YummOOOOOHHHH!

I have been meaning all year to send you to my husband's blog. This idea started in January. He is meant to be journaling (at least) weekly and recounting his garden adventures. Prep work. Planting. Growing. Harvesting. Cooking. Canning. And, bless his heart, we thought for two months this spring we might be moving and the garden went in late, then family came to visit twice and summer is his busy season at work. Oh, we are still gardening, and he has taken copious pictures, but the writing part has been a bit neglected. I think he still loves the idea, and maybe with mobile blogging he'll post more regularly. 

After an amazingly successful dinner tonight I decided it was time to post some of this stuff myself. Here I am, complete with the Florence Henson hairflip, the 1950's apron made lovingly by my mother. And barefoot. But decidedly NOT pregnant. Probably I'm just loaded up on good food.

For the 4th of July, the kids did their second annual produce and goodie stand. Jedi Knight worked in the garden for a couple of hours to help Plantboy get everything harvested and ready to go.

This is before the sale. I still have tons of onions, garlic and shallots drying on the back patio that I just use whenever. Because it has been hot this summer, our peas and beans didn't do nearly as well as they normally do, and the potato plant tops died off early, so while there are potatoes in the ground, they aren't really growing. Still, with all the sunshine and heat, the tomato crop is looking to be a bumper one. Every year brings a different experience and new things to learn. I think part of the reason Plantboy enjoys the garden so much is for the challenge of it.

 

 This was last Sunday's dinner offering: Crockpot roast, balsamic pesto, string vegetables over farfalle pasta. The roast was cooked in Plantboy's Italian style stewed tomatoes that he canned last fall. The pesto was made with basil and shallots from the garden. I used a cool shredder tool on three colors of carrots, zucchini and yellow summer squash (all from our garden) for the pasta. The pesto went on top of the pasta and veggies, but they were too pretty to photograph with anything covering them. When you add the vinegar to your pesto it loses some of that pretty green color, but it gains a huge amount of flavor. There are also red peppers in with the veggies, but not ours yet. We still have a couple of weeks to go on peppers. 

 This next meal is Plantboy's fresh caught salmon with two types of quinoa. The veggies include carrots and orange squash (cubed, purchased) that I roasted together in a pan with a teaspoon or two of brown sugar. There is also asparagus and roasted beets. This year we planted nearly all yellow beets because they can be cooked with other food without making everything turn purple!

 This next one is so pretty I could hardly stand to eat it. The meat is from my crockpot cookbook and is called chicken Provencal. Cook the chicken in a can of stewed Italian tomatoes (again, I used Plantboy's) and a can of paste. Add salt, pepper, onions and garlic to taste. About an hour before serving throw chopped red and yellow pepper. In the middle are Israeli couscous. Good luck finding these bad boys, but I think they are worth it. Market of Choice used to sell them in bulk, but this time around we had to buy them in a bag and they were pricey. They are just like huge couscous. They are awesome with Mediterranean food or to make into a lemony-pine nut pasta salad. Hot or cold. Whatever. The veggies here are shredded zucchini and yellow squash topped with fresh Parmesan. I sauteed them in olive oil for about three minutes. Fresh basil. Of course.

Padawan has taken to calling this pie Pentaberry Pie, rather than the traditional Razzleberry pie because it has FIVE different berries. Marion, rasp, blue, straw and black. Awesome. Just awesome. I followed the recipe I posted here before but used a deep dish pie plate and added about 50% more berries and corresponding flour and sugar. I also made a regular dish . . . which, truthfully baked up a little better. But honestly, there were two solid inches of berries in this thing when it was cooled and cut. It was so pretty I wanted to cry. 

 This next meal is boiled garden potatoes--two varieties, just whatever we had, fresh blueberries (picked at a local farm; our garden doesn't produce a lot all at once), green beans locally grown and Plantboy's salmon grilled with a hint of brown sugar and purple onions. His dipping sauce is one we found at Costco. Habenero something or other. I made my pulled pork in the stuff last weekend and it was pretty much the best ever.

 How is a dinner list complete without breakfast-dinner? Eggs and bacon NOT grown in the backyard. Not a real animal person here. Fingerling potatoes boiled for a few minutes and then fried in butter and olive oil with fresh shallot and rosemary. The waffle is a to-die-for liege waffle topped for dinner and not dessert--avocado, strawberries, and feta. There was a drizzle of reduced balsamic and/or olive oil for the waffle too. And if you've never had berries and feta in reduced balsamic, well, then, you aren't a true foodie yet.

 I end up with about ten of these pictures every year. Plantboy gets his carrots all harvested, cleaned and lined up and can't help but take pictures. If you are already growing carrots, then get a packet of COLORED carrot seeds next year. Really. It will make you so happy. And if you aren't growing carrots, then, seriously, get on it. What are you waiting for? These beauties are actually no bigger than my index finger. They were the ones Plantboy pulled up when he had to thin the crop. I didn't peel them (too small); I sauteed them as-is. Tops and everything. So lovely. That is a bit of spinach hanging out over on the side. In April and May we had garden salad just about every night.

  
The only thing from the garden here is probably the purple onion . . . we made these a little early in the season for them to be from our garden. Those are sweet potatoes (or yams or whatever you call the red garnet ones), not carrots. I boiled the s.p. and the red potatoes for a couple of minutes before skewering them. It is okay to point out here that somebody with skewers this organized probably has obsessive-compulsive disorder. Yeah. I know.

 An early strawberry harvest. During June we were picking almost this many about every three days. We picked up at a local u-pick farm also so that there were plenty for jam and smoothies for the next several months.

  
Okay, okay, these next two have absolutely nothing to do with the garden, and everything to do with processed sugar, but they are just so cute. I discovered a new kind of food coloring called color gels that are so much better than regular food coloring. The colors are more vibrant and there is no bitter taste. The Youngling got an Oregon Ducks cake for his birthday and Padawan took a Cookie Monster cake to the Blue and Gold banquet. The best part about Cookie Monster is that he was just as blue inside!

 This little creation is called Jarfait. Plantboy and I had this at a delightful restaurant in Newport in June, and then I came home and made up my own version. It is basically a personal trifle. I layered angel food cake, homemade custard (not too sweet) with blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries from the garden. Oh, yeah, everybody loves a Jarfait.

The kids are getting to be better pickers. This was our u-pick haul in about 45 minutes at the farm. Plantboy found out when they were going to be the most "on" and he came home at lunch one day to help us. Freezer jam for a whole year, baby!

 This has been a wonderful year for our harvest. In every way. Although I'm beginning to feel the pressure that comes from beginning a new job and making life changes, I'm also feeling enormously blessed for the life we have here in Oregon. There is so much to see and do and love here. Happy eating!

