is like a vapor that is here in the morning and then disappears.  I feel these years slipping by before I can fully get my bearings and I feel overwhelmed by it all and that's when I just start watching tv to ignore it a bit and return to it later when I am ready to face it.  In some ways, one of the best parts for me in having another baby is the sense of renewal it brings to me, to my vision of our family.  We aren't done--there is another little guy coming along who hasn't had any Christmases or traditions or birthdays, yet.  We are still at the beginning of something.

I suppose that is what Christmas, in its own way, might be about, too.  The renewal of life.  This mystical, magical promise of things and people never ending, of ultimate restoration.  These days, these people we love and lose, all of these forgotten moments will all be restored to us and we will all be made whole together, in the end.  So these special years I am treasuring and yet insufficiently appreciating, these years I know I would one day give anything to relive any mundane moment, are not really evaporating when they are done. Somehow they will come back to me.  Maybe that is part of what eternity means.

So that was Christmas!

It Should Be Like Riding A Bike: A Parenting Confessional

This is my third time parenting a preschooler so I ought to know better.  I have already experienced the remorse and shame of expecting too much of too young a kid, but somehow I tend to forget these lessons.

Porter's class was performing Christmas songs in the chapel for all the parents.  We were told they ought to wear Christmas colors.  I pulled out a red polo for him the night before, let him sleep in a little bit too long the next day, and lost all grasp on preschool reality that morning when Porter had other ideas about what to wear and eat and how quickly to get out the door.

I remember taking far too seriously what Andrew wore at this age.  It reflected on me, I thought.  I wanted him to look groomed and cared for, and he wanted to wear dirty tracksuits.  I died on hills in battles that injured him, too.  I felt so bad about this and thought I had reformed but I guess when it comes to a program with photos involved I slip back into old ways.

Porter wanted to wear his Marine Corps t-shirt.  Its red.  I deployed some reasonable tactics to dissuade him but none worked.  We were going to be late so I gave up and told him to wear whatever he wanted, I did not care, and I didn't anymore.  But I had already planted seeds of doubt:  I had told him everyone else would be dressed up, that he wouldn't look nice stuff like that.  That was ok to do, but I was mad and that made him feel upset.  We got in the car and I spent the drive scolding him for making us late (when I ought to have awakened the four year old kid earlier).  He often looks at the bright side of things, noting that "its better than being dead" about most negative consequences, and tried to do the same here ("at least we won't miss it!") but I was having none of it.  We arrived and I hurried him into the chapel where the program was well underway.  I walked him all the way up to his teachers--he was obviously nervous at this point to be late and in front of a room full of parents, but I just kind of deposited him.

As soon as I sat down with Claire I felt instant regret that I had once again taken something way too seriously.  My typically confident, joyful little crazy man looked a little stooped of shoulder and nervous as he tried to sing with his class.  He wasn't even smiling.  The whole point of all of this is that he have fun and feel a sense of pride and accomplishment and I had made it about me.  All I wanted now was for him to feel good up there, to smile.  So I began acting like a different kind of crazy person, waving  my arms around and even daring to loudly whisper his name to get his attention.  I gave him big smiles and thumbs up, which he returned.  He started to look more confident and happy.

Then another little boy, just turned four and until a month ago the only child in his family, began acting a little silly.  He spotted his mom and all he wanted to do was leave the stage and sit with her.  She wanted him to remain and it turned into a big struggle ending with him crying in her arms while she told him how disappointed she was.  She was right next to me and I wanted so badly to tell her that it didn't matter but I knew I would just sound judgmental rather than so fully empathetic with her plight.  So I stayed out of it, but I wished there was a way I could tell her that we can't expect too much.  That some kids aren't ready to perform for us, that all we want for them is to find security in figuring out who they are.  That its ok if they just want to sit on the sidelines with us, so long as they are happy there.  There will be so many years and opportunities to venture further when they are ready.

Maybe I am wrong.  Maybe its good to have certain expectations in the context of public performances and also to enforce them, and maybe there are lessons kids need to learn that I am failing to see in these situations.  But for me, I know that when I am acting from a place of thinking about what others think of me or my kid or from fulfilling a personal parenting fantasy vision of what I think "ought" to be happening or what the other kids seem able to do, I am generally not going to end up handling my child well and things will probably end up in tears and frustration on both ends rather than laid-back, easy happiness.  One look at Porter's uncertainty and nervousness told me all I needed to know about what really mattered when it came to the preschool singing program.  If we were late, if Porter were wearing the slightly wrong shirt, well, at least we weren't dead.

 

How did it get late so soon?

How did it get late so soon?
Its night before its afternoon.
December is here before its June.
How did it get late so soon?

The first line of the above poem was the title of Will's (first ever) violin concert this evening.  It was my reward to take him while Brigham took all the other kids to Andrew's scouting event at church, so it was a relaxing and enjoyable experience for once!  As I ran across the campus to retrieve a bow from the teacher's room, something about the high 60s weather and the early darkness and the loud familiar noises of an elementary school basketball practice filled me with a strong sense of the past.  It struck me earlier today while on the phone in the backyard (to be sure not to rouse Claire from her nap) that it was so strange and surreal that the school secretary was referring to me when she said she had a "mom on the phone" asking about violin practice that day.  I am a mom and everyone else somehow thinks this is normal and natural.  But I feel just like I did when I was ten.  So tonight, walking through the schoolyard alone in that weather, with those timeless noises of elementary school basketball and the feel of the evening I had a few moments to think about how life really does just float by without us always noticing.  

Will did a great job.  It is only his second week of being involved in this violin group so he was pretty out of the loop on what he was supposed to be doing tonight but he just rolled with it in that easy way he has.  He told me tonight that he wants to learn to play the piano and drums, too.  I love his eagerness to delve into everything.    

