And now, about the cake

Apparently cake decorating is the latest thing. There are a million different shows on tv about the subject, my personal favorite being Cake Boss, in case you were wondering. I think it's funny how the stuff our moms and grandmas were so good at seemed to be forgotten, but comes back in waves. It seems like everyone I know is into quilting, gardening, even canning. I wasn't even surprised to see Becky's post about her recent foray into cake decorating, which I read after I had purchased what I needed to create Aidan's birthday cake. Hopefully she won't turn me in to Cake Wrecks when she sees these pictures.

I was super anxious about the whole cake thing. I'm not sure why - it's really not life or death. The worst thing that could have happened is that I served an ugly cake. Or I could have served a plain old frosted chocolate cake, which no one in my family would have complained about. (OK, maybe John would have complained, but not about how it looked. He's just not that into chocolate.) On Friday night I went to Michael's and spent 30 minutes in the cake decorating aisle, then gave the cashier an arm and a leg for the small bag of supplies that I brought home. Then I had nightmares all night about making the cake. Seriously, I hardly slept at all. You'd think I had a big exam or something, not a silly cake to make.

When it came down to it, it took me a long time to decorate this cake, but mostly due to inexperience. And it was TOTALLY worth it. The kids got the biggest kick out of it. Carter told everyone at Aidan's party about how mom "squirted red stuff all over the cake and it took her a looong time." He was seriously impressed. So would I do it again? Absolutely! I'm already planning the kids' future birthday cakes, fully expecting, of course, that my skills will improve with each one.

I can't forget to thank my friend Ginger. I was inspired by her awesome cakes, and couldn't have done it without her recipes, advice, and encouragement. Although I'm sure this would look better if she had been holding my hand while I did it.

So without further ado......



Fun, huh? Doesn't it make you want to try your hand at it?

To Aidan, on your first birthday

Dear Aidan,

Today you turn 1. A year ago, I was pushing a shopping cart around Costco, trying to keep Katelyn and Carter close so I didn't have to chase them and stopping every few minutes for a contraction. By the time I reached the checkout, it was apparent that it was time to head to the hospital. I wasn't terribly smart about my shopping, and lifting all of those giant boxes into the van while I was having contractions was nearly impossible!

If I hadn't had to wait 2 hours while they gave me IV antibiotics, the labor would have been pretty quick. But those hours were peaceful as your dad and I watched the summer olympics and laughed, and I updated my blog to let people know what was going on. Even with the epidural, I can always feel the contractions in one spot, but I still think of those hours in the hospital with your dad, having a baby, as the most peaceful and happy times - times that I look forward to and don't dread at all, even knowing the difficulty and pain that are coming.

I made dad go home to sleep that night after you were born, partly because I couldn't imagine him trying to sleep on the chair-turned-bed in the corner of the room, and partly because I selfishly wanted to be alone with you. I fell in love with you immediately. You have the sweetest, happiest, and most loving spirit. Even now, at a year old, you snuggle with me in the morning after you wake up, before and after naps, and at night before bed, while dad and I watch tv. You are the biggest daddy's boy I've ever met, and you'll push me away in a heartbeat if your dad is in sight or if you can hear his voice. But I'm lucky enough to be at home with you every day, and I know that you love me.

That day at Costco seems like a long time ago, yet I have a hard time believing that my baby is a year old. I think it really hit me that you're growing up the other day when you brought dad your shoes and socks, then sat on his lap and lifted your little foot so he could put them on you. You're such a smart little guy. You say mama and da-da and diddy (kitty). You wave hi and goodbye and even night-night, and you love to clap your chubby little hands. You've started walking, and you're all over the place. A few nights ago, I walked outside to see what dad was doing and found you sitting on Carter's PowerWheels motorcycle. You had climbed up all by yourself and knew exactly what you were doing. If only you knew how to make it go - you would have taken off!

Now I'm having another baby, and every once in a while I worry about how it will affect you. But I know that you won't get lost in the shuffle. You're such an important part of our family. You're happy 98% of the time, and that happiness is contagious. Tanner, Katelyn, and Carter absolutely adore you, and can't pass by you without stopping to play with you. You can turn even the worst of moods into a smile. I think you'll have this role in our family no matter how many kids come after you.

Happy birthday to my best little buddy. I love you!

Love, Mom

Keepin' It Real

I have always been claustrophobic. When I was in elementary school we had these 3 giant tractor tires on the playground. They were lined up so that you could climb into the two outer tires and into the middle. But if you were in the middle with friends on the outside, you couldn't get out unless your friends did. I can tell you that I only sat in that inner tire once or twice, and my heart was beating hard and fast the entire time. I preferred to let everyone else climb in and I'd stay in the outer tires, with my whole body able to scoot out at any time. As an adult, I don't have tractor tires to deal with, but I've had two MRIs, and those were two of the most terrifying times of my life. You know, the table you're lying on moves into that tube and it sure seems like you couldn't get out if you tried. Man, I'm starting to shake just thinking about it. The whole time I'm having the MRI done I have to tell myself to take slow deep breaths, and I keep an inner dialog going to talk myself out of completely freaking out. My claustrophobia also extends into seemingly boring things, like driving in construction where you only have one lane, and no way to get out of it - or anything similar you can think of.

