A touch of Abi

I have a shadow.  

All day long she is inserting herself into my world.  

She wants to know why, when, who, how,what, where...

She is my little puppy.  No matter what room I am in she is right by my side giving me company.

My bathroom has a touch of Abi.

My laundry shifts have a touch of Abi.

My kitchen has a touch of Abi.

My bedroom has a touch of Abi.

My phone has Abi selfies

I love her company.

Tonight whole I cleaned up Jace's closet she plopped on the floor and we played castle.  What I mean by "we" is she talked for an hour straight about what was going on in the castle giving me the play by play.  All I had to do was take a peek into the dungeon and spy in a few windows while the story went on.  

Updates ready to be installed

I drop my 12 year old off at Middle school wondering how we’ve arrived here already.  I hear my 11 year old daughter FaceTime with her friends in the next room and remember how my phone was attached to the wall by a cord.

I don’t read bedtime stories to my 9 year old anymore.  Instead, he is writing his own creative stories that entertain me.

My youngest is 4 and she is the only one I understand.  Her underwear has Olaf reassuring me of her youth.  Her toothpaste is sparkly blue and her favorite toy is a ladybug umbrella, but she has already figured out she can call Grandma on my iPhone by giving Seri the correct demand without needing my password.

I didn’t anticipate their world taking a HUGE shift so quickly.  

Out with the old and in with the new happens so quickly I can’t pull the price tag off fast enough.

Wednesday is the last day of school.  They grow like weeds in the summer.

Each morning I realize I need a parenting App updated.

I need instant download ASAP

A Faking Beggar

I just spent 3 weeks in India.   Everytime I return to America I immediately appreciate the cleanliness, and order that exists here.

The streets are quiet.  The streets are clean.  The streets are animal free.  The streets lack beggars.

I was driving into town yesterday appreciating all those things but then again I remembered I had seen beggars here before!

A ”homeless“ man in a wheelchair sits at the entrance of a shopping complex.  He looks different from the beggars in India but he is asking for handouts nonetheless.

As I drove pass his spot I looked for him but he wasn’t there.  I wondered if he had given up.  As I went about my way I continued to compare him to the beggars of India.

He sat in a wheelchair...so did some of them.

He wore ragged clothes...so did they.

He looked un kept...so did they

He held a sign that read ”Anything helps.“..they clasped their hands over their heart suggesting this plea.

The first time I saw the man in the wheelchair I immediately thought he was faking.  He isn’t really homeless, I concluded.

Across the intersection was also was a woman, not that much older than me, pacing the cars at a street light with a cardboard sign reading ”Single mom.“

In this one spot of my town there are 2 quiet beggars.  I doubted both of them. 

I just returned from a place where a hand was thrust out at every turn wanting from me.  Eventually I got pass feeling sorry for the indians and gave away smiles instead, knowing I could never satisfy them. 

As I compared these two situations that exist in 2 different worlds I realized I HAD been more sympathetic to a different culture.

Why was it that I wouldn't give to the man on my street corner but I’d travel to a 3rd world country and offer more compassion to people suffering with leprosy (the "lowest cast) instead!?

I don’t know the truth from any beggars standpoint.  Maybe it’s sincere, maybe it’s their 2nd income.  How am I to know?

Jesus teaches us to Feed the hungry and clothe the naked, right?  Is there a stipulation to this that we need to consider first?

An hour had passed when I returned near that spot to pick up gorceries  only to find the man in the wheelchair was now there!  As I turned into the entrance my eyes met his.  I saw him and I know he saw me see him.  I watched him through my rear view mirror with conflicting thoughts.  

After my shopping I sat in my car and wondered ”What would Jesus do?“ 

My husband has been an example to our family on this very topic.  He will always stop and give something whether it be coins or dollars. He has even given gum or a sandwich..whatever  he has with him!   

Our kids once asked: ”Dad, what if they are faking?“  

His response is:  ”What if God is testing you?“ 

I decided I was going to give the man in the wheelchair some cash.  I pulled next to him and rolled down the passenger window.  He scooted forward while I wadded up my donation and tossed it for an easier exchange.  He caught it and rewarded me with a ”God Bless Ma’am.“  I wished him to stay warm and drove away with his runny yellow discharged eyes branded on my mind.

Looks like I need a paradigm shift.  Am I a faking Giver?

India Chapter 3 2014

I am returning to India!

I'm going to work in leprosy colonies with Rising Star Outreach again.  Although I know what to expect (this being my 3rd time there) I still have the jitters.

I experience culture shock every time I go.  Life there is incomparable to my life here in the US.

Being in India is life changing for me.  I say that because my life litterlay changes while I'm there.  I am a different person.  I leave my husband ( whom I am thankful supports me) & 4 kids along with the roles I play to each of them behind to be...me?

I am ME in India, and quite frankly I get out of practice on being just ME.

India offers me unlimited "reflection"time.  Everything I see, hear, smell, and taste is...strange.