Today Claire and Porter and I went to have lunch with some other moms from church.  Porter played so nicely with the host's toddler, chasing him and being a sweet big boy playmate to him.  Claire joined in while clutching a huge stuffed snowman and was happy and giggly so long as no one threatened her possession of the toy by looking at it.  I experience thoughts just about every day that my life here is so nice in many ways but it is hard to fully enjoy it bc my sisters and their kids are absent, as are a few of my closest friends and their kids.  The people who populated my days in Virginia.  I am not naturally inclined to spend time with other people, but I am making a goal to go out of my way to go outside of my comfort zone these days.  

Picking Andrew up from Western was another highlight.  While he was playing a dodge-ball-like game they have there, another little boy got really over-emotional and was trying to attack Andrew and other boys.  I loved watching Andrew handle himself in that situation.  He thought it was kind of funny and weird but he didn't get mad back or retaliate.  A few minutes later the kid reacted hysterically to being hit by the ball.  It was hilarious but my favorite part was that Andrew immediately recognized how funny it was and turned automatically to me to laugh together.  None of the other kids really got it or noticed, but I love that Andrew did.  He always has had a sophisticated sense of humor and I love that about him.  He mentioned that he wished he were a 5th grader so he could play school sports and I told him 5th grade would be here sooner than he knew.  It really will.    

So that was our day.    

Like Riding a Bike

Porter has once again beaten Will to the punch in mastering a physical feat.  He can now ride a two-wheel bike.  I was raking leaves in the front yard today while Claire and Porter played in the driveway when I looked up to see Porter taking off on the bike.  He had false starts and fell a few times, but every time he got back up again wholly undaunted.  He didn't even need my help.  He was thrilled with himself.  More than being proud of him for mastering the skill, I was so proud that he kept getting back up every time he fell over.  I tried to emphasize to him that the reason he was able to learn so quickly was that he didn't give up.

Claire was pretty jealous and kept screaming "No! Mine! Bike!" variously but gave it up after a while and he claims of ownership turned to "Awesome!" after we ignored her sufficiently.

We had a picnic (or rather "picnic"--can it technically be a meal when very little is eaten?) on the playground out back.  Porter is so sweet with Claire and it occurred to me today as they were swinging side by side and smiling at each other that we will miss Porter a lot next year.  Sometimes I discount how much Claire's days will be altered by his absence since he does spend many solitary hours playing the game where he's Jack.  But I guess that happens more when I am not taking them outside.

Tonight we went as a family to Will's scouting activity at school.  We made a chocolate yule log cake together and he talked me into also making meringue mushrooms to decorate it with.  So glad I did bc they were easy and turned out awesome.  Was glad we once again won no prizes bc that meant we could bring it home.  It was a gorgeous cake and I too way too many photos of it.  All in all a fun and beautiful day.  My only thought today was that I would enjoy everything so much more if I had my family here to live life with.

Thanksgiving 2014

We flew back to Virginia for Thanksgiving this year. Aside from the flights themselves, the trip was wonderful. We flew out on Thursday night (arrive at midnight EST) and returned 10 days later on a 7 am Sat morning flight. During the trip we got to experience some snowfall/sleet-fall, spent lots of time with cousins and visited the zoo on a beautiful fall day and the natural history museum on a chillier one. The Friday after Thanksgiving, we braved the crowds to fulfill our yearly pilgrimage to see the Christmas trains at the Botanical Gardens. Afterwards we headed to the National Gallery of Art where we ate lunch in the Cascade Cafe for a thousand dollars and then dragged the kids away from the gift shop and through the actual exhibits. The boys actually did enjoy some of the war-oriented art and a painting depicting a young man being attacked by a shark while men in a boat attempted rescue. Apparently the painting was based on an actual event (the kid lost a leg). Claire managed to step into one of the fountain displays due to my lack of proper supervision but was pretty stoic about having a drenched leg in jegging. If it had been one of her brothers we would have needed police and ambulance assistance.

Thanksgiving itself was the typical chaotic scene of kids everywhere, parents trying to coax their young into eating, etc. I made two pies: cherry and pecan. The cherry, with its homemade crust and multi-step filling, was a labor of love and did not disappoint. The pecan was good, too, but even I preferred the cherry. Mom's butternut squash soup was delicious but we will never know how to make it since there is more butter and cream in it than she wants to admit. I also made rolls but since we had only one oven and some had to be frozen the night before and baked that day after the turkeys were out they were a bit of a disappointment to me. Katie's beast of a dog Milkshake only managed to eat one when she jumped up on the counter. Small price to pay for the reminder to keep food well out of her broad range. Brigham and I made sure to have the stuffing he loves so much and made enough to last for weeks. It probably got tossed by my carb-avoidant mom after we left. I realized not for the first time that I put way too much stock into how good the food tastes. We forgot to sing any Thanksgiving hymns until later that night (but we did it!) and I found myself thinking that someday when I had kids of my own I would dress them up as pilgrims and Indians. Yep. Maybe it'll be a grandma thing. I will be a great grandma after having practiced on my kids.

I had a few specific goals for our trip back home. I wanted to see friends, which I did; I wanted to eat with Brigham at Coastal Flats, where we both ordered the shrimp and grits; and I wanted to spend time in DC. Overall I would say I felt like we did a decent job of using the time wisely. It was hard to return back to Houston, but I felt a redoubled sense of determination to integrate myself and the kids as fully into our lives here as possible. At the wreath-decorating event the Mc2nd RS held the first Sat morning, I was reminded of how many wonderful people were all around me for so many years and it was so nice to see them again and I wished I had better taken advantage when I lived here. The same is certainly true anywhere, and I hope that it tears our hearts a bit to leave Houston someday, too. I am so grateful to the friendships I have forged over the years and am regretful about the ones I allowed to lapse a bit through inattention. It doesn't take much--a dinner once a year, even--to keep people in your life. Wish I'd figured that out a decade ago.

We arrived back in Houston at 9 am, trekked back to our house and immediately departed for our Christmas tree hunt. I am glad we chopped our trees in the past when we could bc that isn't happening here. We found a nice big one and had a lot of fun starting our Christmas season with getting it up and strung with lights. We have decorated it over intervening days but there are more ornaments and thus opportunities to capture attractive photos of the children with a real, as opposed to a phone, camera.

