I confess to being smitten with my little one in her new sweater, hat and gloves.  Yeah, she’s cute.

My four year old was equally cute in her getup.  Shorts.  But she was thrilled with herself because everything was pink, as she put it, “dark pink, hot pink, light pink.”  It was warm enough that I let her run around until she felt cold.

Their big brother was intent on one thing only:  building a snowman by himself.

My little one had a conversation with it.

Generally we had a lot of fun.  It was a truly beautiful afternoon.

Oh, I love that little face!

Since it might turn out to be the only snow we get to play in all winter, I’m glad I let the laundry sit a little longer.  We made a great memory.

HH

My two oldest boys are wrestling with their Dad, who “ties them up like shoelaces” every time they attack.  I admit that it’s fun, and I know that it’s healthy but I can only handle so much because it makes me cringe and wonder what will break before we’re done, especially with bodies this size flying around the room.  But they’re laughing.  They’re bonding.  They’re making a memory.

My youngest is sitting next to me on the chair, doing my hair, which really means she’s pulling my hair.  Three of the girls sit at the table calmly and quietly, giving themselves a little lesson in who knows what.  The seven year old just ran into the room and turned off the light mid-match.  Suddenly our five year old son is bouncing happily on the couch, waiting to dive on top of the next pile.

This is my life.  Crazy, noisy, children sitting on the table, laughing, crying, yelling, smiling.  Now seven of the children have combined to attack their Dad and somehow he’s like an octopus with an arm shooting out in time to catch anyone about to get away.  And in the middle of it all he finds a moment to reach out and tickle my feet with a happy smile on his face.  Then he rolls over, lets them all climb on his back, and does a pushup just to show that he can.  He makes their lives so much more fun than I do.  I’m so grateful for him.  At last even our two year old wants in on the action, and he pauses to let her “pin” him.

Our four year old yells, “Dad! Remember the pygmy stuff?” [referring to a wrestling match from Friday with just the little ones]  She runs to the other room and returns with a roll of wrapping paper, her sword of choice.  She bounces a little and looks up with an enormous smile on her face, ready to take him on.

Soon someone will get hurt.  Dad will be done and we’ll read scriptures, pray, and put them to bed.  But for these brief moments we’re all in a jumble, four year-olds and fourteen year-olds in a tangle of screaming bodies.  Vaguely I wonder what someone would think if they stood on our porch right now.  We wouldn’t hear them knock or ring, but I’m sure they’d walk away wondering what kind of crazy people live here.

So, naturally, I’m typing.  Because it helps me stay calm while they howl.  Because all of this craziness is part of being a family – an important part – and THEY. LOVE. IT.

Suddenly the craziness ends, as quickly as it began.  Everyone collapses on the couch to catch their breath.  My oldest daughter helps the baby hide under the nearby desk, behind the chair and the last activity of the night is for Dad to find her.  He looks happily in all the silliest places, in big brother’s shirt, in big sister’s backpack, in big sister’s lunch box.  Then he pulls out the chair she’s hiding behind, turns his back on her, and looks under the chair, all the while yelling “Puddles!  I can’t find her!”  He gets on his knees and grabs the camera bag right next to her to see if she’s in it.  He looks on top of the desk.  And she sits there, calmly, still as a statue, watching him look all around her while the other seven pile up behind him squealing with laughter and delight at the ridiculous nature of the search, the knowledge that we all know where she is, the fun of pretending that we don’t.  All of it happens inches from my elbow and I pause to look at them.  All of them, oldest to youngest, faces plastered with happiness and wonder and LIFE, laughing together.  And I think, THIS is why we had 8 kids.  THIS is what life is all about.  I cannot, I cannot forget THIS.  I sat there, absorbing the joyful faces around me, trying to fix in my memory this moment so I can return to it when the laundry pile seems bigger than I am, or when the homework battles rage, or when I’m just plain tired.

Life with 8 kids is a lot of things.  It’s legos all over the floor, more laundry stacked up than I care to admit, toilets always needing cleaning.  It’s two dishwashers running every night, a pile of toothbrushes and toothpaste smeared all over my counter, books everywhere you look.  It’s a fifteen passenger van, a grocery bill that amazes me, a life fuller than any calendar has room for.  It’s a mother who forgets a lot, but remembers a hundred things for every one thing she forgets, a mother who goes to bed exhausted at the end of the day thinking “I’ll try again tomorrow.”  It’s worries and hopes and fears multiplied.  It’s a father who carries the weight of our needs on his back, giving up time and hobbies to provide financially by day then come home and provide emotionally by night.  It’s planning and teamwork and tears and toil.  But 8 kids is mostly about love.  All those pluses and minuses somehow add up to more love, more laughter, more joy than you can imagine.

And by some incredible twist of fate, it’s my life.  My life with 8 kids.  And I love it.