Control

The other day on Facebook I saw a quote that somebody had posted related to the way we should live our lives. You know, one of those things in a cheezy font with a soothing picture. It went like this, "The reason many people in our society are miserable, sick, and highly stressed is because of an unhealthy attachment to things they have no control over.”

It is an interesting idea, and probably worth looking at a little bit more closely. 

First of all, I don't really think that our life is meant to be some never-ending bliss. I don't think think that God intends for us to be uptight and unhappy all the time, of course, but years ago Elder Maxwell coined the term "divine discontent" that I find very apropos.  To me, divine discontent is like the voice of Mufasa whispering from beyond the veil, "You are more than you have become . . . remember!" It is through our falling down and rising again, our righteous ambitions, our trying just a little bit harder to love a little bit more that we remember who we are. Sometimes this causes a little bit of stress. After all, isn't stress that gap between where we are and where we want to be?

Don't get me wrong. I think we need to be very honest about running-faster-than-we-have-strength. I am very bad at this. But there is a big difference between accepting that we cannot affect the outcome of every situation and ceasing to try affecting any outcome at all. 

I have always been a Type A personality. Here is some insight into that: I told Plantboy the other day that it was going to a huge adjustment for me to begin using my Franklin-Covey planner as an app in my iPad instead of a physical book, because I had been carrying one for 25 years. He looked at me a bit askance . . . 25 years?  Yes, that's right. I started carrying my first planner when I was 13. It is in my nature to attempt to control nearly everything.

I went through a phase in my 20's when I hated this about myself. Everyone seemed more relaxed. More happy. More able to go with the flow. Etc. Etc. I was convinced that it was this thing about me that had broken off my first engagement. I sometimes feared it would prevent me from ever finding happiness in my marriage. Of course, this self-loathing was exacerbating my stress.

One day, after a very long talk with my mother, I had a revelation of sorts. It seemed that the thing to do was embrace my personality as it was instead of forever trying to change it. And something remarkable happened. I saw that it was this part of me that had given me the ability to work very hard as a missionary, to finish college and be so successful in my chosen career. It was this thing that allowed me to juggle so much and help others. It was this part of me that made me reliable and  dependable. I accepted the level of stress that came with who I am fundamentally, and began to understand what it takes for me to manage that stress.

Back to the control issue. After a YW program I was a part of some time ago, a woman in our group (decidedly not Type A) spoke with a great deal of enthusiasm after the project was over about how God always steps up and makes these things good. Her comment gave me great pause as I thought about all the hours I (and others) had put in to make the program successful. While I agreed with her that the Lord had sanctified our performance and had blessed us with the Holy Ghost that night, I didn't agree that God would have done so had our preparation been faulty, or less than all we had to give. 

So over the years I've learned that I can control the level of service I give to a thing . . . and that the more I'm willing to give the better it often turns out. Particularly if I have served prayerfully. I have learned that great and loving volunteers can make a whole school, and by extension a community, a better place. I've learned that I have a large deal of control (or at least influence) in my own home regarding a whole host of things--from my children's nutrition to their spiritual insights to their attitudes. I have a lot of control over my husband's happiness. Their behavior out "there" reflects pretty well what we are doing in here. And yet, keeping a clean home, making sure homework is done, driving them places, attending all our church meetings, fixing healthy meals (you know the drill) causes stress and wears me down. Perhaps this is my basic personality. Perhaps it is just life.

The idea that I could somehow have less stress by giving up on a lot of this because I cannot control how my children turn out is ludicrous to me. When it comes to it, I cannot make their choices for them, but I can help them to come from a place where they understand fully the paths in front of them and understand about revelation that will lead them to the right path. On paper it looks like such a simple thing. In practice, creating the childhood and community you want for your children is a daily battle between what is easy and what is right. Where you are, and where you want to be. It is stressful. I wonder if it is supposed to be.

If you haven't yet read "Letter to a Doubter" by Terryl Givens, you really should. This excerpt occurs near the end, 

"The option to believe must appear on one’s personal horizon like the fruit of paradise, perched precariously between sets of demands held in dynamic tension. Fortunately, in this world, one is always provided with sufficient materials out of which to fashion a life of credible conviction or dismissive denial. We are acted upon, in other words, by appeals to our personal values, our yearnings, our fears, our appetites, and our egos. What we choose to embrace, to be responsive to, is the purest reflection of who we are and what we love. That is why faith, the choice to believe, is, in the final analysis, an action that is positively laden with moral significance.

"The call to faith, in this light, is not some test of a coy god, waiting to see if we “get it right.” It is the only summons, issued under the only conditions, which can allow us fully to reveal who we are, what we most love, and what we most devoutly desire. Without constraint, without any form of mental compulsion, the act of belief becomes the freest possible projection of what resides in our hearts. Like the poet’s image of a church bell that only reveals its latent music when struck, or a dragonfly that only flames forth its beauty in flight, so does the content of a human heart lie buried until action calls it forth. The greatest act of self-revelation occurs when we choose what we will believe, in that space of freedom that exists between knowing that a thing is, and knowing that a thing is not."

More than any other thing I've ever read that helps me to understand what God meant when he told Abraham that we would be "proved herewith." It isn't a test just to mess with us because God is powerful enough to do it. It is our chance to demonstrate our deepest desires and yearnings. Our choices are a chance to reveal our innermost self. Our choice to faith, to action, to attempt to exert some influence on the world around us when all the logic and darkness and natural-man-ness says it is just easier to give up control and be stress-free.

I choose action. And for me that means an acceptance of stress. For me to be otherwise is to shut that voice from the other side of the veil that is constantly calling me to look up and remember.

Age 4. Phase 4.

My baby turned four on Tuesday. . . .

Perhaps you didn't hear correctly. My BABY turned four on Tuesday. On Sunday I held him close and said, "When you turn four, you'll be a big boy, and you won't be my baby anymore." I said this with some sad longing in my voice. Even in his little boy brain he could see my need for feedback of some kind. He put his perfect little arms around my neck and said, "I always your baby, Mommy. Even when I grow up and I'm super big, I be your baby forever."

Awww. . . .

Except I know better.

I know that as the youngest he probably will always hold some kind of special place in my heart, unique from the others (though they each occupy their own place too). But I know that boys grow up. Sports, friends, school, girls, mission--each in their turn will become more important than I am. Some replacements will be temporary. Others, not so much. I feel like I am standing on the edge of the next phase of my adult life.

