moments.

Crouched on the concrete, Joey watched it flutter and land, flutter and land. With 100 kids splashing and yelling in full swimming pool pandemonium - he and a few sat watching that flirtatious butterfly swoop and stop on the edge of the deep end. With palms open he sat, carefully studying and waiting.

Still, steady, patient.

Flutter, land.

...slap.

With a satisfactory smile, he slowly opened his hands to reveal his prize - but didn't even lift his head to notice it fly away. He stared in amazement.

His palms dusted.

I could barely hear his astonished whisper...

"it's magic."

It was a brief keepsake, watching Joey in the midst of chaos.

And a sweet reminder...

There is magic in mayhem.

patience.

I love the slow, breathable space that sneaks in between busy and consumed. The soft spot of time, when everything's clear and smells of contemplation. That time when I'm allowed to linger.

Until I get bored with the scenery.

It's ingratitude, I think.

Impatience for sure.

When I'm anxiously waiting for the view to change {to build our house, when all our dreams wil come true, etc}, just because I want it to; and the Lord tells me to stay put. Learn to love where you are.

Okay. I'll stay. But I still think it will be better over there.

So He gives me this:

"The seeming flat periods of life give us a blessed chance to reflect upon what is past as well as to be readied for some rather stirring climbs ahead. Instead of grumbling and murmuring, we should be consolidating and reflecting, which would not happen if life were an uninterrupted sequence of fantastic scenery, confrontive events, or exhilarating conversation.

Patience helps us to use, rather than protest, these seeming flat periods of life, becoming filled with quiet wonder over the past and with anticipation for that which may lie ahead, instead of demeaning the particular flatness through which we may be passing at the time.

We should savor even the seemingly ordinary times, for life cannot be made up of all kettledrums and crashing cymbals. There must be some flutes and violins. Living cannot be all crescendo; there must be some counterpoint."

-Neal A Maxwell, Patience 1979

Humility. I can only pretend I know what's best for me, but I don't.

He knows for real. He knows I'm not ready for the crescendo.

It's time to linger in the flutes and violins with gratitude.

and patience.

something I need to remember.

Sometimes I feel like there's so much to do

I might as well just not do any of it

because it won't all get done anyways.

you know?

Then I just turn lazy and eat too much.

I always tell myself:

you'll be able to do that better if the living room is clean.

that will be more effective if you get that project done first.

you should read, but the laundry room stinks.

you need inspiration, but it's too loud for that now.

you can be better, and you will be, probably later.

I read a talk once

about personal revelation

by Boyd K Packer.

He said to begin where you are.

I loved that.

I thought about it a lot

and have it in my book of things to remember.

Begin where you are.

Don't wait for the right moment

or the easy moment.

If it needs to get done,

do it.

where you are.

be better now.

change your life now.

waiting for an assurance of success will only stop you.

begin where you are.

i like that a lot.

so I put it on a mug.

spills.

This is orange juice. An gigantic jug of spilled orange juice.

Hard to look at, but totally clean up-able.

Jake cried and cried and cried and cried, because while he was helping to bring in the groceries, he set the orange juice on the counter, and it fell. He watched it seep out the cracked bottom of the gigantic jug sitting on the floor. And he cried.

Before we cleaned it up, I sighed one of those spill sighs, told Jakey it was okay-he could stop crying and crying and crying, and then I took a picture. Because of this:

When Jakey is 17 and Princess Ahpios breaks up with him for that other guy, and Jake cries and cries and cries and cries...I can show him the orange juice picture.

Remember the spill, Jake? I'll say. There was orange juice everywhere. It took every clean towel we had to soak up that orange juice; and even after that, it took two days of mopping to get rid of the stickiness and three more days of finding orange juice on the curtains and walls and windows. It was a huge mess. You cried and cried and cried and cried.

Then he'll nod. Remembering the dripping citrus smelling beach towels he carried to the laundry room. Then I'll say...

That was a bad spill. You felt pretty rotten. But we cleaned it up, eh? Every spill is clean up-able, Jake. It seems unbearable when you're staring at the never-ending pool of sticky orange juice, but every spill is clean up-able.

And he'll start to get it. But he'll be mad at me because he doesn't want to clean up the spill because he really likes Aphios, and thinks he might even love her, and he really wants to be that stupid other guy, and he just wants to cry and cry and cry and cry.