So I freaked out last night. Just for a split second - I had that moment of panic that I have at least once every pregnancy. Claustrophobia is the best description I can come up with for this feeling I get. I know that I have this little life developing inside of me. I haven't really felt enough movement, and I'm not big and pregnant enough yet to start feeling that bond. You know, by the end you feel like you have a little pal with you all the time, and you almost feel empty and lonely after you've given birth. Well, I'm not at that stage yet. I still have to remind myself that there's a baby inside, though you'd think the constant barfing, headaches, and increasing pudginess would be constant reminders. Anyway.........it must have been one of those moments when I was thinking, "Oh yeah, there's a little baby growing in there!" That's when it hit me that, "Oh my gosh, that little baby's going to be there until it's big enough and developed enough to come out. And it's going to start impinging on my ability to breath. And it's going to stretch my ribs to the point of pain. And there's not a thing I can do to get it out!"

Yeah, I know, I sound like a total nutcase. And pretty selfish, too. Like I said, this whole thing only lasted a second, but it was some intense panic. At least it's a familiar feeling. It hits me at some point with every kid, and obviously I get over it. But man, what are we thinking when we choose to go through this? It's a big commitment to let someone move in and use your body to grow and develop. And it's really out of your control. You can't decide how sick you get, or what hurts, or when and where that baby decides to kick. And I won't even get into the havoc it wreaks on your body!

So there you go - some insight into my demented little world. I'm pregnant. I'm starting to look pregnant, although mostly chubby, probably, and I hate that! If you're lucky, I'll post a pic soon of my little belly. And stay tuned for pics of the finished bedroom. I'm in heaven having a place to go and close the door and feel peace!!!!

Checking In

Just thought I'd tell you what I've been up to, since for the most part I've gone missing in my life this past week. We're attempting to turn the world's ugliest bedroom:

into a peaceful escape. I've been planning it and shopping for the last two months, and I'm dying for the room to turn out like the picture in my mind. Hopefully I'll be posting the results soon! In the meantime, I'm trying to keep my kids clothed, fed, and entertained, and keep the house from caving in on itself. For the most part I've failed at the latter, but tonight the kitchen and living room are clean, and I even cooked dinner - I haven't been cooking much this week due to the constant mudding, sanding, mudding, sanding, mudding, priming, painting, etc. My poor garden gets its watering and not much else, so I'm beyond excited to bring in my first load tonight (not counting the peas and chard we've been eating for a while now). It looks like we'll have a bountiful year, despite the fact that my garden looks like a morning glory field. We'll get to weeding next week....My body aches in every way imaginable, but it's doing a better job at distracting me from the nausea than sitting on my rear watching t.v., so I should be grateful. Now it's off to paint all night, in hopes that I can finish so that John can lay the carpet tomorrow. (New carpet - can you believe it?!!! I'm ecstatic!!!)

A change of plans

I was driving home this afternoon from lunch at the park with the kids when I happened to find my favorite music in the whole world on the classical station on satellite radio (one of my new favorite things!). Rachmaninoff's 2nd piano concerto was playing, and the 2nd movement, my favorite of the three, was just barely starting. My first thought was, "Maybe I should take a long route home, because this is going to last longer than our drive home." I did drive straight home, completely immersed in the music. I was playing along - in my head, with my fingers, and in my heart. (It's sappy, but you're just going to have to go with it - or stop reading now. It only gets worse.) I have adored this piece of music since the moment I first heard it, and it instantly became my dream to perform it live with an orchestra some time in my life.

We pulled into the garage halfway through the third movement. Tanner opened the door to get out, then realized that I wasn't budging. He waited a few minutes, but gave up on me and went inside before it was over. (The kid now has ear buds in and his IPod going at all times, so my music doesn't even make his radar - not that he'd care about it anyway.) I was kind of glad that he went inside, because the music builds and builds, and the ending is so dramatic and moving that I had tears in my eyes. (This is not abnormal. John and I went to the symphony with his parents before we were married and saw this piece performed live. I cried practically the whole way through. It's hard to explain my emotional connection to the music, but it's pretty strong. I wanted to be the girl playing the piano so badly I could taste it!) This time the tears served another purpose. It occurred to me that I had given up my dream. I said goodbye to my piano major after Katelyn was born and I was pregnant with Carter, when it became obvious that I couldn't be a mom and finish such an intense major at the same time. It was an extremely difficult decision for me. While I hope to finish my degree when the kids are older, I really feel like the time has passed for me to fulfill that dream. I can't see any opportunities arising for some middle-aged lady to perform with a symphony orchestra, and to choose the music. And I've lost so much of my ability. I know it's my fault to an extent. I should be making it a priority to practice daily. But I couldn't possibly play 4 hours a day like I was back then, so I'm going lose some dexterity regardless. Anyway............