The first phase were those single days. I find that the longer I live past that time, the more more idyllic they become! Fun and carefree days with roommates. College. Cheesy jobs. Heaps of friends. Student government. Mission. But I'm not naive. I also remember those days as being filled with a lot of loneliness, and longing--a sense of waiting for my life to begin. I think I missed a lot of joy from that time because I was always looking toward that moment in the future when I would be happy. I'm so grateful for those years that taught me about how sanctifying waiting can be, how to live with and love myself, and how to have a testimony.

Phase two is married without kids. This phase only lasted a couple of years for us. This is not a phase that has gotten more idyllic with the passage of time. It is true that we did a lot of fun things in that time, and that money wasn't as stressful as in later years (we had a whole year of two professional incomes without kids or a house payment), but we are so much more happily married now. I'm a great wife, but I was kind of a lousy newlywed. I brought too many hang-ups, and perhaps some unrealistic expectations into that most holy union.

Phase three is young kids, aka, "baby prison." I won't say much about that. After all, the blog is nearly five years old, and if you have even followed a portion of that time you know enough of my adventures in phase three.

But now . . .

There is no baby here. No diapers. Few little kid toys even hanging around. Our conversations (that don't involve shooting stuff) are actually interesting and uplifting around here. Oh, my men and still little and busy, and there are days that are just wearing physically and emotionally, but mostly I have been given my own life back. This morning I spent time sending a rather lengthy letter to a friend. I am now working on this blog post. I will probably spend time later consolidating and copying down recipes. As long as I stop to provide food, the pirates (the game of choice this morning) will probably stay pretty content.

My graduate program begins in just a few weeks. I am scrambling through my to-do list, hoping to accomplish some domestic activities before I get my feet wet. I have mentioned before that the last year or two I felt a sort of limbo--unsure about having more kids, not knowing what to do next, frustrated with a dead-end job we can't afford for me to quit, etc. etc. Now I feel like it is time to take the next step forward.

Looking Forward to the Next Parenting Crisis

Alternately Titled: What I Would Do With the $100 Million Jackpot

Jedi Knight has been taking karate since September. I chose this particular dojo, out of several choices, because its flexibility is awesome. He can go any day of the week because the general beginners' class is offered at the same time each day. He can go four times monthly, and if I up my monthly payment, he could go as often as he wanted. It has been good for him. He has learned some discipline and focus. He is getting better all the time. Some of the instructors I like better than others, though admittedly I don't get to stay and watch him as often as I like, so I'm not always sure how his classes go down.

What I had not counted on was the karate being quite as . . . well. . . self-important as the folks running the dojo make it seem. I appreciate that it is serious to them. That it is not a game or a costume party. But what I'm not crazy about is the secretary who makes me feel like a pariah when I ask questions about the way things work regarding advancement, etc. I sometimes feel like every other parent in the place kind of gets what is going on and I don't. My questions are often met with a combination of incredulity-condescension-and "well, duh!" I'm still trying to get a read on the place because JK likes it. Quite a lot.

A bit more background and then we'll address my current situation at karate. I am a hyper-modest girl. I'm not sure how this happened. My mom didn't necessarily really push this, although there was a pretty strong level of embarrassment regarding anything related to body stuff. For whatever reason, I entered puberty very reluctantly and slowly. I was angry when my friends threw over books, Barbies and school for boys, clothes and hair. By age 10 I was practically barricading myself in the bathroom when it came time for bathing or showering. If I took too long, somebody would always bang on the door threatening to use the butter knife to break in if I didn't hurry. Bra-shopping (at least six months too late) and menarche (at least a year too early) were nightmares of mortification, in which I never wanted to look my mother in the eye again.

Enter seventh grade gym class.

Until we toured the school, it had never occurred to me that we might be required to shower in a group. I was shocked and horrified. My public pool experience was pretty limited and the before pool showering we did was always in the little outside showers. Which word is stronger than mortification? Like you probably did, I learned to change my clothes without ever actually taking my other clothes off. I learned to shower wearing underwear and just wrapping myself in a towel. My feet were always very clean. . . .

I observed a couple of things. First of all, the only girls comfortable wandering the locker room in bra and panties were the cute/popular/boyfriended girls. I was not one of these. Unfortunately, most of my friends were, and it is safe to say that the girls in my locker aisle (which we could choose) were probably the most with-it group of our class start to finish. It is a group I somehow always managed to be on the fringe of and would end up rooming with at college some years later. Some of these women are still my close friends and I love them dearly, though I'm never really quite sure how they were my group to begin with. (Oh, man, this is a whole new set of hang-ups today. I need a new label called "Living in 1987.")

Ah hem. Back to the topic. My second observation from my locker room days is that the only girls comfortable showering uninhibited in front of everyone were the girls who already carried very bad reputations before we turned 13. I still remember this one girl . . . .

Okay, let's not go there.

Our gym teacher complained that somebody stunk. I thought it was a stupid accusation: I didn't smell anyone, and none of us were working hard enough to actually sweat. Still, she stood with the clipboard to watch each of us shower. For a grade. She later uncloseted as a lesbian.

Really.

College was awkward with the same pretty friends and their low inhibitions. Why is it easier to put on makeup in just a bra then it is just to put on a shirt, for crying out loud?? Now I live with four men, but my modesty principles have not loosened up much. Even when my kids were babies I didn't let them in the shower, or even the bathroom with me. I would lock them into the bouncy seat just outside the door and jealously guard my private time. My modesty. When my midwife and I went over the birth plan for my first baby, I mentioned my modesty hang ups and, bless dear Happy Barnes (my midwife's actual name), she was so careful while I labored. At the public pool we regularly attend now I always use the family restroom, even when I only have my three year-old with me. The sight of women changing in front of one another and their daughters and their young sons is really pretty horrible to me. Nursing was perpetually awkward for me and I was never really comfortable doing so in front of other people.

Out in public we cover, cover, cover. Why is it that the moment we step into a changing room it is okay to . . . . and I don't think I'll ever quite get over going to early morning water aerobics with my 70ish grandmother and her friends. I wish I had gone out into the 20 degree morning in my damp hair and clothes rather than be haunted by the elephantine memories of that public dressing room experience.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying this is necessarily right or normal and certainly not any kind of an LDS requirement for virtuous living. It is just me.

And because parents do, I have transmitted some of this to my kids. Jedi Knight showers with the door shut and often locked. He is bothered when people enter his room while he is changing. I have urged bathroom privacy for each child. We have decided to be a non-sleepover family and have spoken with all the kids at length about when and for whom it is appropriate to change your clothing.

Back to karate. When we started karate in the summer, they were meeting in a small and temporary dojo while construction was completed on another. Each child wore their "gi" (the white outfit) to karate. We were careful with it--ONLY to and from karate and kept clean and folded. In mid-October, the new dojo opened and we began going there. I noticed that a lot of kids in the class after JK changed at karate. Maybe even a majority. There is some kind of a group changing area with lockers in one area. Because the next class is comprised of teenagers and adults, I assumed they changed at the dojo because they came from school or work and it was convenient.

