For the beauty

I have had an extremely fussy and feverish baby attached to my hip for the past 48 hours due to a nasty ear infection. This is the first one I have experienced with either of my children, as Reagan has never had one. They are awful. I now feel as though my parenting initiation is complete. Initially, I was more than a little disappointed in my Thanksgiving experience this year. Repugnant looks shot like daggers in my direction most of Thanksgiving morning, due to my overly-excited and slightly louder than normal 2 year old (who insisted on being dressed as Super Girl for the festivities, mind you.) She rarely gets too rambunctious, so I thought 'no harm, no foul.' I was wrong.
I picked at my food periodically, but didn't feel like I got to really enjoy it, due to previously mentioned attached crying baby.
I felt alone. My husband and family were too busy serving others Thanksgiving dinner at my uncle's restaurant to help me. How dare they, really?! Don't worry. I repented of that as soon as I realized how selfish I was being. Yikes.
Later, we all got together to play games, enjoy leftovers, and eat dessert. I was stuck listening to the festivities and laughter in the next room, in the dark, trying to soothe, again, my attached crying baby. Needless to say, we went home early.
It's fair to say that this Thanksgiving didn't go as perfectly as I had planned for it to in my head. Tonight, I have had a bit of time to think and reflect. Reagan is having a slumber-party at her Nana and Bumpa's house, and my feverish baby is finally sleeping, hopefully peacefully, in her bed. My husband is at work. Strangely enough, I do not feel lonely. I put on my latest favorite album to listen to as I did the dishes. (The Lower Lights Hymn Revival. Buy it. Extremely worth it.) This song came on.

For the beauty of the Earth,
For the glory of the skies;
For the love which from our birth,
Over and around us lies;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This, our joyful hymn of praise.

For the beauty of each hour,
Of the day and of the night;
Hill and vale and tree and flow'r,
Sun and moon and stars of light;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This, our joyful hymn of praise.

For the joy of human love,
Brother, sister, parent, child;
Friends on Earth and friends above,
For all gentle thoughts and mild;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This, our joyful hymn of praise.

For each perfect gift of Thine,
To our race so freely given,
Graces human and divine,
Flowers on earth and buds in heaven,
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This, our joyful hymn of praise.

This song has been my favorite choice of lullaby to sing to the girls before they go to sleep as of late. Tonight, as I slowly and methodically scrubbed the dishes, these words sunk into my heart. They are so beautiful. The phrases ring so true to me. 'For the love which from our birth, over and around us lies.' 'For the beauty of each hour.' 'For the joy of human love.' It's like these words were written just for me, at that very moment, to listen to as my hands warmed in the soapy water. I can think of nothing more poignant to even begin to describe how incredibly grateful I am for everything that I have been given. It is rare that I make it through this hymn without getting misty-eyed. It is beautiful, because it is true.

So, my Thanksgiving didn't happen flawlessly. I just can't be bitter about it, when most of my days are filled with the laughter of my healthy, beautiful daughters, hugs and kisses abound, my husband reminds me daily that I am loved and appreciated, I am warm and well-fed, I enjoy freedom that so many in this world do not, I know where I came from and where I am going, I know that I am a daughter of God...the list is endless. Thanksgiving this year was a lesson in humility for me. I am so far from perfect, it is almost embarrassing. But, I am also grateful for it. I have a lot to work on, and I have been given this very blessed and privileged life to work on it in. I am so grateful that those that love me are patient with me when I am being a brat. =) Especially my Heavenly Father. The words of that hymn were a good reminder to me tonight, to say the least.

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Come Visit

These past couple of weeks have been hard. Maybe my most difficult weeks of parenting yet. But, in those hard times, there have also been extremely beautiful and sweet times. Isn't that the way it always is? We learn that there must be opposition in all things. Easy to hear in a Sunday School lesson. Harder to experience. However, we also learn that we must have heartache to experience true joy. Trials to appreciate when life is running smoothly. This was one of those moments.
Our morning hadn't started out so well. My eyes stung with sleep deprivation. I was scrubbing "potty" from the floor. (It was day 1 of potty training.) My shirt was soaked with baby spit-up. Ember's cough sounded like a barking seal. I had a long list of appointments to make and responsibilities to fulfill. My fridge and cupboards were sparse. I was missing my sister more than usual. Jason was out of town. In other words, it was "normal mom day" for many people that I know, but for some reason it was getting to me more than usual, I think mainly due to lack of sleep. I had resigned to letting Reagan watch more "Cat in the Hat" than I usually do, so that I could finish cleaning up and re-grouping. All of the sudden, cutting through the noise of the TV, my barking baby, and the dishwasher - a voice. Sweet and innocent the words came, like wind chimes, and settled deep into my soul, warming the cold and bitterness that feeling sorry for myself had created just moments before.

"Heavenly Father, please come visit us. Please come visit us? Please? Please? Amen."