The one overarching feeling I had during the entire week in Virginia, though, was one of deeply noticing the absence of my dad. Something about returning after being away made me miss him even more. I think he would be really happy to know where we are all in our lives but I think he hates not being here for it. In a way I am glad that the holidays, and trips to DC or McDonalds or morning breakfasts at 7916, have all lost a bit of their savor without him because it keeps him with us a bit more.

forget me not

Let it not be forgotten that right now

Porter calls Andrew and Will "Sugar" and "Buck" respectively, referring to their horsey names when they give him rides to bed or around the house. He corrected Will's classmates when they referred to him as "Willoughby" at dismissal, "Actually, his name is Buck." And referred to both boys again that way in a very sincere and long dinner prayer.

Porter's hair is way too long

Claire cannot be far behind Porter in weight. Now that he is closing in on 4 years old, I am feeling super motivated to pump up his weight gain. Carnation has been working well.

Will loves carefully going through his graded schoolwork when it comes home in his folder each day. We take about 10 minutes together to analyze every page and praise his achievements. He just moved on to the next level of reading books at school and is thrilled with himself. "I can't believe I am already in Stepping Stones!" Even though he is aware that he is not in the highest reading level, and he considers himself the in third place out of four kids in his reading group, he is totally pleased with his progress. As am I.

Andrew is exceedingly helpful with his younger brothers and sister, especially Claire and Porter. He relishes his role as older sibling and loves to play with Claire in rough and wild ways, which she also loves.

Claire is a thrill seeker. She loves going down slides, being thrown in the air, racing around in laundry baskets at high speed. She is sleeping through the night (mostly) in her own crib. Her routine involves patting her on the back and bum (bongo-style) while singing Frare Jacque. When I mistook her loud breathing for sleep-breathing tonight and stopping singing, she let out a disgruntled "Ugh!" to cue me to resume.

Andrew stays up late, sometimes until 9:45, to talk to me and Brigham. It is so nice to just chat with him over a bowl of ice cream that I don't mind the late hour. He always gets up in the morning on his own and gets totally ready, even if no one else is moving yet.

The boys are obsessed with listening to Top 40 radio. I have checked out some fun books on CD for them, but Porter hates them since they are geared towards older kids and I often cave to the demands for 94.7 FM. I kind of hate that.

Porter continues to have no fear. On Wed during Will's violin lessons at the school, Porter and Andrew passed the time sledding a very steep and windy slope. Porter rode that hill further even than Andrew and looked expert. They had a wonderful time and Claire and I probably had as much fun standing at the huge windows with a few other students watching the boys ride. We all, and I mean *all*, Claire included, laughed many times as the boys crashed or flipped or just the hilarity of Porter's grace. I loved that even the older students knew Porter's name. The smallness of that school really is special.

I think about my dad every day and dream about him every night. I try to not let thoughts that I will not see him again in this life enter into my brain. I think I am still in the stage of letting myself think he is just gone for a while. I can't bear to think that his physical body is in that grave in Quantico. I hate that thought.

I have spent most of this awful, long winter dreaming of our Florida trip. Then I have thoughts that we will all be killed in some horrific car accident on the way to or from our vacation and that all my longing for that week will be drenched in irony. I am pretty sure I am using irony in a very Alanis Morrisette manner, but you get my drift.

Claire is proving to be the easiest baby of the four. She is also entering a jealous stage. She does not like me to hold anyone else. I am crediting her with a vocabulary of 3 words: "Hi!" (first); "Bye!" (second); and "NNNNNNoo!" (third and most common). She doesn't say Hi and Bye much lately, but will wave excitedly (and kick her legs and bounce around) when I tell her to say hi or bye. She says NO! when she wants something I haven't moved fast enough to give to her / shove in her mouth. It is usually about food.

I am perpetually cleaning up and am usually annoyed by the toy and kid clutter, but its only for a little while. Andrew turning 9 at his next birthday is hitting home to me how quickly it is just over with kids. The days are so full and hectic and exhausting, but there just aren't enough of them. I want us to always remember what used to be normal.

The End

The kids keep doing and saying so many cute and funny things and I find them slipping between my fingers because I am failing to record them and they end up scattered and lost. I hate that. So even though my blog has been a source of pain for me, I am returning to it as a place to paste down our memories before they blow away.

October was obviously hard. But both the boys had birthdays that month. I let myself off the hook from throwing them a party with friends--we had cake and presents as a family, at least. But I find myself in awe of just how big and old they are now. Andrew is 8. Will is 6. And here in mid-Feb they are creeping up on being halfway to 9 and 7. Life has changed so much so quickly. It is all such a cliche until it happens to you.

I remember when I turned 7 I cried because my little A.A. Milne book Now We Are Six no longer applied to me. Now it makes me sad because it almost doesn't apply to half my kids.

Will, at 6, is extremely sweet and sassy. For this first time, I am able to get a more objective sense of him as a person. I was surprised this year at how extroverted he was at school, how social and happy and bubbly. As a much younger guy, and as a baby, he was so much more mellow and serious than Andrew, but I am realizing now that that was probably largely due to just being younger, a follower to his older brother's leadership. He's tough, too. He is laid-back about most things, pleasant and easy to be around. If he didn't have any issues at meal time, he would be my easiest child right now.

Andrew surprised me this year with how difficult an adjustment he had to Spring Hill. He was overwhelmed by the large size of the school and class. He didn't like how noisy it was; he rarely spoke in class. On the other hand, he made a lot of friends and was very successful socially. I was way off in my predictions. I was concerned that he could possibly be a discipline problem at school, when he was (thankfully) the opposite. But his reluctance to speak during class time worried his teachers and basically amounted to nonparticipation.

