One Step Report #6

Ok, time for another week’s report.  61 steps.  Part of me wonders how I could write down so many things and still have such a messy house.  And then I realize how many of them involve pausing to meet a need instead of plowing forward with what I want to do.  Just today I prayed for help with finding joy in what I have NOW, which is lots of little kids who throw lots of happy curve balls my direction.

A few highlights:

1.  I made myself do some reading.  I’m 4 chapters into a good book, reading in snatches of 5 or 10 minutes here and there.

2.  Celebrated some things that are wonderful but did require extra effort on my part:  Valentines Day, President Lincoln’s birthday, my grandma’s 80th birthday, my baby’s 6 month mark.

3.  In conjunction with the above, I finished a couple of projects that brought me joy.  It’s always nice when that happens.  I also have some fun ideas for next year.

Speaking of ideas, I sometimes wonder if they’re a blessing or a curse.  I am so full of them!  Ideas for countless things!  I’m forever grabbing my notebook and sketching, listing, recording ideas.  I know that creativity is a blessing, and being creative merely fuels more creativity, but sometimes I struggle with letting ideas go while I change diapers, cook food, go through homework papers, monitor piano practices, and drive, drive, drive.  I’m learning that there is a fine line for me to walk on this issue, that I have to be careful on those days when I feel so full of creative energy that I’m ready to burst.  Inevitably those are the days when my children are the neediest, the days are the longest, and I simply cannot justify it.  What I have to be careful about is keeping the right perspective so I don’t feel annoyed or slightly frustrated at my duties as a mother.  Sometimes it’s very had to do, but I cannot wish this away.  I chose this life.  I’ve got to love what I’ve got and accept this stage in my life for what it has to offer.

Deep Breath.  Sermon to self over.

4.  Perhaps the biggest victory of my week came this afternoon as I was washing dishes.  My son somehow managed to drop a full glass of a smoothie he’d made using tons of blueberries.  Now, he was walking towards me and the jar landed a couple of feet away from my feet.  I looked down at the trail of smoothie all across the kitchen floor and simply said, “Wow.”

And then we heard a splatter.  I have NO CLUE how it happened, but somehow a large portion of the smoothie flew in the opposite direction, away from me and away from the direction the jar was pointed in.  We turned around, and I saw blueberry smoothie on my ceiling, dripping down the walls, and all over the wall in the dining room, over 15 feet away!


I did not yell.  I honestly didn’t even feel angry.  It was clearly an accident and all that was left to do was clean it up.  But I will confess that I’m still trying to figure out how that smoothie traveled backwards, across the room, around the corner, onto the ceiling, and into the next room.  I’ve never seen anything like it.


Now, from the pictures it looks a lot better than it looked in real life.  And even in real life I was pretty upbeat.  We grabbed the cleaner and a roll of paper towels and…..

discovered that the blueberry juice had stained my walls.

I cannot get it off.

There are marks all over the place.

Oh, it was so hard to stay nice.  Not because I was mad, but because I wanted to cry.  I had this mental battle going on in my head:

emotion:  “This house is only 2 1/2 years old!  How can we be trashing it like this?  What am I doing wrong?”
reason:  “A house is just a tool for raising your family.”
emotion:  “Yes, but it’s supposed to LAST!  I don’t have time to re-paint these rooms!  And they’re so open, I’ll have to re-paint half of the main floor!”
reason:  “It’s just paint.”

Around and around I went.

Many years ago my mission president’s wife said something very interesting to me.  She said, “It’s easy to love without responsibility.”  I thought of that conversation today.  I thought about how it’s easy to forgive, to love, when feeling those feelings doesn’t require anything of us.  It’s harder when it costs us something.  And although we plainly understand what we really love the most, sometimes it’s still hard to let go of little things we didn’t anticipate sacrificing.  Today I didn’t anticipate sacrificing my kitchen and dining room until whenever I get around to re-painting them.  But I’m happy to say that I was able to keep foremost in my mind how much my son means to me.  The event did put a damper on my day, but I didn’t say or do anything that damaged my relationship with my son.  I remembered that pile of beads on my desk and chose to settle for stained walls instead of stained walls and a sad boy.

And I’ll confess that while I held off the tears until everyone was in bed, I did shed a few as I stood in my messy house holding a crying baby and generally feeling like an exhausted failure.

But that’s ok.  Tomorrow is another day.  Thank goodness!

My Little Guy

There is something wonderful about a three year old boy.  Every house should have one, although I freely admit that he will age the house rather quickly.  But the joy of a three year old boy is one of those perfect things in life.


Picture this 3 year-old boy sitting on a church pew.  His slacks, white dress shirt, tie, vest and shoes are all perfect miniatures of what he’ll wear in 20 years.  Short blond hair sticking up in back.  He leans over and whispers, “Can you tickle my back?” and then promptly hunches forward on the very edge of the bench.  His head is down and his hands clasped together just like his 12 year old brother does when people tickle HIS back.