Reagan has fairly recently started saying her own, very simple, prayers. But this one...this one cut me to the core. Simple and juvenile the words may have been, but deep and poignant was their meaning. Her sincerity hit me like a ton of bricks. We needed a turnaround and her simple prayer brought one. We needed the spirit in our home, and our spiritual appetites were craving a "visit." It took my 2 year old's simple plea to a Heavenly Father that she knows, with stalwart faithfulness, loves her and listens to her to make me realize that I had been doing it all wrong. I stopped feeling sorry for myself right then and there. I am grateful for my children whose sweet spirits, smiles, and simple words bear testimony of a loving Heavenly Father who wants to help if only I remember to ask. Thank you, Reagan.

Patty Murray

This woman,

now in her fourth term as Washington State Senator,
was called by my daughter,
a "blobie girl."
And I quote: "Patty Murray's a blobie girl."
This is still one term that Reagan uses that we still haven't quite figured out the meaning.
But, judging solely based on our feelings after Thursday's senate results,
it's less than complementary.
Sorry, Patty.
By the way, who else is glad that the endless attack ads are over?? (At least for a short while.)
Can I get an AMEN.

Side note:
Poor Dino Rossi can't catch a break. Reagan's concerns and political analyses weren't limited to Patty. Anytime she heard anyone (TV, Radio, casual conversation) mention Dino (GOP running for senate against Patty), she would always think they were saying "Do you know...) As in, "Do you know Rossi?" Her reply, "Yes, I know Rossi!" =) Yeah, she makes us laugh.

We did it

Last week, I decided to buckle down and get my big girl Reagan potty-trained. She has been ready for a while, but I never really made up my mind 100% to do it. I don't know what did it for me this time. It was a combination of things. I was really sick of changing diapers all day. Two kids go through a lot of diapers. I sympathize with octo-mom. I think it was also encouragement from others going through the same thing that I could, in fact, do it. Reagan took to it like a champ. Some told me pull-ups don't work, but for us, they worked like a charm. Pretty "big girls" (undies), stickers, and cheap little trinkets left over from her 2nd birthday party, and we were set. She still gets excited when she goes, and still announces to everyone, no matter who is in the room, "Hey guys, I did it. Wanna see my pee?"
I have also not spent that much time in the bathroom since I was pregnant with Reagan, spending many a night hugging the porcelain throne. I have to say that the bathroom has made it up to me and he/she and I are now friends.
The only thing I would have done differently is doing it sooner. I think when she was first showing signs of being ready, I should have just gone with the flow, and not worried SO MUCH about the fact that I was pregnant and due in a couple of months. I think she would have done just fine. But I find that, with all things in parenting that I have experienced thus far, these things always seem scarier and much more daunting than they actually are. I also picked the absolute wrong week to do it, due to multiple wakings a night on Reagan's part due to who knows what. (We are both still averaging only a few hours of sleep a night.) But alas, I figured might as well deal with all of the yuck in one week. And I am glad I did. It's weird what a difference being (mostly) potty trained makes in how "big" my girl seems. It is sad, but it is happy. We're ready for the next big challenge to come our way! Proud of that little girl.

Jack Johnson

Way back at the beginning of October (time is flying SO FAST lately), we did a "one last hurrah" trip with Haley over to George to see our favorite, Jack Johnson, perform at the Gorge amphitheater. Tickets were purchased back in June as an anniversary gift to me. At the time, I thought that October was SO FAR AWAY. I should have known better. I had a 3 month old then. I have a 7 month old now. Did I even blink? Silly me. I have to be honest, in those first several months of "figuring things out" as a new parent to 2, those Jack Johnson tickets really gave me something to look forward to - an "escape," if you will. Any time I was exhausted, sleep-deprived, in-need-of-a-shower (which fairly accurately describes most of my days), those tickets danced around in the back of my mind and made me giddy with anticipation. On several occasions, I even got excited that I might be able to shower before the concert.
Well, it happened. We went, and you'll be happy to know that I was in fact able to shower before the concert. Such a fun group - Jason, Haley, Ember, and I. We partied hard, listening to conference on the drive over from our phones. Have I mentioned that I love technology?

We even stopped on the way there and filled our car with 20 pounds of Honeycrisp (aka Nectar of the Gods) apples for $15 for a friend. Can you believe that price? We laughed, sang, danced, and snacked on hummus and crackers the whole way there. To be honest, we could have headed home once we got there, and the trip would have been completely worth it. It was one of those moments in life where everything just felt happy and perfect - like we were right where we were supposed to be. I was more "high off of life" on that day than I had been in a long time. I can't say that life was the only thing that our fellow concert attendees were high off of, but we had a really wonderful time regardless. You can't beat watching that sunset, over that gorge, with those people, all the while being serenaded by Jack's sweet like honey voice and delicate guitar strummin'. When I think of the elements that make up a perfect summer/verge-of-Fall day, that day had just about all of them...minus having Reagan there, as I did miss her.
Concerts make for prime people watching, which we did a lot of. I love watching people let loose and let the rhythm take over their bodies, or as Jack would say "move like a jellyfish." My reasons for loving this are two-fold. 1) Man, there are some confident people out there. 2) It helps me to let loose also. I love it. One woman came up to us with her son who was about 5 or 6, and commented that her son was Ember's age when they went to his first Jack Johnson concert. She seemed like a very conservative mom-lady. But boy, was that first impression wrong. As soon as the sun went down and the lighters went up, this lady, mom-jeans and all, was up at the front, just singing and dancing like it was nobody's business. Her son was nowhere to be seen (worried? Maybe.) as she moved and grooved to the soulful tunes. Some of her dance moves were totally risque' too, and she was sharing 'em with the world! I was loving it. Haley and I even got up next to her and busted a few moves...nothing too risque', as my daughter was watching. We had so much fun, and our sides hurt from laughing so much and so hard. I had tears in my eyes, some from laughter, but some because it was just such a beautiful day to spend with my sister, my daughter, and the love of my life. There is something about good music that just magnifies the love and beauty all around us. A memory for the record-books.