Andrew and I struggle when he does not want to do something that simply must be done (swim team practice, homework, chores), but he also has a sensitivity to him that is constantly catching me off guard. I was unloading dishes from the dishwasher last week--the week from hell when Brigham was out of town and I had a stomach bug. I was holding Claire on my hip and he knew I was sick. "Oh Mom, no! I hate to see you doing that! I will do it!" even though it was Will's job that week. He jumped up from his ice cream and took over the work. I realize that I often fail to give him credit for how remarkable and tender he is. It is like I expect all of that and am irritated when he falls short instead of the other way around. He is such a charming little guy, and I am sad to see a bigger boy emerging in his little face. 8 is young, but 10 is just around the corner. He has already left behind those really early stages of childhood and it breaks my heart to dwell on that thought for long because I feel that I didn't quite soak it up and treasure it as I ought to have. I was just so busy.

Those days when it was just him and me don't feel so long ago at moments like this when I am sitting alone and remembering them. I guess this is what life is.

So, as one dad, now gone, wrote long ago about a boy, also long since passed away, this is for my little guys tonight.

When I was One,
I had just begun.

When I was Two,
I was nearly new.

When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.

When I was Four,
I was not much more.

When I was Five,
I was just alive.

But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever.
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

If only they could be.

My dad died early in the morning on September 30. A few hours later, we went on a walk down Old Falls Road as the sun came up. It was the only thing that felt right to do. Walks down that old street will always be his.

Later that day, Jessica ran into a neighbor on the street. He had noticed the hearse arriving so very early. Why was he awake and aware of things going on outside? His own wife had died of cancer a decade ago, maybe more. His twin daughters lived together in an apartment in a neighboring town, one of whom, it turns out, also has some sort of illness. How little we neighbors have shared of our lives. This neighbor is a thoughtful man, probably a little lonely, who goes on walks himself and will trap you in conversation if you aren't careful.

"I am sorry about your father," he started out. "You know, I always loved seeing you girls coming over and talking your father our for walks. It was such a beautiful thing."

"Thank you," Jessie replied.

"No more walks." He said sadly.

"No more walks," she repeated.

And with the first month of surreality and recovery from the exhaustion accompanying both caring for someone with my dad's condition and attending death, and then the handling the services, we are left with facing our feelings again, which is the harder part. I have wanted to try to pour them out onto the page, but when it comes down to it that small conversation of which I was not even a part sums it all up better than I could attempt with more words.

No more walks.

my sunshine

photo credit to alisha lacey

Claire deserves a long, photo-laden post all her own, but my weariness will win tonight. I couldn't go to bed, though, without expressing how much I love this little girl. During a really sad, dark time in our lives as we lose our dad, Claire has been a deep comfort to me. I wish she could have known my dad, and he her. She has been the easiest little baby, from being healthy and chunkabunch to sleeping well and being endlessly content at all times. She is the light of our family. I will try not to eat her.

the days pass slowly but the years fly by

First day of school this year sees Will off to Kindergarten and Andrew in 2nd. Porter is doing another year of preschool at Colvin Run and a little co-op style academic music program on Friday mornings, taught each week by a lady from church whom he loves.

I was especially nervous this year because somehow sending the kids to our local public school felt much more official than sending Andrew to the tiny Christian private school where he attended K and 1st.

Will was just excited, having been initiated into the routine of full day school by watching Andrew do it for the last two years. When he emerged from the building onto the playground at the end of his first day, he ran to me with a huge smile. He has remarked that they mostly doing things "involving scissors" in the classroom. He has two friends from preschool in his class, he is doing well with his meals (Carnation Instant Breakfasts) and seems generally really happy.

Andrew emerged from the school with less enthusiasm on day 1. "Too many kids, too much noise," was how he characterized public school life. His classwork so far has consisted of coloring gluing. "More like a craft day, really," he remarked. I am not in love with what I am hearing, but it is only the first week. He is making friends, including a kid named Luke who sits by him. "I talked to Luke today! Well, not really talked so much as listened. Well, not really listened so much as watched him put his finger in the pencil sharpener." So.

Porter was really happy to get back into school, despite his declaration over the summer that "it is more fun to stay home with mommies." On the way home from a chaotic first day, he looked out the window and said breathlessly, "I love mine teachers." Porter is the happiest, most loving kid I know. He will be moving from the morning class of younger kids to the afternoon class of older ones with his friend Spencer. I think it will be a wonderful fit. He already has a crush on the teacher!

It is hard to watch the kids get older. I was sitting in church and realizing that Andrew only has a few more years left in primary. It was an awful thought. I just want the time to slow down a bit so I can enjoy them at their sweet little ages. There is something contagious about aging: it isn't just the oldest one who moves up and onto the next developmental stage--he somehow pulls the younger siblings along with him. No one is ever as innocent or young as the oldest was at any given age. Porter and Will's interests have matured to keep pace with Andrew, and Andrew is trying to keep up with his older cousins. We are in the throes of the Beverly Cleary years and I want to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Our schedules are tight. Andrew and Will are doing baseball, Andrew is doing winter swim twice a week and once a week has a study group with friends from Oak Hill, which is really a nice way to keep up a wonderful friendship. We are doing our best to spend time over at my parents' house each day, too. It is nice to not be driving so much as I was last year, but I do miss the looser schedule, the later start time, the earlier release, the more time just with them all. Porter misses his brothers, Will in particular, since he can't remember a time when Andrew was home all day with us anyway. I know I got an extra year with those two older boys since they have late birthdays, but I still can't believe sometimes that they aren't supposed to be home with me.

Claire is a perfect fat angel all the time, and the boys are genuinely thrilled with her and proud of her. I have always thought babies were hard, and they are in a way, but perhaps I am just used to it now or perhaps I just know how fleeting the stage is or perhaps she is just a way easier baby (she is!), but I am feeling especially grateful to be at the very beginning of things with someone. Haven't screwed her up yet!

But that doesn't mean she won't be having some special time with the workers at the fitness center this month. Hopefully just not with this guy who was nice but clueless (he tried to plop her down on the ground to sit by herself). But if I must . . .

we shall know, even as we are known

As I was going through our Church bag in search of the tiny notebook into which I scribbled Claire's blessing to record in the computer before the household tide comes in and washes things away, I found my other church notebook. I had written down a bunch of thoughts I had on the subject I spoke upon in church back in March.