Not necessarily so, as I was firmly told on Monday. You see, everyone at the dojo is required to wear street clothes, and change there. Everyone. I was told that there are some lingering kids still making the mistake of changing at home because they allowed it over the summer. Not only is JK my modesty-boy, but he is also very resistant to change. I could see him shutting down as strict-secretary-girl was laying down the law. She explained her reasoning--the Gi is not a costume, they stay cleaner, the kids take greater responsibility, etc. etc. She confirmed that even the four and five year olds at his class are changing their clothes, in the group room, prior to class.

I explained to her that he and I had spoken a lot about modesty and that he had been instructed never to change clothes in front of other people. That it was a thing our family valued. She emphasized that she monitored the room carefully while kids were in there and listened for any talk that wasn't related to changing, and that it was a RULE for crying out loud. Seeing my discomfort, the dojo owner remarked that it would be appropriate for him to change in one of the stalls in the men's bathroom. I conceded that this would work.

Now if I can just convince Jedi "I'm-not-really-comfortable-with-this" Knight that he can go for the compromise.

On my way home from the encounter, all of my horrible junior high PE emotions came back to me. I went to college the year of the huge Skyview High scandal that brought hazing in high school sports into the national spotlight and began a discussion about where does "boys will be boys" cross the line into brutalizing sexual harassment. In a classic case of blame the victim, the young man was told that unless he apologized to the team for having sought police involvement in the case, then he was off the team. The perpetrators didn't even get a slap on the wrist.

Recent studies and practices at some high performing middle schools demonstrate that doing PE in the morning (actual PE, not avoid-the-dodge-ball-and-gossip-for-25-minutes) increases academic performance. I'm a believer in this. The dream school I design in my head all of the time is a 6-12. PE and Health would be a major part of the required curriculum. Every year. Equipment. Classes. Martial Arts. Nutrition. Disease. etc. . . . but if something couldn't be done about completely re-envisioning locker rooms, I could never really get behind it. Individual showers. Stalled changing rooms. Gym teachers with more important tasks to fill their time than watching young kids shower to earn points.

We may have averted the karate crisis. I think by the time our next lesson rolls around I will have him talked into a compromise that works for the dojo and for our family.

But what will I do in middle school? When my quirky, smart, small boys who haven't been weaned onto a diet of team sports are confronted with a locker room dilemma which I find pretty offensive? A place that, almost by design, strives to separate the kids into a social stratification that persists for years and erodes self-esteem. Kids can be so cruel, and I've been around teenage kids more than a little bit. I know the kind on which some of them prey. They are the little men I love more than I love my own life. The system, as it stands, forces kids to be at their most vulnerable around one another just when they are getting smart enough to learn exactly whom they should never "strip" in front of.

Oh! I know we can't take away their hurts, but I don't want to throw them to the lions' den either!

Panda Mom

Late last week, two different friends sent me the same article. It is titled "Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior," and I believe it is creating quite a lot of buzz. Plantboy had heard it talked about on NPR and the author, Amy Chua (a professor at Yale Law School) has been dubbed "Tiger Mom." The first friend who sent me the article, has five sons and is preparing to adopt a daughter. From China. This former roommate is one of the dearest friends I've ever had. She is a woman of faith and determination who somehow manages to balance her toughness with complete tenderness. Any child would be blessed to come to her family. She had little to say about the article--it left both of us equally speechless--but she did mention feeling "bad" about it, at least when she had heard the article reported on.

The second friend, a father, had an entirely different take. He suggested I write a piece talking about the expectations that Latter-day Saints parents have for their children, and ran his own bullet list of things that we do in Mormon culture that would be seen as almost bizarre, not to mention incredibly strict, to some of our friends of other faiths. His list could certainly rival Tiger Mom's expectations. Then he said something that disturbed me almost as much as my other friend's near-guilt. He indicated that part of the reason LDS parent acts this way is that in our own culture we pay great attention to what other parents do and see acts by children as a reflection on the type of parents we are. He obliquely suggested that LDS mothers, a larger stay-at-home group than the population at large, feel enormous pressure from one another to churn out perfect children, more for the sake of themselves than the children themselves.

As interesting as both of my friends comments are, and worthy of discussion, I would like instead here to address an entirely different approach to parenting than Tiger Mom's. Clearly my speechlessness didn't last. I am not talking about Eastern v. Western parenting. Even Tiger Mom points out that many moms of Chinese descent, particularly those living in the West, aren't what she terms "Chinese Mothers" because they don't follow the set mold that is the basis of her discussion. In addition, she uses the term "Western parenting" extremely loosely, so that at times I found myself in agreement with her and other times nearly offended at her implications.

Before I get going, it is important to point out that I don't begrudge Tiger Mom's right to parent how she wishes. I remember some years ago there was a young Cuban boy whose mother and father were divorced. The mother, who had family in the US, absconded with the boy in violation of a joint-custody agreement and attempted to make the crossing to the US. On their journey, the mother died and the boy was united with his Florida relatives who then tried to petition the US government to get custody of the child so he wouldn't have to be returned to his Communist father. No US politician would weigh in seriously in favor of the relatives, recognizing the slippery slope that we embarked upon when we began judging parents as unfit simply because we disagreed with their political beliefs. With that rather lengthy aside, I am only emphasizing that just because I reject emphatically Tiger Mom's tactics, I don't reject her right, or any parent's right, to create a home that reflects their values (within the law, of course).

My fundamental problem with Tiger Mom is not that she is strict, or that she has nearly impossible expectations, it is that her parenting approach is rule-based instead of value-based. I should clarify: parents who make rules the priority probably do have values, but they don't find it necessary to explain these to their children, only to enforce the rules. Similarly, value-based parenting also has rules, but both parents AND the children understand the purpose of the rules. In the first method, the family unit ends up serving the rules which are rigid and sometimes arbitrary or based on tradition. In the second method, the rules serve the family and there is inherent flexibility when things aren't working.

I'll provide an example.

Tiger Mom says that her children, two daughters, are not allowed to play an instrument other than piano or violin, nor are they allowed NOT to play either the piano or the violin. It is a family rule. So is practicing said instrument up to three hours daily.

Okay. Music is certainly a worthy pursuit.

But here is what a values-based parent says. "I want my children to learn self-discipline, diligent hard work, responsibility and be free of anxiety when performing in front of other people." To that end, the child in this scenario would be encouraged and allowed to do a team or individual sport, martial arts, dance, art, drama (Tiger Mom's greatest fear), or any musical instrument of their choosing. Or, heaven forbid, some combination of these.