Sister Haley

Ask Haley or me if we got along when we were younger, and you will most likely get laughed at. This laughter is no offense to you; it's not your fault for asking, but, if we are being honest here, our childhood relationship left something to be desired. And by something I mean hugs and kisses, sharing, general kindness and cooperation, maybe even an agreement or two thrown in there for good measure. It would be an understatement to say that we weren't the best of friends growing up.
The almost 4 year gap between us didn't bode well when it came to that typical, tempestuous sibling relationship. We were close enough in age that we were always in competition (although, looking back at it, I would have to admit that it was most likely one-sided competition on my part. Haley's generally fairly easy-going and I USED to be, generally, NOT), but far apart enough in years that there wasn't a whole lot of understanding going on behind the scenes. In fact, that past misunderstanding has most certainly left us with fingernail scratch scars on our backs and perhaps a few handfuls of missing hair to prove it. Embarrassing.
In fact, there was once a year-long battle over nothing but a white t-shirt with a sparkly 'California' decal on it. We wrestled it off of each other in a jealous, possessive, rage, on more occasions than I am willing to admit or even remember. Classy, ain't it? That T-shirt now has a permanent home in a keepsake cedar chest, because it is not only quite hilarious to reminisce about, but also represents a "coming of age" for both of us as sisters, and eventually, friends. Best friends, actually.
Ask us how our relationship is now, (what? You don't want to because you were laughed at before? Don't be scared.) and we will tell you that our battle wounds are now beauty marks. Our past arguments and word-wars (and fingernail wars) now provide our family with hours of entertaining anecdotes to be told and fights to be laughed over.
Since those "dark ages" of our relationship, we have spent hours on the phone and in person, laughing and crying with one another over many of life's triumphs and heartbreaks. When I needed someone to talk to at 3 am about a decision I was pining over, Haley was only a phone call (and an ocean, no big deal) away. When Haley needed relationship advice or was feeling lonely on her island out in the Pacific Ocean, I made it a point to answer her cries. She has held my hand and acted as the "bigger" sister as I have wept on her shoulder out of loneliness, confusion, fear, sadness, and happiness over the years. We have shared deep secrets and had hearts-to-hearts in the quiet hours of the night where hidden thoughts and feelings come out of their cobwebbed corners.
She has become a very real part of who I am, and I can only hope that the feeling is reciprocated. She has mothered my girls, and told them they are beautiful. She has calmed their cries and mended their broken hearts when no one else could. She is my sister, and the love that I have for her is really more than even the most beautiful words could ever hope to explain.
That sister, my closest friend, was dropped off at the Missionary Training Center (AKA basic training for missionaries) last Wednesday. Due to their new "drive by drop offs", we decided to forgo the trip to Provo and said our goodbyes at my parents' home last Monday night after a very tender family home evening together. I would be lying if I said it was an easy goodbye for me. Easy, I suppose, in the way that I couldn't ask for anyone to take better care of her than a Heavenly Father who always knows better than I do. But, hard in the way that it is difficult for me to imagine anyone needing her more than I need my sister. That irrational and completely incorrect, but very tangible, feeling has caught me off-guard already on more than one occasion. I keep having to remind myself that I can't keep this beautiful soul to myself. I beam with pride, however, that I have had some, albeit very small and seemingly insignificant, part in teaching her to be a "Sister."
Now that she is "Sister Pratt," I have realized that her job as a missionary will not be too far away from what my "Sister Haley" has been for me all along. A sister teaches learning from mistakes, as she has taught me to do from my own, on too many occasions to count. A sister teaches forgiveness, as she has taught me, as well as given to me, despite my cruel words or actions. A sister teaches joy and happiness in living the gospel, as she has taught me by example. A sister holds your hand, despite being younger in age and perhaps experience, as your cry because of mistakes you have made or at the beautiful cruelty of life. A sister laughs and celebrates with you as you rise triumphant over life's trials. She will be celebrating so many victories as a "Sister" to the people of the Philippines as she helps teach them repentance and forgiveness, and brings them into the fold. She magnifies the sacred calling of "Sister," and I couldn't be happier or more excited for those that they get to experience all that is 'Haley' for the next 18 months.