It was an embarrassing talk. I went on for so long. I ended up going into preterm labor later that day and I blame my high emotions and for that. I am cringing just typing this, but that little fact might be interesting to you someday. The subject matter meant so much to me and I dove into it in that rediscovering the wheel way I have.

The topic was the question: How do we come to know Christ in our temporal lives? The bishopric member who introduced the subject to me told me that it was a question he really wanted to find an answer to. I am still pretty convinced I did not understand what he really wanted me to talk about, or what his question actually was, so I just went with what made sense to me. Which is, as always when it comes to the Gospel, the broadest and most basic principle of all.

Once again, before the tide pulls this out into the far reaches of my home, tantamount to throwing it away, I want to record the thoughts I had on the subject. I don't even want to look at the talk itself, it was so rambling and embarrassing. But I want my kids to have some sense someday about how this ordeal with Papa affected their mom, and to have some written testimony of my faith.

So often in the scriptures we find examples of people who ought to know better failing to recognize the Savior. The reaction of almost the entire population of the New Testament to Christ in light of all the prophesies and testifying ceremonies of the Old Testament is just one broad example. How is it that we can be ever learning, even about the Savior, and never come to a knowledge of the truth?

I think part of the answer is found in another question: "For how knoweth a man the master whom he has not served and who is far from the thoughts and intents of his heart?"

There are many ways to serve, but the fundamental essence of any service, of any good we do at all, is love.

"For God is love and they that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God." (1 John 4:16)

There is a reason that the great commandment is that we love God with all our heart might mind and strenght and that we love our neighbor as ourselves, since it is from that basic principle that every other commandment proceeds, or hangs, as Christ worded it.

And this is what life is. We are given a commandment to love, an example of how, and a little bit of time to practice, and families, little laboratories of love, to practice with.

Life may seem long, but we see increasingly how the time flows away from as at an astonishing rate. We have a limited number of days in this life in which to learn of Christ, to learn to love as He did. As brief as a lifetime can be, the seasons within it are even more ephemeral. We are only living with our parents for a short time, and then it is over. Our time as missionaries will come to an end and we are left with what we did during that phase. Our season as parents of very young children seems to stretch endlessly but suddenly it too is gone, and our kids, soon, also. Our time on earth with our spouses, siblings and parents is a gift, and one we are promised will be joyful if only we learn of Him, and love each other as He taught. But it is a gift we can waste and squander. So many people do.

I don't mean to sound too dismal. It is appropriate that ours is a Gospel of infinite hope. His arm is always stretched out to receive us in whatever lost path we are wandering. We also know that death is not the end and our relationships go on.

But I cannot help but also feel a warning that at least the quality of our lives, our opportunities, and the depths of our joys are diminished by not using the time we have to allow Christ to enlarge our hearts. To simply love, forgive, accept, let go.

We cannot love in this life as perfectly as He did and does. But the more we strive after his example of loving the closer we come to Him and the better we can feel Him and understand Him, for God is love. And I now think that this is what Paul meant when he wrote:

For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face. Now we know in part, but then we shall know even as we are known.

We cannot fully know Christ now, in our imperfect mortal state, just as, and also because, we cannot love perfectly as He did. But someday, the Gospel promises us, Christ will change our hearts completely, if we let Him. And it is in that day, in some day we cannot now envision accurately, that the darkness will scatter, the glass clouding our sight will evaporate and we will love and know as He eternally has loved and known us, though we never quite understood it until that very moment.

Until that day comes, it is for us to live joyfully, and while there are many deep mysteries to ponder, the way to be joyful is clear: love. So many people wander away from the Gospel table in search of a more plausible storyline or to escape looming doubts about histories or mysteries or even to just find an easier pathway. But there is no getting away from true principles, and whatever else is or is not true, is or is not discoverable, the most important feature of living a good and happy and meaningful life inescapably will have been the degree to which we have loved the people around us the way Christ told us and taught us and showed us. It is all there really is, all there ever has been. It has always been so and yet we can spend a lifetime searching.

the little things

last summer, Glen Echo Park, Md.

Today a new bishopric was called in our ward. The new bishop had served as a counselor to my dad back in 2001. My dad had once observed that this man's daughters, he has five of them, were a decade younger than we were. Jessie pointed out that it was a decade ago that our dad was being called as the bishop and we were the college kids traipsing down the hall to his setting apart.

My dad no longer attends church meetings. This change took place suddenly. Two weeks ago he just didn't go. Maybe he will go again, but this Sunday Brigham and Matt administered the sacrament at my parents' house. Dad choked on the water.

I do not think it is bragging to note that many of my dad's finest qualities shone through during his service as a bishop, and so the reorganization of our ward has me thinking about some of his qualities that I would like to develop in myself and cultivate in my kids. Above all else, my dad was reliable. He did what he said he would do. Furthermore, he did what ought to be done. This kind of common sense competence is in surprisingly short supply, even among otherwise very respected and successful people. But my dad possessed it. I am not entirely sure how to develop this quality, but I thought there were some things I could do to otherwise follow his example.

1) Sending people notes of thanks or friendliness. He bought cards en mass at thrift stores--he was as cheap as he was a diligent pen pal to all.

2) Be on time to things. I am a terrible offender of punctuality, but I am going to make every effort to be better.

This list could go on forever but I won't be able to stick to a thousand goals, so these are my two for now. They are difficult enough for me as I seriously do not know the current price of a stamp.

Our new Bishop gave a nice talk and quoted a this scripture:

Wherefore be not weary in well doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great. Behold the Lord requireth the heart and a willing mind, and the willing and obedient shall eat the good of the land of Zion in these last days.

I know that these verses are talking about missionary work and establishing the Church, but I think it is true more generally, too. We are all engaged in the great work of transforming ourselves. This is true whether we believe it or not, whether we try or not. We are forming who we are every day with all of our choices, and we can do so much to direct that formation in the very little daily decisions. My great work is turning myself, through the grace of the Lord, into His disciple, and of guiding my own little family in that same path. The overarching guiding principle is love, and the various instrumentalities are invariably small ones. It will be okay that I won't always do the right things in the right spirit, but if I can only just get into the habit of doing the right things, I hope to also create the habit of having the right spirit, and I can finally get these spiral situations to turn upwards instead of down. And my own Zion will simply be a state of grateful happiness of feelings the love of Christ. I will leave out all that business of eating the good of the land for Will's sake so as not to spoil the mood for him.

on finalities

Claire's Baby Blessing Day

We blessed Claire on July 14. We were lucky to have Grandpa Joe, my dad, Uncle Matt and Uncle Mark there to participate.