The first child is valued for strict compliance, excelling and adherence to tradition in their perfect reflection of mother's wishes. The second child is valued for their choice and individuality and unique expression of talent.

Here is a second example of the contrast, again based on Tiger Mom's own words. "My daughters were never allowed NOT to be the number one student in every subject except gym and drama." She then spends hours each day drilling her kids in their subjects, stressing that the Chinese-school model of rote memorization is superior to Western ideals of creative thinking. Other than music practice, Tiger Mom's children are allowed no recreation. If her daughters don't come in first, or especially if anything other than an A is received, coercive techniques that include withholding food, name calling and taking away other "privileges" are invoked.

Okay. Academics are very important.

The values-based parent might say, "I want my child to value education, learn all that they can and become an engaged an interested student." The child is then encouraged, supported and loved. The child's areas of excellence are stressed and encouraged in the hope that a love of learning will spread to other areas of the curriculum also. School activities are supplemented when necessary and a child doing their best is the most important thing.

The problem of parenting with rules at the center is that there is no allowance for unusual circumstances or kids. There is no leeway for mistakes or repentance or reconciliation. There is no buffer system against the inevitable trials that will come into life. A friend once told me that she believed if you went into parenting with two many preconceived ideas (rules) then you were bound to be disappointed. I can't help but wonder what Tiger Mom would have done if she had given birth to a little girl with Down's syndrome, or a boy with Asberger's. Tourettes might have sent her into spasms of horror.

I'd like to share here a few of the values my own parenting is based upon. For some of these I will draw a contrast to Tiger Mom, others not so much. It is hard to tell entirely WHAT Tiger Mom values, other than her kids being "successful." In creating my list, I fully acknowledge that my own parenting values stem in large part from my own cultural biases, which are primarily LDS and secondly American. My ideas have also largely been formed from my training and experience as a teacher.

1. My children are lovely, special and unique. To me. It isn't fair for me to expect other people to treat them the same way. (Saying that all children are unique is really just another way of saying that NONE of them are.) If my children need extra time and attention, then it is primarily my responsibility to give it to them.

2. I must love my children enough to put limits on their behavior.

3. Self-esteem is built when a child makes good choices and enjoys the positive consequences of their behavior. Their sense of self and worth is based on their ability to become independent and strong. (Tiger Mom says that self-esteem is based on being praised for performing certain tasks with perfection. The problem with this approach is that perfection, at least across a broad spectrum of skills, is impossible. And even if you are first, it is only temporary. Somebody smarter, faster, more skilled and better always comes along eventually.) The most important thing I can give my child is independence.

4. I should set high expectations for my children and then do everything in my power to help them become successful.

5. My home needs to be a place of love and understanding and peace so that my kids have a soft place to land.

6. Children, particularly young children, develop their imagination and problem solving skills when they have plenty of unstructured play time. When this time is outdoors, it is even more productive. Dirt doesn't hurt and soap washes almost everything.

7. Children should learn to work, and that work should generally come before play; but they should also learn that work and fun are not dichotomies. Working at something you love brings total joy. And fun might involve all kinds of thinking and sweating.

8. My children might be handsome, charming, intelligent, excel in school, and have loads of friends (etc. etc.) but if they have no compassion, kindness and generosity then they will never build a life of true joy or richness. It is these unmeasurable attributes that make a truly great man or woman.

9. My children are not the center of any universe. Even mine. The most important single entity in my house is our family. The things we do must center on what is best for the family--which may certainly include an individual being spotlighted.

10. Eventually my children will have to determine their own religious values and practices, but in the meantime I will train them up in mine, while teaching them the tools that will help them to choose for themselves one day.

I guess I have a lot of values; I'm sure I could even come up with more. My point is that motivation for parenting has to be based on something more substantial than guilt (particularly that false-guilt that is actually based on comparison and not any inner working), tradition, a slanted idea of success, or on how well a child's behavior reflects on ourselves.

In the end of her essay, Tiger Mom, in my eyes redeems herself with the following two paragraphs,

". . . . For their part, many Chinese secretly believe that they care more about their children and are willing to sacrifice much more for them than Westerners, who seem perfectly content to let their children turn out badly. I think it's a misunderstanding on both sides. All decent parents want to do what's best for their children. The Chinese just have a totally different idea of how to do that.

"Western parents try to respect their children's individuality, encouraging them to pursue their true passions, supporting their choices, and providing positive reinforcement and a nurturing environment. By contrast, the Chinese believe that the best way to protect their children is by preparing them for the future, letting them see what they're capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits and inner confidence that no one can ever take away."

In the end, it seems that most parents want the same things.

What do you value as a parent or grandparent or favorite aunt or teacher? Everyone, regardless of the age or number or even existence of your own children has something to contribute here.

Parenting My Middle Child

Help.

Have I told you how much I love my middle son? He is smart--from his first smile at just two weeks old to his ability to handily beat me at memory to his memorization of something paragraphs long after just a few practices--this is one bright child. He is adorable and adoring when he takes a mind to be. He likes to tease and play in typical five year-old fashion. His four cowlicks, two of which swirl in opposite directions in his crown, guarantee that his hair always sticks up except for the two weeks after dad gives one of his great haircuts. He can charm anyone, and has a way of wrapping teachers and grown-ups around his finger after about four minutes in their class.

So why do I need help? If he is really so wonderful, then what, exactly is the problem?

Padawan went through some difficult kid-stuff between age two and three. I chalked it up to a new baby brother and a major move. Everything considered, in fact, he did remarkably well. He started coming into his own and the Jedi Knight always wanted him to tag along.

Then Jedi Knight went to school.
And Mommy had a baby and an early morning paper route.

And Padawan wasn't quite a big boy, but he wasn't quite a baby.

Ever since then, he has been stuck between big and little. He plays it to his advantage. "I don't want to do that, I'm not a baby like Youngling!" "I can't do that, I'm not a big boy like Jedi Knight."

So far, this is all typical middle child/5 year-old stuff. In fact, when I found out that number three was going to be a boy, I held Padawan close and kissed him, and though I never said it out loud I told him in my head a hundred times that I was sorry that he would never be my "baby" boy again. There was never a sweeter baby.

Then, about 18 months ago, when Plantboy and I took our tenth anniversary trip, he was left with my mom for a few days, and then a loving aunt the boys are crazy about. When I picked him up, he was full of stories of all that they had done, and seemed reluctant to leave Aunt Sugar. On our way home we noticed that he was doing this weird snorting, clearing his throat thing. I thought he'd picked up a cold at first.

He had not.

Allergies?

It didn't seem to be.