This image of a tiny body so intentionally being big tugs at my heartstrings.  So big, yet so small.  It is a shadow of what he’ll be in a not-so-distant future, a reminder of how brief the current stage really is.  The shadow is fleeting, however, as the 3 year old in him takes over and he begins swinging his legs, gently at first, and then with such vigor and energy that it is a challenge for him to maintain his delicate balance on the edge of the bench.  And all the while, in perfect rhythm, he reaches over ever 15 seconds or so (without looking up) to scratch his sister’s dress.  Often enough to distress her but not often enough to cause an outright disturbance.  I marvel again at how intuitively he has mastered the art of being a boy.

I came home from church resolved to pause and hunt for some pictures to document this darling little guy, my little boy who stands on the threshold of getting big.  He”ll be turning four in a couple of  months, and already I see him changing.  I want to try to capture him in my memory as he is now before the change has taken place and I have a hard time remembering.

Trenton running

He is running, always running.

He has a deep, raspy little voice.  He says the cutest things.  His most famous line: “Can SOMEONE move the SUN, please!”

boy blocking sun

To him, the purpose of every song or story is to have the good guy survive some sort of crisis.  This was a conversation before Christmas:

boy:  “Hey, Mom, have you ever seen Frosty the Snowman?”
mom:  “Yes, have you?”
boy:  “Yup.  It’s a toy.  Do you want me to sing it to you?”
mom:  “Please!”
boy:  “Frosty the snowman went out to play.  But lots of big armies went out to chase him!  So he ran away and got on a roof and then he was okay.”

Now, just read that song again to the tune of Frosty the Snowman and picture a happy little boy singing in a raspy little voice as he hits and then misses the melody just a bit.  Hilarious!  (Not to mention cute!)


He is the child who, upon waking up in the morning, sneaks out of bed and down the stairs to surprise/startle us with a big loud “Raaaar!”


He is also the boy who wants the same thing to eat all day long:  “Something.”  He spends a lot of time refusing whatever I offer him while he holds out for his “something.”  Here is  a typical conversation.

Little guy:  “I want something to eat.”
Mom:  “I’m glad to hear that.  We’ll have dinner in a minute.”
Little guy: “I don’t want dinner! (falls on floor in despair)  I want something!”

I’m pretty sure that “something” translates into sweet/crunchy/empty calorie/junk food/snack.


This little guy loves books.  Duck on a Bike has been his favorite for a long, long time  but Winnie the Pooh is ranking up there right  now too.  Most especially the scene when Piglet falls on his balloon.

(see this post for more details)
He prefers to wear his shoes on the wrong feet.  We try, try, try to get them on the right feet, but he usually takes them off and switches them back to the wrong feet.  He also has no problem with shoes that don’t match.


He loves to be tickled.  He loves kisses.  I like to give him all my kisses and tickle him at the same time.


He loves to race me.  He wants to beat me up the stairs, to the table, to the car, everywhere.  I confess that I encourage it because it gets him moving.  I love his laughter as I follow, hot on his heels.  Recently he told me, “Moms aren’t allowed to beat.  Only boys are.”


He is very creative.  Take, for instance, the hole he made in his shirt pocket for a holster.


It didn’t make for a very fast draw.


He loves swords, sword fights, and “guys” of any kind.  Playmobil is the all-time #1 toy in our house, and he loves them as much as all the older ones did/do.  He is ALWAYS up for a good sword fight.


He is also usually up for a quick snuggle in my lap.  I love that he’s still little enough to want me to hold him.


He has, at age three, already mastered the art of bugging girls.  I admit that I’ve never seen a boy so young get this one so well.  (Understand that I do not make that statement casually; I grew up with 5 brothers.)  Sandwiched between two older sisters and two younger sisters, he is FULLY AWARE of the power he can have over a girl with just the right look.  He can literally send his older sister running and screaming with just a look from 20 feet away.  And when that happens, what’s a boy to do but chase her?


He loves to be strong.  He loves to tell me that he’s going to grow up and be bigger than me.  He loves to make up categories to be master of.  A recent category:  “I’m really strong that I can get down babies that can walk and talk and that are named _____ from off of your bed.”


He loves to brush his teeth.  He makes it take a long time.


I love the answer he gives me every time I tell him he’s supposed to stay little.  “What’s the big idea!?  Who gave you permission to grow, anyway?”  I ask.  He smiles at me with that patient smile that three year old boys sometimes give their mothers and simply says “Jesus.”  And we hug.


He’s good at saying “sorry.”  Because when you’re a three year old boy, you get a lot of practice saying it.


Boy, oh boy, do I love my little guy!

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