We were lucky to catch a shot of almost the whole group after church was over.

Claire's blessing dress was a subject that weighed heavily upon my mind for a couple of months. I really wanted to get her an old-fashioned blessing gown with a bonnet, but the ones I loved were way way too expensive, even for my tastes in baby girl fashion. I then decided to go with a gorgeous pink and grey dress I found on sale. But in the end, Brigham assured me that classic white was the best, and that this dress, though purchased at a thrift store before she was born, would be very nice. I somewhat regret that I didn't find an old fashioned gown, but on the spectrum of regrets it is a fairly forgivable one. She looked beautiful.

When Andrew was blessed 7 years ago, Grandpa Joe waltzed around my parents' house looking into every available mirror with Andrew and I have a few cute, funny little shots of them doing this. I thought I ought to catch him at it with Claire, too.

Claire really looks a lot like Andrew did. I especially see it in photographs.

We had everyone over to dinner at our house afterwards, where we ate peach cobbler, cafe rio chicken and fixings and summer vegetable soup. I did everything the night before so it was stress free.

In baby blessing past, Brigham has consulted me about what I wanted him to say. I used to joke that we needed to arrange a live feed from my mouth to his ear. Of course, he really just went with what he felt impressed to say when he was giving the blessing (like that they would be star athletes and wealthy businessmen). I love him especially when he blesses our babies because he is so earnest and thoughtful about it, and it is one of the few occasions on which he gets somewhat emotional. Claire, your blessing was beautiful and your daddy was concerned he wasn't going to make it through without crying. Don't worry, he held it in until he sat down on the pew, still holding you. We love you and I promise I will get the blessing I transcribed out of the kids' notepad in the church bag and record it for you in a more permanent way. Love, Mom

So what was the deal with the Skittles then?

I can be clueless. Sometimes I need people to just give it to me straight: you are acting inappropriately, weirdo! I wish that someone had been around whatever day it was in the early 80s when I decided on Jo from Facts of Life to be my role model. They could have even advised, "Just go with Tootie" and that might have been enough. Really. That one message, clearly delivered, could have altered the course of my life.

My previous TMI post about my high conflict relationships gets an update. It turns out that being polite really is a good way to live. I feel great and I have found very little conflict exists at this point. Which means that I think I was probably the real source of all of that, so good thing I figured that out!

Sorry world and all the people in it who have interacted with me a lot! Can we start over? I am going to be nice this time!

The lesson in church today was about coming unto Jesus. I missed half of it because I stayed home with napping Claire and made bread. But it is a subject I have been thinking about a lot, and I even had a nice conversation with the boys about it, sort of, today. It started out with Andrew making a fuss over wearing a tie and for some reason I thought it might be helpful to tell him about the angel of death passing over the doors of the homes with lamb's blood on the frame and the deaths of the first born sons of those homes without the blood. I think I was going to pretend that ties were the modern equivalent of blood on the door. But before I could get to that tie-in, the conversation took off.

The boys were very interested and we talked about how God used strange, symbolic things like that (and Abraham and Isaac) to emphasize to the people that Jesus was His Son, that He would die for us and that this sacrifice was a very painful, difficult one for Heavenly Father. We got into the sheep and the goats, and the way to be a sheep is to essentially just be kind to people. Will wanted to know if a goat could turn into a sheep. I loved the entire conversation and was glad it proceeded away from my original intention of teasing Andrew.

Anyway, during the lesson the teacher asked if anyone had an experience with service that brought them closer to Christ. I didn't want to share this there but I will record it here.

Before my dad got sick, I was not super enthusiastic about our ward. I missed my old stake and all the many families in it with kids our kids' ages. But I am now so grateful to be back in the ward in which I grew up. The support we have received in the last few months has been overwhelming. We have had a few mornings or evenings gathering in small groups of old friends, and while we initiated these events in order to cheer my parents and help people more comfortably visit with my dad, they have turned into something more, at least for me. The love that I feel from these people is very moving.

It sounds dramatic to say, but the way people from so many areas of our lives have reached out has changed the way I view really fundamental things, like the importance of friendship and the small things we can do to lift the people around us. I have learned even more about my dad as these people come forward with their stories of him: cards he wrote (for every single member of the ward, kids included, on their birthdays--and these were often very thoughtful), support he gave to people struggling, one-on-one Sunday School sessions he had every Sunday with a young man he was trying to help stay in the church. And these people who have known me my whole life (embarrassingly) and whom I have somewhat taken for granted, these people love my parents and they love us, too, despite how well they know us. We sat in the living room of one wonderful family hosting a gathering for my dad and the uncritical, genuine love in the room just washed over me. This sense of community, of shared pain and joy, how could I have so long basically ignored it all? I feel like my friend's little boy who thought his Sunday School lesson was about Skittles. Or like myself when I was studying for my Civil Procedure exam using a commercial outline when it hit me: this class is about how to file an action in civil court! I have been exposed to all the right, essential messages and I have somehow succeeded in not comprehending the point at all.

I think I have found my way out of the Gospel forest, where I get lost amongst all the doctrinal trees. And it is to Just Love. Studying the scriptures, prayer, church attendance, tithing--these are all ways to get there, or things you do when are are there, but without love it really is just a tinkling cymbal, meaningless. All the things we do and say and become have no value to us if we don't feel love for other people. Kind of makes you want to re-do your whole life. Bear with me while I rediscover the Gospel wheel on the Atonement.

A little memory, for your memory

Even though I feel like I remember my entire life in one long stream of experiences, I realized that I have also selected, randomly(?), a few sharp, short gestalts that stand in for years of my life. This happens every time I go to the library and take a certain pathway to the wooded park behind it.