I stumbled upon the store, Janie and Jack, entirely by accident during the Christmas shopping season.  I walked in and two thoughts hit me simultaneously:

1.  Yes!  I can’t believe I’ve never seen this before!  I have five daughters!
2.  It’s a really good thing I’ve never seen this before!  ($$$ in my head)

So, it’s my new favorite children’s clothing store even though I can’t afford it.  Their clothing is beautiful, high quality, and well, the style I love.  I scoured the clearance rack and came away with new dresses for three of my girls, all at a great price.  {thank goodness for clearance racks!}  With shopping bags and coordinating gift boxes that look like vintage wallpaper, I was smitten.

I had already decided I didn’t want to buy more “Christmas” themed dresses; we have enough of them.  But I did want to get all of the children something new to wear to church.  So on Christmas morning my younger three girls went to church in these:

And for Easter I would LOVE to be able to put my two year old in this dress.  Sigh.  Having seen it in person I’m pretty sure it’s the cutest dress I’ve ever seen.  If you can afford $150 per outfit, you should head there.  If you’re like me and you only think of $150 in terms of utility and grocery bills then you can join me in drooling.  Either way, pretty is pretty.

Let’s get something straight.  I know that clothing and stores and dresses mean very little in the big scheme of things.  But I also know this, that every girl who grows up dreaming of having a family has, included in her dreams, little pictures of the cute clothes they’ll wear, pictures of little girls twirling in pretty dresses and little boys looking dapper in their shirts and ties.  I had those dreams.  I want to remember that I lived them, too.   My children don’t wear a lot of high end clothes, but they look nice.  They look clean.  And the dresses, oh the dresses.  I have been so blessed to watch many a girl twirl in their pretty dress and felt that clench of joy in my heart that accompanies it.  I want to remember that feeling.  Soon everyone will be choosing their own clothes, then buying their own clothes, and then I’ll be watching them twirl in white wedding dresses.  My heart will break a little, but in breaking I hope it will also burst with joy, and that I’ll discover the bursting allows it to grow even more.

Until then, I’m treasuring all the little girl moments with cute clothes and pretty dresses that I can get.  Because I love it, and I guess part of me is still a little girl, too, except that they look a whole lot cuter in their dresses than I do in mine.

HH

And yes, it made me cry.  I love her, too.  I love all of them.

HH

Please, please, please… stay little.

I am NOT ready to lose moments like this.

I love you both so much.
Love, Mommy

When she finished writing, she said, “Mom, listen to this!” and read me her answer.  It was so cute and funny that I had to take a picture.  (Please forgive the terrible lighting.)

She was working on problem #5.

And here is her answer:

The spelling errors are as funny as the answer itself.  Here’s the translation:

“East two blocks then turn south one block”  [I'll insert here that the problem was technically complete at this point and what follows is her extra bit of info that got both of us laughing]

“then turn east then look for a drive way with a b on it, then you are there.”

The idea of a house with a big “B” on the driveway was so funny to her.  And I’ll admit that after she was in bed I sat down with my husband and oldest two children and we all got a good laugh out of both the answer and the spelling.  She’s a cutie.  I love that girl so much!

Jennifer

And apparently it is far too much to ask that same two year old to put her costume on when the family goes trick-or-treating, so she went like this.  Her costume was her makeup and her squeaky shoes.  If only I’d paused long enough to take a picture of her at 9 a.m. when we left to help with the kindergarten party.  She looked adorable in her little clown costume, so sweet and innocent.

And then there’s this blank stare she’s giving me in these pictures.

That’s because she had just finished a little drawing spree… with a permanent marker…  this is what I saw first:

Then I started looking around and noticed black graffiti on the white walls, on the white couch, and all over the side of the above piece of furniture.  Oh, and the sheet music for my son’s piano recital?  Don’t worry, she got that too.  And don’t worry, it’s just a piece of music that his piano teacher wrote… I’m praying she has another copy.

If only I could figure out how she finds things like permanent markers, and how to get the big kids to take me seriously and put them away properly, and how to entice her to choose different activities….  Why on earth does she have an aversion to the coloring books and crayons in the other room?

Good thing we love her so much.

I hope your Halloween was enjoyable, and that it didn’t involve strange encounters with mascara or any blunders with permanent markers.

Hopeful Homemaker

She’s a bundle of emotions, switching from blissfully happy to sad and moping with almost no provocation.  If she’s happy she’s the most kind, helpful, thoughtful child.  If she’s sad and mad, well, I’ll let your imagination supply the rest.

She collects things.  She collects things in bags, boxes, purses, boxes, anything that can be used as a container.  If something is missing in the house, we check that day’s container first.

She loves to sing and dance.  She loves to play games.  She loves to look pretty.  And she loves to change clothes.  She love to eat fruits and vegetables.

