On a lighter note...

Autumn has been begging to take a dance class for about a year and a half. Frankly, the idea of my little girl in skin-tight outfits shaking her bum and wearing gobs of make-up held no appeal for me. But ballet seemed like a good compromise (still skin-tight, but tasteful, outfits; eventually make-up; no bum-shaking). This fall, I finally registered her for ballet. She was so excited when we picked out the leotard and tights. (She just wears dress-up ballet shoes for now. Does it really make a difference at this age?) The first class was a lot of fun; she was asking all week long when it was time for ballet again. After the second class, the excitement waned. This was more disciplined and structured than she had planned on, and she felt repentant. She said she wanted to go back to music class, bagging the whole dance class idea. Well, I had already registered her for the complete semester; besides, i think she's a little young to start a pattern of quitting. So I tried to build it up all week, we trudged through that class, and she's been fine (enjoying it immensely, actually) ever since.



All this background to say that Parent Observation class was a little while ago. Normally, I sit in the hall (or quickly take advantage of 45 precious "alone" minutes to run errands...alone). This time, we were invited into the inner sanctum of giggly preschool ballet class. Here is more of what I saw...

Watching My Baby Fall

Yesterday afternoon, Gabriel gave me quite a scare. Autumn needed some motivation cleaning her room, so I toted Gabe upstairs, set the gate up on the landing, and started cleaning other rooms. Sometimes, all she needs is some company to get moving. I was a little nervous about the gate; it's one of those wooden, expandable Evenflo ones with four rubber stoppers that push up against whatever surface you set them on. Anyhow, I could only get 3 stoppers on surfaces, because of the floor moldings. It seemed pretty sturdy, but I still watched and distracted Gabe when he got too close. While I was cleaning my room, I saw that he was right next to the gate. He leaned against it and I yelled, "NO, Gabe!" I came toward him, but was two steps too late. He put the full weight of his body on the gate and it came crashing down. I watched in horror as he fell face-down on one stair, and then flipped over. His feet hit a stair, followed by a nasty blow to the back of his head. I was screaming loudly now, and his eyes locked on mine. The look on his face was pure panic (likely a reflection of my own), but there was nothing I could do to help. He flipped again, landing when the wood floor crashed against the back of his head in a loud THUD. Somehow, I was over the fallen gate and to him in a second. He lay still, fully conscious, and screaming wildly. I wanted so badly to lift him in my arms and cradle him. But, since he just lay there, I didn't dare move him.

A lot happened immediately afterwards (phone calls to 911 & Clint; Micah clearing out the entryway; Jonah running to get my sweet neighbor Melisa). There was the arrival of people after people, all crowded in our tiny entryway around my tiny angel. He soon was moving his limbs and turning his head. It was decided that we should still take him to the hospital to be examined, and we did. He was concerned about the ambulance ride (and more concerned about the ambulance driver). We got through the CT scan without sedation or too much restraint. The results were normal; and, amazingly, he only has a tiny raspberry on the side of his forehead to show for the ordeal.

But watching him fall like that, and being so powerless in stopping it, has me reflecting on parenthood. So many thoughts rushed through my mind in the instant that it happened. Broken bones, injuries, brain damage, the unthinkable. But I could do nothing. Well, sure, if I was the calmer sort, I would have thought to pray. Yet, I still could not stop or even soften the fall. In the Emergency Room, I told Clint I know we will experience this again. Sometime in his future. We will watch him figuratively fall, waiting to comfort, console & help him at the bottom. It's part of life, right? I've come to love each of my children so dearly; watching them suffer is nearly unbearable. And yet, I feel an approach to divinity in the experience. I am fairly certain that God does not scream wildly as He watches His children stumble and fall, in sin and hardship. And, unlike me, He knows what outcomes await at the bottom of our personal stairs. But I cannot believe His heart doesn't ache for us; that He does not yearn to help and soothe and comfort. I know I have felt such compassion from Him many times along my way.