So we'll get out the towels, and spend two days - or two months cleaning up the sticky mess. And Jake will eventually feel better.

And that's when he'll laugh at the orange juice picture.

Until the next spill.

bad. words.

Andy/5 years old: Mom, can you tell me all the bad words?

Mom/wore Debbie Gibson's perfume and twisty beads: No.

Andy/thinks he's on earth by accident, and therefore all humans owe him some serious explanations: Why not?

Mom/running out of serious enough explanations: I don't want you to say them.

Andy/smarter than humans: But mom, I'm not going to say them. I just need to know them so I can tell everyone else what not to say to me.

Mom/smarter than Andy: Okay. The bad words are: me, want, hate, and gimme.

Andy/maybe smarter than Mom: Oh. Thanks mom. pause. You're lying.


***


Andy/he lost a library book: Mom!!! Can you help me find this thing!!! Bloody h.e.double hockey sticks.

Mom/mad at Ron Weasley: What?! Don't say that, Andy.

Andy/thinks his brain is a seperate entity he can't control: Why not?

Mom/trying to keep it simple: Because it's a bad word.

Andy/going to bed early tonight: Oh. Okay. Cally!!! Can you help me find this thing!!! Bloody h.e.double hockey sticks.

***

Me want some serious explanations.

create.

I had to put this here, so I could scroll down some random day, and remember, again.



I have a keen ambition to create something everyday. I often interpret that into selfish, material terms. But my passion for creation stems far beyond an ability to sew a straight seam.

The ModPodge and pompom makers go back in the closet, and my showpiece for the day becomes the pb&j...

when I remember.

To create memories. confidence. laughter. trust. gratitude. courage. interest. ambition.
To take something broken, and fix it.
To mold these miracles...into our masterpiece.

best day ever.

Today was official pajama day.

You do squat on pajama day.

Except belly races.

Kacie won every time 'cause she cheats.

We unlocked the Star, Leaf, and Special Cup in the 50cc races. Good thing kids like to watch mom kick whooee with her fancy pants Bowser bike. Makes for an excellent pajama bottoms festivity.

Hold on to your green shell and throw it back right before the red shell is gonna smash ya. btw.

I did manage to sneak a shower all by myself during Kacie's nap. I don't have much alone time in the shower so I took some time and bonded with my new Pantene.

One time, when my sister-in-law Katie lived with us, we came home from a date and she was in the shower with Dani in her little tub. I was like, "Uh, Katie? We don't shower with other people's babies."

that's good advice.

Then I put my pajamas back on and resumed position behind the no.1 controller and unlocked Diddy Kong. Sweet mother of squat.

We ate cheese and pitas for lunch, because there was no bread. So we made 6 loaves of bread that didn't rise and ate two of them for dinner.

Joey practiced his photography. And we all practiced crossing our eyes.

I call this the woodchuck. Sometimes I like to pull the woodchuck from behind the piano in Senior Primary on Sundays. Not in Junior because they cried once. But it breaks up my 2 hours of piano bench.

I stole my sister-in-law Lori's technique of 4:00 clean the house time. The kids cried, because Dani was close to unlocking Daisy, but we did two loads of laundry, tidied 4 rooms, vaccumed 5, and lysoled 2 bathrooms. I love Lori. Bless you.

Mr. Mooring saw my pajamas in the car ride line when he asked me to roll down my window to tell me Dani has art displayed downtown this week. I squealed for Dani, then realized he glanced at my Care Bear pants.

It's pajama day, Mr. Mooring.

best day ever.

6th picture 6th folder.

Wonder Woman from the Amayzings tagged me. She's very sweet and she likes Smallville with me. Check out her blog; she's spunky. Her husband trains dogs. Just thought that may be a point of interest.

So here's the 6th picture in my 6th folder.

I didn't take this photo, my brother in law Seth did. With his fancy camera I covet. I did play with the pic in picnik, though. I can't resist.

I'm glad it's this picture, because Andy is so darn cute I can't stand it. He is totally ignoring his devoted coach, Dad, because he's all about the attention in the stands. Andy is the smallest kid on his team, and can hardly throw the ball above his head; but he grins like this the whole time he's playing. Just happy to be on court. The same way he approaches the rest of his cute little life.