She says some amazingly insightful things, and every once in a while I think she could probably run the house on her own.

She’s tired of picking up her younger brother from kindergarten already.

And she says the cutest thing when she’s trying to ask nicely for something:
“Can I may please have …..”

I love that phrase.  “Can I may please?”  I want to remember it.

She’s turning four in a couple of months.  Can I may please keep her three a little longer?

HH

My little one grew out of her shoes… again.   Right now her feet are chubbier than her bigger sister’s, and only 1/4 inch shorter.  Those two are so funny.  Peas in a pod and yet so different.  When I spotted these orange shoes it was love at first sight.  They’re perfect for her.  Girly and yet totally spunky.

I must admit my adoration for the little feet and shoes of my babies and toddlers.  There’s just something about them that makes me happy.  I have a collection of all the little shoes my children have worn… I can’t seem to part with them.  They’re remnant evidence of such a precious stage of life.

So we did a little photo shoot.  Of her feet.

These pictures make my heart go pitter-patter.  I love this little girl so much.

Her AND her feet.

And her hair after pulling the rubber bands out.  (Never mind how adorable she looked with them IN.)

I am such a lucky mom.

Hopeful Homemaker

A week or two ago I dropped my daughter off somewhere and drove home, alone in the car.  She loves music, so the radio is always on when she’s with me.  I confess I’m terrible at remembering the names of songs and the names of music artists.  I have a few songs I like and that’s enough.  I really don’t care who the famous singers are and what’s going on in their messed up lives (the same goes for Hollywood) but I love my daughter so we listen together.

Sometimes I leave the radio on when she gets out; sometimes I turn it off and enjoy the quiet.  On this particular day I left it on but turned it down.  As I turned down my street a song came on which caught my attention.  I turned it up a little so I could be certain to understand the lyrics.

I was shocked.   The song was openly saying “Come on, kids!” and inviting them to the lifestyle that was called, “love in America,” consisting of “drugs, sex, alcohol, rock and roll.”  What shocked me about it was the bold, open call to kids to come join in this “party” – a completely self-destructive lifestyle that was being touted as normal, appropriate, fun and natural.   Something about the use of the word “kids” really got to me.

How is it that we have these counter-cultures living harmoniously side by side in our society?  We have generations of research that give us lists of simple things we can do to keep our kids healthy – keep them OUT of the destructive lifestyle described above – and give them the best possible shot at a productive, happy life.  This information and research doesn’t just come from religious channels, it comes from researchers across the board.  And we care.  I really believe that most parents care and want their children to stay out of the muck.

Then we turn on the radio and get blasted with messages that are in opposition to everything we want for them.

Disgusting.

I’m not sure why those few minutes alone in the car with the radio on impressed me so much, but I’ve thought a lot about it.  It was an interesting look at what I’m up against.  The battle for our youth is most definitely on.

Fast forward to yesterday.

Instead of our usual church meetings we attended something called Stake Conference, a meeting when several congregations in a geographical area join together to worship.  The youth (kids aged 12-18) had been asked to sing a song they’ve learned this year so during the meeting I watched a large group of kids stand up and walk to the front of the large hall in which we were assembled.

I stopped counting at 200.  There were a lot of them, and their youth leaders stood and joined them as well.

Then they started singing.  Young men in white shirts and ties.  Young women in beautiful dresses, clothes that actually covered their bodies.

They sang about what they believe in.  They sang about standing strong, being true, about living lives that are “chaste, virtuous, benevolent, doing good to all men.”  They sang about their commitment to be true in a world of filth, to seek that which is praiseworthy.  One line rang in my ears, “There is no room for darkness in our lives.”

It was beautiful.  It was powerful.  The hall rang with the beauty of their testimony.  I sat there with tears in my eyes, grateful that two of my children were among them, whispering a silent prayer that they could feel it too.  My heart swelled with determination.

And then I thought of that song from a couple of weeks ago and I wished that the whole world could see what I was seeing, hear what I was hearing.  Before me stood evidence that there is a better way to live.  Before me stood evidence that it is possible to live a clean, pure, good, happy life as teenagers in today’s world.  Before me stood evidence that it can be done.  Before me stood proof of just how good it feels and how great it looks to live right.  In the strength of the Lord we can find power to live this way.

I love my kids so much.  I love their friends.  I’m still on the early end of these years as a mother, but I’ve certainly had some tastes of the ups and downs of raising teenagers.  They get a bad rap, and sometimes they deserve it, but often they don’t.  They’re better than we think they are.  They’re trying harder than they let on.  They do want to please us, they do want to do what is right.  I am committed.  We are committed.  The battle for our youth is on, and with God’s help we’ll win.

“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”  -Philippians 4:13

Hopeful Homemaker