I was sitting in the car, tears in my eyes, the music moving through me as I mourned the loss of a dream. And then it hit me. I didn't lose my dream - I traded it! I always knew that I wanted to be a mom and stay home with my kids. I didn't dream of having children like some people do, but I just kind of knew that that's what I wanted. And obviously it is what I want. I chose to stop going to school, and I've chosen to keep having kids. We have another one on the way, due in January, and I'm not even sure that it'll be our last. So obviously, this is what I want to be doing, right? I'm living my dream!

I couldn't really shake the melancholy feeling I had, even with my realization. I carried it with me all afternoon. I'm still allowed to mourn the loss of a dream, even if I chose to lose it, I think. But I feel very grateful. My husband works so hard so that I can be at home, and he supports me and realizes more every day how important it is to have someone at home full time. It blesses our children's lives and will continue to do so. And I will always feel good about the decision I made to be at home with them, even if it means giving up some things I could have done for myself. And I still can and do bless our lives with my love of music.

How about you? What have you sacrificed, and does it make you sad, or are you at peace?

Happy Father's Day

I'm sure you're all at home today telling your husbands that they're the best fathers ever. Well, sorry girls, but you're wrong, because I married the world's greatest dad. I knew when I married him that he loves kids. But I didn't know just how far he would go to make his children happy, or how much joy he would get out of playing with them. I didn't realize that he would take on a second job and still work extra shifts moonlighting so that he could give us the best of everything. I am blessed to have such a hard-working and loving husband, and my children are blessed to have him for a father. Happy father's day, sweetie. We love you!

This is one of my favorite pictures of my husband being a cute dad. The baby is Katelyn.

On death

Last Tuesday, our family experienced a loss that turned out to be far more tragic than I expected. I found our cat Samantha lying lifeless on the family room floor. I was so completely freaked out that I couldn't even get close enough to touch her. So I watched from around the corner and made sure that I couldn't detect the rise and fall of her breath. When I was sure that she was not alive, I called John. I am so glad that he was working the right rotation and having a slow day, and that he was willing to race home to my rescue. He put our beloved kitty in a box and hid her so that he could go back to work and we could deal with it later.

Katelyn was beside herself when we told her. She cried and cried. She could think of nothing else the rest of the evening, as we waited for everyone to get home so that we could have a funeral. Both Katelyn and Carter were morbidly fascinated with seeing Sammy's body. And here's where I felt completely lost as a parent. How do I teach my children about death and help them to deal with it in a healthy way? What is appropriate and what's not? We had decided to bury Sammy in a remote corner of our yard, and not in a box, so John lifted her into the hole he had dug and the children had the opportunity they so desired to see her one more time. Was that the right thing to do? I'm really not sure. I hope they're not scarred for life by the image of their lifeless cat in a hole in the ground.

We all said something about Sammy and then put dirt on her grave. And this is when it hit Tanner. The timing couldn't have been worse - it was exactly one week before the anniversary of his mother's death. He has been dealing with the resurfacing of his grief since mother's day, and this just brought it all to the forefront again. There was much sobbing as we buried our kitty, and the kids' grief made me more sad than my own grief ever could have.

We were all sad that night, but we were OK. So I was surprised when Katelyn woke up the next morning and started crying almost immediately. In fact, she cried for at least an hour straight. And as soon as I'd get her calmed down, she'd start crying again. We had a lot of talks. I explained over and over about how Sammy's spirit is in heaven, and that it's just her body left here in the hole in our yard. She said a couple of times that she wanted to be dead, too, so that she could be in heaven with Sammy. It just about broke my heart. Carter got pretty sick of the weeping and wailing. He started telling her, "Sammy's dead. You don't want a dead cat!" Obviously, he's not quite grasping the situation. He had some other strange things to say about the whole thing. He's even said when he got mad at our other cat that he wishes it were dead with Sammy. Some issues to sort through eventually, I'm sure...

As Katie's grief subsided, she showed some signs of understanding. One morning at breakfast, she told me, "I think Jesus is making paper balls for Sammy in heaven and throwing them so that she can catch them. I think He's playing with her and taking care of her for us." I thought that was the sweetest thing.

As for Tanner, the one year mark has come and gone. I took the kids to the Oquirrh Mountain Temple open house on that day, in addition to an extra grief counseling session. It was good to have things to do to keep us busy, and the temple was a positive experience (minus the inevitable meltdown by Carter, which, luckily, didn't happen until the very end). He even talked to me in the car on the way home and I didn't feel like he was trying to pull away or distance himself from me, which I feel quite often. I am still so sad that he had to lose his mother so early in his life. One of my least favorite phrases is, "It's not fair." It's pretty much outlawed in our house. But I find myself thinking all the time that IT'S NOT FAIR! I don't want him to have to hurt. I still wish for his sake that we could turn back time and undo it. But we can't. And now we'll all be dealing with death for the rest of our lives. I guess I'll be figuring it out as we go.