Man, I just accidentally learned something. Andy doesn't care about how many shots, blocks, or rebounds he gets. He just plays, and loves it. So here's what's creeping in my brain right now...stop looking at the statistics, Cally. Watch your adorable kid, and forget about the scoreboard. Leave it messy, eat leftovers, let 'em yell. Don't make the whining personal. Grin; just happy to be on court.

Hmm. That deserves a magnet.

Thanks, Andy.
And Wonder Woman.

And Seth, for such great pictures of my boys.

I knew I liked the Dirty Jobs guy for a reason.

Read this letter. By Mike Rowe.

If you want. I'm not telling you what to do.

to consecrate my minutes.

I've been feeling a reverent urgency to hold my kids.

Sometimes overwhelming; it's a hushed, insistent nudge, to sanctify my moments.

This means less projects, less chores, less blog.

More mom.

I'm grateful. I'm listening.

my sister's a good writer. for real.

Read this.

It provokes thought. And gratitude. And a love of lobsters.

a reminder to me.

It's been an interesting day for me.

Yikes-o-rama stayed home. The kids were quiet (sometimes). Is that possible? I had moments, of nothing. Stillness. So I prayed. And thought. And felt a few things.

It's all over the place, and I was going to stay quiet about my thoughts, but it's still again - except for the orphans singing Your Never Fully Dressed - and I want to put these thoughts down. For personal reference, I suppose. And because I feel like it.

You can't really go anywhere in the blogosphere lately without reading about Stephanie Nielsen. You can't help but be touched and softened when reading about this woman. There's kind of a Nie Nie movement going on. Out of selfish curiosity, I read her blog today. It's full of gratitude, and joy. Her style is on my hot list. I loved it. She loves her life.

It's interesting what tragedy inspires. I felt soberness and sympathy, and some despair. And I was grateful. I learned today. The Lord's purposes are quiet, and often missed.

My husband used to smile that smile at me when I would go all activist over something I saw on Oprah. Like he's trying to be supportive and loving, but he knows it'll only last until tomorrow's show on Uganda. True. You get caught up in other people's lives, and you're touched and changed by their tragedy, then it goes away and you're back to whining and wishing you could afford the miracle zit cream. I don't watch Oprah anymore.

So I'm writing this down to remember. To stop complaining. To find comfort in the toy hammers pounding my head. To glory in the pudding collage. To praise the laundry. Because little bodies I love wore those clothes. And I can sort.

I need to remember, to thank my Heavenly Father often...for teaching me, through the Nielsen's. And through a R.S. Program. And through a small message from the missionary's after dinner. And through an unordinary stillness. I don't always hear it, or feel it, 'cause I'm wrapped up in me; but today I did.

I'm grateful I can read this tomorrow. When I'm tired, and the quiet is gone. And when I start to forget. Again. That tragedy, if there is such a thing, inspires something lovely.


this picture is from Stephanie's blog.

the milky way and mallows.

I stared at the galaxy tonight.

Finally. As I stepped away from our late night mallow-roasting ritual, my eyes left the fire glow and invited the clear dark sky to open. It's entire soul was swallowed by tiny pricks of fabulous light. Covered. Like a blanket of diamonds. It took my breath away.

As my eyes adjusted more to the black brightness, I could see sand, stretching from one horizon to the other, just behind Piney Ridge. It was the Milky Way. I stood in a planetarium of real life. Trying to stretch my sight to see it all at once. Impossible. So I picked a spot, and watched eternity stare at me.

For a tiny moment, I felt myself up there. On one of those diamonds. Looking down, or up, on our little fire pit. An intimidating reminder of how small I am. An overwhelming permanent photograph of infinity. Incomprehensible.

Gagillions of stars to stand on. Which one do you choose.

I can't sleep. I want to go lay on the wet ground and watch again.

But the cold intimidation is yelling at me to get in my covers. So I'm just writing about it instead.

Mmm. And I want another mallow. I reached roasted marshmallow perfection tonight. Perfectly tanned all the way around; a gooey marvel with a crisp crust. It's an art. Someday I'll share.

conan sometimes emails me good quotes at just the right moment

"Be there for your children. Sit on the bed and enjoy the late-night talks--try to stay awake! Pray for the Lord to inspire you. Forgive often. Choose your battles. Testify frequently of Jesus Christ and His goodness and of the Restoration. And most of all, let them know of your trust in the Lord."

Bonnie D. Parkin, "Sweet Moments," Ensign, Nov. 2005, 109