Having all 4 senses offended at once causes me to seek comfort quickly.  In a third world country "comfort" isn't out for the taking.  After being uncomfortable long enough I realize I need to get comfortable being uncomfortable.  (That's a humbling and sometimes humilitating experience)

I LOVE my stay at home mom calling, and I think I've hidden behind some of the titles that go along with it.   My first trip to India in 2011was the first time I stood alone as myself, Ember, since I was married.

Imagine what it would feel like leaving a job you've had for 15 years.  Wether you loved the job or not, that first day off would be a bit awkward, right?  So it is with me while I am in India.

I'm like a fish out of water at first.

I'm getting better at it, it's opportunities such as these that push me out of my comfort zone that show me who I am.  Each time I step up to be Me the next time is slightly eaiser.

I'm still nervous when I film an event, my hands still shake when I take pictures and I've been doing these things for years.  I'm obviously taking it slow. :)

Because I AM a mom, and I AM a wife I want to be ME for them too.  I want to show them what I look like being passionate over something personal.  I want to show them what I look like being "out of Character" while trying new things.  I want to show them WHO I am.

In 2012 I took my family along with me to India.  We all served in the Leprosy colonies and played with the school kids.  They saw me in my element and I saw them grow in uncomfortable circumstances.  They supported me.  They learned who their mom IS and my husband saw ME. (Probably something he hadn't seen in awhile)

I am passionate about photography

I am passionate about videography

I am passionate about writing

I am passionate about India

I'm hanging up my stay at home mom hat for the time being but when I return it's a better fit.

"He who knows others is wise; he who knows himself is enlightened" ~Laozi

Being is existing

I watched my older brother work with a wild mustang this morning.  He had 1 hour in a pin with a wild horse, never before trained.

 I have no interest in horses, in fact they scare me, but I found this process inspiring.  

After some thought I recognized it had nothing to do with this process but everything to do with seeing my brother BEING his passion.  

 The word BEING is a noun defined as: something that actually exists.

Witnessing people "being" their passion inspires me.

There is no question as to who they are.  

Either you exist or you don’t.

Hello? Are you there?

Last week I revisited my journals from my teenage years.    

Tears come when I remember who I wasTHEN and the feeling i get when revisiting them NOW.  

I was  explaining this experience to Sam and tears came uninvited.   

The strange thing is I didn’t quite understand “WHO” I was then, but Its clear to me now.  

Is that how I am?  Am I not seeing my true value of who I am today?

Obviously I am not the same person I was- nor should I be.  

Time has bettered me.  

Experience has changed me.

The connection I had with myself should be the same.

I laugh at my boldness in college and admire my commitment to my journal. 

I remembered how wonderful it feels to hear good things about myself.

My journals told me I was important, That I was loved.  

That I was beautiful and fun.  That I was a good friend.

 My journals lack that today. (Due to the fact that entries are few and far between.)

I want to do better in journal writing.  It’s who I am.

Nightmare Stories

Bedtime at our house is a process.  It takes far too long to get the last light out.

Our problem is my kids LOVE to read.  I turn out the light and before long they flip it on and retrieve a book behind the closed door.

My youngest, Abi, won't allow a single bedtime routine left undone.  Sometimes I try to skip the bathroom process (because it takes FOREVER).  It's only sucessful till I get out the door.  She riealzes it was skipped and calls out 

"Mom!  We forgot to potty!" 

The best part of the routine for her (and me) is the bedtime story.  I read one and ONLY one story.

Usually she loves a story so much she asks me to read it again the next night.  This is the case with our current book.

"Those stories are messed up!" Jace commented as I read them out loud.

I was thinking the same thing.

I have a problem with a lot of rhymes.

Old Mother Hubbard- tells of a starving dog.

Humpty Dumpty- death off a wall :0

Ladybug Ladybug:

A house fire and only one child surviving. 

The worst of them all are...

Why do we sing this to our babies?

We're singing about a baby falling out of a tree!

I looked into the origin of this lullaby and learned it had to do with Native Indian mothers hanging their babies in a birch bark cradle from trees to have the wind rock them to sleep.  That sounds a lot more comforting, right?

Did you know these lyrics refer to death?

The first outbreak of the Plague hit England in the 1300's. The symptoms of the plague included a rosy red rash in the shape of a ring on the skin (Ring around the rosy). Pockets and pouches were filled with sweet smelling herbs ( or posies) which were carried due to the belief that the disease was transmitted by bad smells. The term "Ashes Ashes" refers to the cremation of the dead bodies! The death rate was over 60% and the plague was only halted by the Great Fire ofLondon in 1666 which killed the rats which carried the disease which was transmitting via water sources.

This is how we view it:

this is how it began:

Hey kids, lets walk into a random house and help ourselves to their loot! ???What??

(kids should be alone in the forest anyway. haha)

This story is REALLY messed up.  It gave me the creeps as I read it a few days ago.  I should have stopped reading when they were lost in the forest and had eaten all the berries.  My 3 year old didn't seem to grasp the idea that a wicked witch kidnaps them, turns them into slaves and locks them up with the plan to cook them!  Horror story!!