The thing is when he would sniff and clear his throat, he didn't seem to have any mucus. The odd habit, which got worse when he was nervous or when it was pointed out, became a tic which he would do several times an hour unless he became extremely busy and distracted. Having taught and/or tutored several students with Tourette's Syndrome before, it seemed like some things fell into place. People with TS tend to be rather OCD. Even as a young child, Youngling was fastidious about making sure that doors and drawers were shut and hated even having a drop of water or spot of mud or dirt on his clothes. In fact, my brother and I had sometimes joked about Padawan being OCD when we would watch him toddle over to any open doors and slam them shut. Now it was coupled with a tic--a tic that was exacerbated by nervousness.

I did some homework and shared what I learned with Plantboy, who had been trying various ways to make Padawan drop the habit, some of which were slightly punishing. I convinced Plantboy to just pretend it wasn't happening and to wait an see. I prayed a lot during that time, having seen brief glimpses into the lives of families who deal with TS.

Padawan stopped.

But after that we noticed some things. Any time he was in front of people--a talk a church, introduced to new people, even reciting Articles of Faith in family home evening--the tic would come back. Or another one would arise. Itching was really common.

Starting earlier his year he began a new default mode--we call it drama-boy mode. When something doesn't work out for him, he immediately begins pouting or crying or yelling or throwing things, including himself, to the ground. He has an initial outburst and then folds his arms and stomps away. Sometimes I don't even know what has made him angry. I've reassured him a hundred times that if he asks for help then I can give it to him and remind him that very few of his problems are unsolvable. I've also repeatedly focused on not doing things for him until he drops the drama and uses his words.

The irony is, that of all my kids, his basic personality is the most mellow. He isn't too upset about changes in schedule or spontaneous things. He used to remind me so much of my sweet, laid-back husband, but it is hard to really say that any more. These outbursts have started to overshadow every other part of him, and his lack of self-control is wreaking havoc on our family. He butts heads terribly with Plantboy; on especially bad days, peace between the two of them balances on a knife-point. He pushes me to the point where I yell, then I feel terrible and try to start over with him. His innermost nature is so sweet and forgiving that he is quick to hug and cuddle after we have trouble. He fights with his brothers, more than the other two fight with him. He bosses and loses his temper with them. He is stubborn when he plays and quick to explode when things don't go his way.

His latest OCD behavior is that he is very picky about the way his clothes fit. I have a huge container of clothes left over from Jedi Knight, and he will hardly wear any of them. He is perpetually out of clothes to wear because I can't wash fast enough to keep up with the only two pairs of pants he will actually wear to school--and one of the pairs he will only wear sometimes.

I have a plan for working through the clothing problem, and it will give him a chance to get lots of one-on-one time with mother. But I have a terrible feeling that solving the problem will only buy us a little bit of breathing room until the next "catastrophe."

This is the kind of post "they" say you should never write, because your children will hate you for it one day. But I didn't know who else to turn to than the folks, who oddly enough, know me the best because they visit here regularly*. I want to hear about your parenting experiences with middle children, nieces, nephews and grandchildren. I want to hear about your childhood (and adult!) experiences if you are in the middle yourself. Please don't assume that if your situation isn't identical that you can't offer something useful; I'm open to anything right now. Once I get some feedback, I will do a favor to Padawan's future self and move the post off the Internet.

Help.


*Blogger's stat counter is much better than the one I was using previously. I noticed that during the summer, according to my last stat counter, that I had a huge spike in the number of daily visitors after I went to Utah. Intrigued and pleased, I was feeling very self-assured. Enter Blogger's stats in September, with very specific information on which pages are getting the hits. My number one post every day for months has been that silly piece I wrote just before going on vacation about how I should have my hair cut. Apparently, running a Google search for certain types of haircuts brings back a hit for my blog that must be in the first page or two. I've had traffic from all over the world looking for the same kind of hair style I was hoping to achieve. Needless to say, Blogger's stat counter has greatly deflated my ego. It's a good thing.

Third Time's the Charm

Although, in this case, it might be said that the third time is ALSO charming.

We waited to see Toy Story 3 until we were together with a bunch of our cousins. My mother was thrilled as 8 grandsons and 1 granddaughter filled an entire row at the movie theater. They all looked so cute: even the Jedi were matchy in clean cargo shorts and striped polos. They even consented to a hair combing for the event.

The previews were fun. There is another Narnia movie coming out later this year that looks as exciting (if loosely based on the books) as its predecessors. Jedi Knight now has another book to get through before he can see the movie. We also saw a clip for Disney's new Rapunzel movie, titled "Tangled." It actually looks quite hilarious, and told from a very cocky prince's point of view. It seems that Rapunzel will use her hair for some awesome Ninja tricks. Still, Padawan leaned over and said, "Looks like a girl's movie." Maybe I could adopt somebody's daughter for the day and take them to see it.

I expected Toy Story 3 to be entertaining. Maybe even highly entertaining. I thoroughly enjoyed the first two. What I did not expect, however, is to be crying before they were even done with the opening credits, and then fully BAWLING during the closing credits.

It can be argued that after three films, you become really invested in characters--Tom Hanks is a remarkable actor even when disembodied--and that is the reason for my emotional response. The scene when these amazingly tough little toys are headed to the hellish incinerator is really dramatic and kind of scary. Knowing they are finally out of ideas, they do the only thing left to them: they hold hands, friends forever, and look death straight in the eye.

Uh, spoiler alert.

They don't die. Of course. It isn't a horror movie, after all.

However, I don't think it is my attachment to the characters, wonderful as they are, that prompted the tears. As Andy heads to college, you realize that his reluctance to clean out the toy chest has nothing to do with teenage angst. It is that some part of him realizes that in doing so, he is saying goodbye to his childhood. Before heading to the new phase of his life, he drops his toys off at the house of the most adorable child ever created by Pixar. She takes on these toys as a sacred responsibility, and understanding that he has found a kindred spirit, Andy delays his leaving for an hour to play with her.

To say goodbye to his toys, yes. But really to say goodbye to his childhood.

As I looked at that row of hardly-ever-still boys, ranging in age from 14 to 3, it was as if I was watching their childhoods slip away before my eyes. And I cried.

Last week, on a slow summer afternoon, my little boys asked me to help them take down the Lincoln logs and build some train tracks on the play table. We used to always call it the train table, but nobody has wanted trains built in a long time. I obliged and the kids played and played with Thomas and his friends. Our friends. When Jedi Knight, my train obsessed boy from way back, came home from doing a big-boy thing, he settled right into playing with them, even though he told another little boy a few weeks ago that he had "pretty much outgrown Thomas."