I took the kids there on Thursday to meet Dad, Mom, Katie, Jessie and her kids. Dogs were also involved. This is the library I have visited since I first ever was brought to a library and I have thousands of experiences there. The library was the next stop every Saturday morning with Dad after hauling our trash to the dump at Cooper Middle School. After we got books, we headed back to the park, by way of a trail through the woods that used to seem so much longer. I remember Dad enjoying our terror as he gradually increased the gyrations on that springed square platform thing he would try to knock us off of. I remember coming here when we first moved back from Utah, pre-ambulatory Andrew crawling all over the jungle gym while my dad and I threw balls to Charlie (I miss that dog still). My instinct then was to assist Andrew; my dad assured me it would be better to let him learn on his own, to my cheering. A thousand memories in between, and since. After all, this became our library again 2 1/2 years ago.

But for some reason every time I take the path from the basketball courts (where the ghost of Carter Swift will always be playing pick up, since I saw him doing that one apparently very impressive day in the early 90s), walking between the chess table and the tennis courts, I am always back to the August day in 1995 when I was reading Margaret Atwood short story book (The Martian is the story that pops unfailingly into mind). Why that memory out of the thousands? I cannot fathom. But there it is, even Thursday almost 20 years and a whole new life later.

None of this is very interesting or remarkable, but I wanted to record it anyway because it teaches me something important about life in general and raising kids. While I do think our minds tend to latch on to the happy memories and bury the more unworthy ones, it is also true that some of these random ones will be the one illustration we have for a place or a period of time. We don't know which they will be. Already I have been surprised at some of the things that have impressed into my kids' little memories. I want their lives to be so flooded with an ordinary happiness that the random snapshots in their minds will tend to be sweet.



So in case you boys happen to remember anything about this day, or in case you don't remember it at all apart from the hundreds of other trips to that park, let me include some details to sharpen the memory's relief: Andrew ran ahead of us all and was on the jungle gym before I got past 17 year old Carter Swift. After Will and Porter split the hot dog I had wrapped in tin foil, everyone was in the trench. Nana and Papa showed up with Emma, Katie and her dog. Papa sat on the seat of his walker and watched you guys. There was a huge spider web stretched in the sun over the tree roots at the top of the trench; we noticed how many catches it had made. Will had to leave early for camp, and when I returned with McDonalds drive through, Nana and Papa had gone and everyone else had taken the trench out to the creek. Porter was half naked, having thrown his shorts into the creek and buried his underwear, logically, in the sand. You ate cheeseburgers in their wrappers since I thought I didn't have hand sanitizer (I did).

You looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting as you threw rocks and used the McDonalds cup to dredge for tadpoles and polywogs. The weather was 72 degrees and sunny. You probably won't remember it was summer because it was so perfect. Porter never really repented of his naughtiness but Andrew, you felt bad because Porter had been acting on your orders. The mosquitos became too much and we went inside the library for books. Andrew, you have been listening to The Lightning Thief for hours on end in your room ever since. When we went to Nana and Papa's later that day, you sat and read Judy Moody almost straight through. Porter, you had to wear a size 3 diaper to go inside the library. You rode there on your scooter. We got frozen yogurt after we left on our way to get Will, whom you were forbidden to tell. Claire, you were perfect the whole time.

Tradition!

There are many Sundays when I end up spending the Church hours in the mothers' lounge, listening to the single's ward sacrament meeting, from which there is much to be learned, actually. But I was really grateful yesterday that I made it to Relief Society, because the lesson was one I really needed to hear. It was based, really, on a recent New York Times article about how family lore binds us together, making us feel part of something larger than ourselves, a very important element in children's resilience, confidence and emotional development.

I have for several years been trying to create traditions in our little family. I have learned two lessons on achieving this:

1) Be your real self. Sometimes we try to get ourselves to enjoy things that really don't come naturally to us. We might wish we loved museums more than the movies, for ex, or whatever. There are a lot of traditions I would love to instill in my family that we probably are just not ready for right now. The best traditions stick when they come easily and naturally. Therefore, I give you the Cannon Family Traditions as of 2013:

a) Saturday Boys' Breakfast: Brigham began this before Porter was born to allow me to sleep in on the weekend. Every Saturday morning he packs up all the kids and takes them to McDonalds. They love it. I am sometimes invited. I am not sure how Claire will reconfigure this (maybe it will turn into Kids Breakfast), but we have about a year before that gets sorted.

b) Friday Night Movie Night: For years now I order or bake a Pizza, which the kids eat while they watch a movie. This was an easy way to make Fridays special, and we never miss. We have been able to incorporate nice family time with my dad on Friday nights now, too.

c) Big Family Beach Trip to Topsail Island: rent a house with my parents and all my sisters and kids. Walks on the beach with glow sticks, trips to the pier to spot sharks, the 50s style diner. It has its own traditions, too. It is time to start up playing cards, now that many of them are old enough to learn Hearts.

d) Songs and Rubs: at bedtime, after stories in Andrew's room, we sing from the same basic rotation of songs while we rub their feet, backs or heads. Will sings along. Originally we sang Amazing Grace and As I Have Loved You to Andrew. Right now Will requests hymns in Polish or Spanish--Onward Christian Soldiers, High On A Mountaintop, Armies of Helaman, The Baptism Song--Rainbows, I See My Mother Kneeling. He also likes the Marine Corps Hymn. A couple of years ago he like Octapus' Garden. Porter right now requests a scary story, which he dictates to you--usually about "ghost-es" vampires zombies or werewolves. He has nightmares about "Foxes."