I am glad to be a mother. I am grateful for the experience. And I trust He will strengthen me so I can help the little ones He has sent me.

here he is, playing with Clint's scarf while we waited for the doctor

So Cruel

Footage of the fact that Gabe loves his Daddy

Happy Birthday to a Boy Who Knows Just How to Make his Mommy Smile

Six random remarks made by Micah over the years, to celebrate your 6th birthday:

1. (Background: the boys were at the kitchen table, drinking juice and calling each other names. I told them if they couldn't say something nice to each other, they should just say nothing. ) On my way to the laundry room, Micah says, "Nothing, Jonah." -- 2-1/2 years old

2. (Micah had taken off his diaper and was trying to change it himself. Clint said he thought Micah was ready to be potty trained.) Micah furrowed his brow, scrunched his nose, and - in his angriest voice - retorted, "Daddy, I not potty train!" -- 2-3/4 years old

3. Micah: "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, introducing the best - the greatest - the BOOGAR MAN!"
Jonah: "Uh, I think you mean the Boogie Man."
Micah: "Oh... the BOOGIE MAN!!" -- 3-1/2 years old

4. (Micah said he had black spots on his hands & asked me why.) Before I could look into it, he said, "Maybe I'm TURNING BLACK!"
I looked at his hands and said, "It looks like you drew on them with a black pen."
To which he responded, "Oh ya. I did." -- nearly 4

5. (Micah asked to borrow my mirror. I walked by him as he looked into it.) To himself, he said, "I think this is my mirror, because... Mommy's not in it." -- also nearly 4

6. (Pointing to his hind quarters, either meaning his pants or underwear.) He asked me, "Do you know why I put these on? ... Because then my poop will say, 'Oh my gosh! How do we get out of here!? We're stuck!" -- 4-1/2 years old

Thanks for making me laugh, Micah! I love you, and hope you know what a precious treasure you are to me.

The World of Scouting

Well, we're finally here. Scouting. With Jonah's 8th birthday came parties, a baptism & his much-anticipated scouting debut. For the first month of scouting, he had 0 meetings. They did have 1 meeting scheduled, but it was canceled due to a massive outbreak of the flu. So last Thursday was his first Scouting event...the monthly pack meeting/Pinewood Derby. Here he is right before the meeting began:

He looked so proud and grown-up carrying the scouting flags at the beginning of the meeting. Then they weighed and adjusted the cars, and here he is showing off his little number:


He could hardly wait to test her out. Unfortunately, he lost all four heats he raced in. I guess he needs graphite for the tires next time. It was pretty bad... after all that excitement, he was crushed to lose every race.

But Jonah was cheered by his trophy...best craftmanship (which was extra special since he did design the car himself.) And he was ecstatic about learning to tie knots at tonight's meeting. Good thing kids are such resilient creatures!

Baptism Day

Jonah has been looking forward to and preparing for his baptism for years now. This was completely his decision, and he has tried hard to study and learn as the time drew closer. What a tender experience to watch my first child be both baptized and blessed with the gift of the Holy Ghost. He has always been a sweet boy, always willing to help when asked & often without even needing an assignment. Having a boy first sort of concerned me; I was worried he might be a bully. From a young age, I taught him the roles of an older sibling: 1. to protect 2. to be nice. He has taken those roles seriously, and I think he is following the examples of Jesus Christ and Hyrum Smith (the ultimate big brothers) very well.



We were able to have a separate service (as opposed to the group, or stake, baptisms they usually do where we live), and that was extra special because he knew and chose everyone who participated in the baptismal service. We felt grateful for friends and family that took the time to be there. It meant a lot to him, and to us. And of course we enjoyed eating and visiting with everybody at our house afterwards. My only regret is not taking more pictures of friends and family... oh well!

Saying goodbye. Is it just me or does Nana look a little too happy about this? She was in sort of a hurry to leave this time. Hmmph.

A friendly game of war with Papa


Autumn keeps talking about that cute baby Sam, who is younger but bigger than her little brother! (She's having a hard time reconciling that one.) ;)

Daddy's Boy

On one of several car trips today, it was just Gabe & i. We'd dropped off who needed dropping and had some time before we had to start picking up (would've just said picking, but then you might get the wrong idea.) Anyhow, he was just chattering away in the back. I started listening, and realized he was mentioning his Dada. He loves his Daddy, and says all the variations of Dada he can say at his tender age... Da-da, Dad-ee, Da-dee, & Da. He would jabber about something else, but kept coming back to talking about his Dad. I'll admit it, I was starting to feel a little jealous. Why, just this morning, I brought him into bed with me. He practically plowed over me on his way to Clint's side of the bed (Clint was playing church basketball at the time.) He pulled back the covers, calling for Da-dee, then whimpered when he couldn't find him. It took a few more seconds of searching before he finally accepted that Dada wasn't there. Anyway, back to the story. He really began talking a lot about Clint, and I finally decided to look at him while we were stopped at a red light, and see what was prompting this discussion. Did he have his toy phone in hand or was he looking at Clint's coat in the back? As I turned, I saw him flipping the pages of his favorite book:



The pages are filled with illustrations of monkeys and gorillas; and, for once, I was glad he wasn't uttering the scarcely-heard "Mama." :)