He will be nine in just a couple of months. Saturday we let him stay up and watch Lord of the Rings with Jeff and I. Sunday he wanted to watch a DVD containing episodes of Go, Diego, Go. Such a mature young man, and such a little boy at the same time.

How do moms learn to let go?

Conclusions

I actually started this post a couple of weeks ago, but never got around to finishing it. Three things prompted its completion today: finishing a book titled, The Memory Keeper's Daughter, watching the movie Up and a complete lack of desire to clean out the detritus left over after vacation.

My Segullah post was not the only one on LDS sexuality during the month of November. In fact, the first such post received something like 75 comments. My own post was geared as much toward approaching children about this sensitive subject as it was about spousal relationships--a topic not quite as "hot" as sex drive, which is what the first post was about. From the many and varied comments on the posts, some of them surprisingly blunt, as well as the variety of personal e-mails I received, I perceive that I wasn't far off the mark when I implied that in matters of intimacy, LDS women aren't always sure about where they stand and whom to talk to about their difficulties. I think the relatively anonymous nature of blogging makes it easy to open up about things that you might not ever talk about otherwise. Such anonymity allowing us to be open can be both good and bad, but that is another topic.

As I've thought about all I've read in the last couple of months on this subject, I felt like I wanted to draw a few conclusions here about things that have been meaningful to me. Perhaps they will be meaningful to you also. If not, feel free to add your own insights.

The overwhelming theme in the topic responses is that communication is the key to any successful relationship. This is true whether we are talking about husbands and wives or parents and children. It seems that initmacy is nearly impossible for women to enjoy without honesty. I was the most intrigued by the sister who wrote in about her husband finally coming clean about his pornography addiction. Before this happened to her, she would have assumed that nothing would be more damaging to her sex drive than to have this knowledge. However, once her husband admitted to this terrible thing, a huge barrier was removed between them and she found him absolutely attractive in his "naked" honesty. I thought this was fascinating; I also think that with enough work this sister could end up having a very successful marriage, and such open-ness in their relationship will hopefully make it more difficult for her husband to be secretive in the future.

The same applies to our children. Respondents who believed they had the most positive relationship with their own children or parents all said they same thing--they feel like they can talk about anything together. That is very powerful. If my sons believe they can come to me with their problems from skinned knees to hurt feelings to the facts of life to dating relationships then I will have a lot of influence about how they perceive the world. Notice I didn't say "control." Ultimately, only my children will control the decisions they make. Again, another topic worth exploring.

A second conclusion I realized in teaching our children about matters of human intimacy is that it is better to have this discussion late than never. One sister said bluntly that if you had never talked with your children about anything to do with their bodies, and then you try to sit your twelve year old down and explain to her why she is menstruating, it is going to be terribly awkward. Yet, it still should be done. I have to admit that even after I'd been through AP Biology, I would have still appreciated my mom making the effort to help me understand a little bit more about how boys ticked and how she felt about my dad.

This better-late-than-never mantra should apply to spouses also. It is so easy to fall into a routine with those we love the best. Marriages fail for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that they grow stale with routine and low expectations. When Plantboy and I were engaged, we went to see his bishop for a routine "check-up." I only remember one part of the interview. This bishop, a very traditional older brother, said that in forty years of marriage he'd hardly ever seen his wife without her make-up. That she made a point of getting out of bed before he did each morning and at least putting on lipstick before he saw her. My 24 year-old feminist self rebelled against this idea: that his poor wife wouldn't dare appear before him without her best face on! What kind of ogre was he? Now I see this offhand statement for what the bishop probably intended: that his wife loved him so much that she always wanted to look her best for him. Even after 40 years of marriage, his attraction to her was something she valued and cultivated.

I still don't put on make-up before I get out of bed. (Neither should Sister Bishop. I can just see her pink lipstick sneaking out of her natural lips and creeping up the lines around her mouth, but I digress . . . .) But when I get dressed up to go out somewhere, even if I am not going to be with Plantboy, it is his reaction that means the very most to me. And I've learned to never miss a chance to flirt or tease or give a kiss goodbye. I hope I don't forget this lesson, even when I've been married four decades.

As for whether YOU should put on make-up before your husband sees you in the morning, well, that leads into my third conclusion: each relationship is unique. During the comment phase, particularly of the first sexuality post, a lot of people were giving specific ideas about what made an intimate relationship successful. A couple of good sisters went so far as to discuss the merits of vibrators before the moderator cut them off. I'm not sure that any of the really specific advice, particularly in such a large forum, is helpful or appropriate. There is a Woody Allen movie (Annie Hall, I think?) in which he and Diane Keaton (his love interest) are going to therapy as part of the story line. Each character is shown separately with their respective therapist. Each therapist asks the same question, "How is your sex life?" The woman's response is, "Oh! All the time, at least two or three times a week!" The man's? "Hardly ever! Three, maybe four times a week!"

Hm . . . .

Communication problem indeed. I sometimes find myself thinking, "What is normal?" But perhaps a better question is, "What is normal and comfortable FOR US." Such a question can only be answered if you hold a conversation with your loved one, holding nothing back, and set reasonable expectations on your partner. There was another sister who wrote in that, at first, for a woman who is a virgin, hardly anything will seem comfortable and that to hold yourself to THAT standard is to deny a lot of pleasure and happiness. While her point is valid and interesting, I still maintain that sex should be something enjoyed by both partners. Something that crosses the comfort line one day, may not the next. Again, you have to speak up.

And yet, you might be in a marriage and have a personality where you feel more comfortable just not talking about it at all. As hard as that is for me to imagine, again, your relationship is uniquely yours and you know better what it needed than anyone. This is especially true when we expand this individuality to your children. Just as your marriage is unlike anybody else's, so is your precise relationship with each child. Books and advice are helpful, but ultimately you have to decide the best time, age and circumstances to approach your children about intimacy. I think listening to the Spirit is a big thing here.

It was Mike (the lone male willing to show his face on the subject, though Plantboy and I talked over nearly every comment together) who really got me thinking about my last conclusion on the subject. Discussions about sexuality need to be approached with values at the forefront, but also facts. While necessary between spouses (one sister indicated how valuable a book on female anatomy had been), such fact-based discussion is perhaps even more important with our children. From the young man who feels intense guilt over uncontrolled dream-fantasies after being told in a fireside that even sinful thoughts make you evil to the young woman who innocently sits on her boyfriend's lap while wearing a mini-skirt, a basic understanding of the biology involved is as necessary as a standards talk.