2) Sometimes you have to make an effort. I know this is contradictory to the first rule, in a way, because some things are a pain but are worth it. I suppose it is not entirely contradictory, though, since they ought to still be things that people honestly enjoy and not things that you force yourself to pretend to like.

a) Annual Halloween Party: We have only done this twice and we missed in 2012 because of Will's rehab program, but this is a really fun one even though it is more work that the other two. We set up the moonbounce in the back yard, I prepare cupcakes for kids to decorate in Halloween style, we provide mummified hot-dogs and the kids make invitations. Kids come costumed and we have a fun little Friday afternoon. We will do it again this year for sure.

b) Botanical Gardens Classes for kids: Ever since Andrew was old enough, I have made sure to each year have one kids enrolled in a month-long, weekly-meeting, class at the BG. It is a pain to get to and park, esp with younger siblings in tow, but I am always glad I did it, and especially so now that we have been doing it for years. I feel like it will always be a part of their childhoods. My dad used to come with me, and even came this last spring when I took Porter and Will. He could no longer participate like he used to, but he wrote to me on our last day that he used to come here on his lunch break (he worked right next door in the capitol building) and relax and read. He had never told me that before and it adds another dimension of meaning for me to that place.

c) Christmas in Washington: On the Saturday before Christmas, we spend the entire day enjoying DC holiday festivities, starting with the Childrens Nativity Play at the National Cathedral and including the trains exhibit (Botanical Gardens) and the national Christmas Tree.

d) Mom-Kid Date Night: On Tuesdays, I have started rotating btwn Andrew and Will for a weekly date night. I have only just barely started this (tomorrow will be Will's first) but even though I have to arrange for a babysitter, I think I will always be so glad I did this with the kids. I have found it so hard to give them individual attention, but if I can institutionalize it and formalize it, at least they will *think* they are getting lots of special attention, and I am convinced that what they perceive to be true is way more important to their psyches than what actually is true.

I read a wonderful book about training kids to in chores called The Parenting Breakthrough, written by an LDS woman, which I found extremely inspiring and useful, but at the end she cautions that the most important thing to do is Family Home Evening, and that for all the value of her chore system, if you aren't doing FHE, you ought to simply put your efforts there instead. I think she is right, and while Brigham is simply never home in time to hold it regularly, we have decided to do it on Sundays instead. Not ideal for a few reasons, but better than never.

I want to make sure my kids have a sense of their history and a sense of belonging to a really cool and fun group (our family, both immediate and extended) so that whatever comes their way in the form of social rejection or athletic failure or academic struggles--all of which come to us all, typically--they can feel buoyed up by that sense of belonging, that sense of perspective. The article talks about how this can come also by simply telling stories about ourselves, so that is what we did yesterday, both in our home and then with my more extended family when we went to my parents' house.

I don't have many regrets when it comes to my relationship with my dad. I really don't think you get much better than what we had, and my children, too--they saw him at least 5 times a week, and spent real quality time with him. Many people just get a few visits a year. But I do regret that I didn't get more of his stories. When we shared stories yesterday (prompted by the Friend magazine suggested questions), I wished I could have heard my dad's answers. I know many stories, but there is always something more. And I ought to write them down before they slip away.

I would love to hear other people's traditions to incorporate!

Meeting Myself Half Way, or My Own Law of Moses, because I am not yet ready for the higher law of Christ

Lately I have been waking up with headaches after a long night of dreams in which I am fighting, sometimes physically, with another person. I was experiencing entirely too much conflict during my days and it was spilling over into my nights, as well. I woke up basically as exhausted, emotionally, at least, as I had felt going to bed.

I tried to do something about this. I began reading more Church talks, listening to podcasts about charity. I began really focusing on my goal to just love the people around me. The only problem was that, when it came to my high-conflict, high-tension circle of loved ones (and I designate them as such not because they are high tension or high conflict, but our relationships were) I just couldn't succeed. Charity was a bridge too far. It was setting the bar hopelessly high and inviting failure.

The other day I was thinking about a wonderful family I knew growing up who treated one another with an abundance of politeness. Not to give too much of in insight into my dysfunction, but as the stupid, surly teen that I was, I looked down on this as inauthentic and even a bit cold. How could they be close when they tiptoed around each other? What I had mistaken as cold politeness, of course, was really a healthy and appropriate respectfulness of one another. (My inability (perhaps disability?) to see this explains far too much.) I decided to try it. I could not have the pure love of Christ for my high conflict circle, particularly when the conflict was turned on, but I could meet myself half way. I could be polite. I had to be.

It has only been a few days. I ordinarily would not write about this, but my high conflict people do not read my blog and I also want to hold myself accountable to continue with my Miss Manners routine. My first day of it was successful beyond my wildest imaginings.

Provoker: "I am not only totally ungrateful for your efforts at this moment, but I am going to storm around you angrily and criticize you in small, annoying ways. I hope we can fight."

Me: "I am pretending you are the lady next door, whom I really like, and you are having a terrible day. It would be really awkward to call you out so I am going to ignore you."

Provoker: "I would like you to feel that you are unwelcome and I think your kids are the worst. Scream."

Me: "In fairness, I might not like my kids if I were not their mom, either. We'll work on it. But again, since you are the neighbor lady and I know you are otherwise a really nice person, I am going to politely apologize and continue to help you."

Provoker: "You aren't doing it right and I want you to leave. Or tell me you hate me."

Me: "Awkward. I better not saying anything and hope this stops."

Provoker: "Thank you."

Me: It feels good not to feel bad. Let's talk about the weather. "Sure is rainy!"

My first realization upon successfully staving off conflict was that I played a major role in the fights. I may have felt provoked, but I certainly fed a fire that otherwise would have died out. I couldn't take refuge in blaming the other person for conflict that could only exist with my participation. And second, I began to have genuinely positive and empathetic feelings for my most high conflict person. It was startling. Brigham witnessed the interaction and praised my efforts to avert a fight, so that felt nice, too, since he is the epitome of a nice, normal, likeable person. I trust his instincts and reactions. How did I end up with someone so healthy?! Thank you, Heavenly Father!

Some people turn the other cheek, or walk two miles when constrained to walk one. I am not ready for that. But if the pleasant feelings I experienced while treating my loved ones like I barely knew them but would have to interact with them socially on a regular basis and in public is any indication, this whole charity thing must be mind blowing and soul expanding. Hopefully I will find out some day. I plan to inch my way to there by way of Emily Post.