Thankfully Gretel tricks the witch and tosses her into the fire first!  What???

I think I will stick to these favorites for bedtime 

**I think I may have written about this before but when I searched for it I didn't find it.

Punishments/kindness Mothers Day 2013

"My mom is best at punishment/kindness"

-Jennica

Mothers Day isn't a mothers day without sun and the scent of lilacs.  Today is defiantly Mothers Day!  It’s sunny, warm, and reeks of fresh blossomed flowers.  A perfect day!

Around 9am I woke to the noise of kids scurrying around in their rooms.

While passing Jennica’s room I saw her retrieving something from a hiding place, then found Jace downstairs penning a letter to me. (his second Mother’s Day gift to me)

After the cheers of “Happy Mothers Day!”I was questioned with “What would you like for Breakfast?”

I wasn’t in the mood for breakfast.  Sam and I went out to the Red Iguana last night for dinner and I ate enough to hold me over for a few days.  While walking out of the restaurant I jokingly said, “”too bad tomorrow isn’t fast Sunday.  It would be a breeze.“

Before scripture study everyone pulled out their homemade gifts.  Jennica painted flowers on a matted board with some notes.

Jace did what he has done in past years.  He brought his school made mothers day gift home on Friday.  It wasn’t even 5min inside the house when he announced he had my gift and wanted to give it to me.  I tried to talk him out of it but he insisted.  It was a rock painted white with lady bugs.  I LOVE it.  I’m going to use it as a paper weight.  

Since he gifted it Friday he decided to write me a letter today.  It was funny.  He expressed he was going to miss me when I die- Just like he is going to miss grandma great and grandma Trena.  Then he drew a graveyard. ☺ 

Jarom brought home a bag of bath salts that smell so good and has already suggested a few times I take a bath.

Sam purchased a tanning pass to a local salon. 

 My white skin needs major color. 

I doubt having a pool in the backyard is even enough to tan my skin.  It has been YEARS since I’ve carried a tan.  For some reason it’s not as easy as it was in high school.

I wore a bracelet jennica made for me a few years ago for mothers day and she was moved that I still had it and that I wanted to wear it.  It’s made out of buttons.  So cute!

Sam made pasta dinner (yum!) Right now I've locked myself in my room to blog.  This is one of my favorite things to do but don't get around to it often enough.

I love Mothers Day.  I can’t remember one that wasn’t bright and sunny or went without homemade love notes from my kids

. 

I remember being little and bringing home letters and gifts for my mom.  Mothers Day is also a special day for kids.  Expressing love and offering a gift to their mother is the best part of the day.  What child doesn't want to please their mother?  I still want to please my mother with kind words and freshly picked flowers (weeds)

Mothers are the best when they are also a best friend.  

My mom is mine.

I think I'm half way there in having Jennica being my best friend. Kindness follows pretty quickly from punishing. 

Playing again

This weekend is Conference. It’s been one of my favorites. 

A little nugget of wisdom offered stung a little.  When my litter of kids were all young, trips to the park never lacked.

Bike rides through town and story time at the library were part of routine.  My life was their life.  I loved to be outside so outside was our playground.

Catching fireflies, watering the garden and bubble baths were the best way to end a day.  

I loved that season of life!

Quickly that time passed and soon we were running around town in the car to various events.  As my kids became more self reliant I, myself, began to discover my own talents and hobbies.

As they out grew the playground apparently I did too

One by one they became school age and  my litter diminished. Soon it was just me and the youngest duck.  He happily followed me around and enjoyed the one on one. 

Today I have a 3 year old at home who follows me with a bounce in her step.  She loves playing with the older kids and gets very excited when they return from school.  My time at home now does not resemble anything to what it was before.  Instead I am cleaning or working on my passions.

Last November during a visit in Utah we drove pass a fast food restaurant with an inside play place.  

“Mom!”  She yelled from the backseat with delight.

“Inside Playground?!!?”

We didn’t see places like this back home so her observation was full of wonder also.

It was then I realized the youngest Hobi didn’t get enough “play time” out side.  I’ve never taken her to play groups like I hosted a billion times before.  I don’t pack a lunch for a nature walk with her either.  My child is a hermit, because of ME.

Now Spring is here and we are excited about being outside.  Bikes are tuned up, and basketballs are bouncing on the court.  Announcing a visit to the playground hasn’t even crossed my mind.  Instead Abi chases the older kids on their bikes like a puppy dog.  She hops around the basketball court escaping many bongs to the head.

Last week my heart stung as I passed a playground for the billionth time and she happily announced “Playground!!” Like she always does.  It’s not a whine, it’s pure delight that she has spotted a playground. (the same one every time we leave the house.)

I felt very strongly that I need to slow down and make room for her.

With this tugging at my heart, a speaker in Conference spoke of this very thing.  Turn off distractions and be there for your children.

I love being a mom.  I love little children.  I outgrew the playground prematurely.  

It’s time to stop and smell the flowers again.