The problem, too often, is just that as we perceive a person's spiritual nature as completely different from and even opposed to their sensual nature, we also look at science and religion as dichotomies. This is a mistake. ALL learning can be for our good, particularly if we strive to understand just how important it is to our Heavenly Father that we have a body AND a spirit. Striving to defeat the natural man is not about learning to hate your physical body. It is about learning that there is a time and a place for certain behaviors, that self-mastery is the key to being filled with the pure love of Christ. A young man with self-control and integrity is still going to have wet dreams regularly. A young woman who dresses modestly still has to be careful about what she says to a young man or how she kisses him for BOTH their sakes. A husband who has a hard time helping his wife at home will find an uninterested lover. A wife, on the other hand, will nearly ALWAYS find an interested lover, so it is important that she not lead her man on too far without intentions to act on her teasing.

Being human is both complicated and wonderful. Perhaps the key with any struggle is to recognize that our Father created us the way we are for a reason. The spirit and the flesh.

As for why my entertainment selections of the last week prompted this post, The Memory Keeper's Daughter was one of the most depressing novels I've read this year. I didn't really like or identify with any of the characters, and I especially disliked the author's portrayal of marriage. In fact, my favorite character, was the Memory Keeper himself who gave his daughter away in a moment of supreme need to control the outcome of a difficult situation. I'm not sure if this says something disastrous about me, or is a tribute to just how unlikeable the characters in this story are. The movie Up, though I cried for nearly the entire length of the film, is probably one of the sweetest movies I've ever seen. It showed me that you can't just keep sitting around and waiting for life to happen. You have to seize the big opportunities when you get them sure, but you also have realize before it is too late that the real adventure is in living quiet, everyday moments with the ones you love best. Memories of a life are built as powerfully in simple things as in grand adventure. Ellie's message from the grave to her crotchety husband is that she didn't regret a thing. I don't want to regret a thing.

I'm thankful for my life, and for the love that Plantboy and I have worked so hard to cultivate. We have lived for some time now in relative ease and comfort, temporarily immune from the deep and difficult trials so many seem to be faced with right now. I hope that this season of joy hasn't made me complacent to my many blessings, or calloused toward those with greater struggles. As the holiday season moves into full swing this year, I pray that I will put off some of the frivolity in exchange for more meaningful thoughts and friendships. That I will decorate less and serve more. That I will fill my scrapbook with more memories and fewer unfulfilled promises.

Happy December-ing.

This Is Just a Good Day

In the movie Charly, there is a montage moment of Sam's family enjoying a picnic in a glorious summer evening. Charly, new to such familial harmony says incredulously to Sam's mother, "Is it always like this?" His mother laughs, of course, and says, "Naw. This is just a good day."

I think life is like that. A lot of day to day just slogging away to put money in the bank, food on the table and knowledge into the kids. Even our spiritual lives get routine--go to church, do my calling, read my scriptures, yada, yada, yada.

And then, in the midst of the routine come these glorious bursts of sunrise moments that illuminate the whole purpose for being sent to earth. I once made a list of perfect days, and have even posted about them here from time to time. Halloween weekend was just such a time for us. I can't really say a day, because it was more of a 48 hour stretch, but it was perfect.

I'll do a brief recap here and give my excellent Father-in-law kudos for these fantastic pictures.

My oldest son was baptized the weekend of Halloween and my in-laws, my parents and my grandmother came into town to help us celebrate. We were a cozy bunch for a few days, but it was worth every minute. When everyone made it in by Friday afternoon, the first stop we made was at the apple orchard. This yearly tradition is a favorite of all the kids. We only picked enough apples to eat this year; we are still working our way through last year's applesauce.






After the pumpkin patch we went to PF Chang's. The kids were, well, how you expect them to behave at a restaurant! But at least I had the foresight to get a reservation so that we avoided waiting and waiting to be seated. My two year-old, overwhelmed with all the company, wouldn't leave mom's side voluntarily all weekend. I think he said mom or mommy 157 times, at least.

Saturday morning was Jedi Knight's baptism. He looked stellar in his birthday suit. Uh, that is, the suit we bought him for his birthday. We try not to leave the house in the other birthday suit. It was a special day, and despite eight kids to be baptized, the service was smooth and reverent, and done in just a little over an hour. It was a cool fall day, but not wet, so we were able to get some nice pictures in front of our stake center. I think these pictures will be memorable to Jedi both for the day, but also for the place. Where else but Oregon would you get your pictures taken in front of a veritable forest of Japanese maples? (Right, Japan.)

Family

Grandfathers

Grandmothers (and a brother who can't stand to be left out!)

Paternal Grandparents

Maternal Grandparents (and a brother that can't stand to be left out; look at him kissing up to grandma!)

Would be a 4 generation picture if Jedi's mother had been smart enough to hop in!

We worked very hard to do little of anything that Saturday. I went shopping with my mom, grandmother and mother-in-law. The girl time was very good for me. I reflected on what it might be like to have only boys, but then I realized that two of the relationships in our group were daughters-in-law. (My mom and myself.) I think when there is enough love and respect in a family, maybe it doesn't matter if you are related by blood.

After a big dinner of chili and chicken chowder and my mother's homemade bread sticks, we all settled in to watch the Oregon-USC game. I think most of the neighborhood did too; trick-or-treating didn't really pick up until half-time. (Go Ducks! What a fantastic game THAT was.) Eventually the Jedi couldn't be off any longer, and even the Youngling, who had resisted every prior attempt at costuming, had to get in on the fun. We found an old robe for him and a scrap from the big boy's robes for his waist.

Youngling trick or treating

Neighbor's pumpkins. Aren't they cool? Ours were a little bit weak in comparison. It is, after all, a competition.

Grandma reading to the little Jedi

How cool is THIS shot for Halloween?

The Jedi in full regalia. Jedi Knight on the left, Padawan on the right.

Yeah, I made those robes. I'm mother of the year. Well, not really, that award goes to my sweet and patient neighbor who talked me through them.

Sunday was a lovely day. I so seldom get to be in church with my parents anymore that those rare occasions are really so priceless. Plantboy gave Jedi Knight such a nice blessing during his confirmation and my heart was deeply touched. How blessed we are to have families!

My parents had to leave late Sunday afternoon in order to be in Utah for my dad's business Monday afternoon. My in-laws stayed a couple of days longer. The weather on Monday was beautiful and we spent the afternoon at the park.

Looking for planes

These little guys are constantly in motion and grandpa's camera had the shutter speed to keep up. I love the second. I almost think that Padawan can fly. It is amazing that kids survive childhood.

All in all, it was a weekend not to be forgotten. I'm grateful for so many wonderful things just now. As we enter the next phase--the big kid/tweenie phase of our child-rearing years--I have such a mixture of optimism and anxiety. I love my eight year-old more than ever and I appreciate that we are starting to be friends instead of just mother and son. I think this picture is a perfect snapshot of everything that transpired during the weekend. Thanks, Jedi, for coming to our family.