Where oh where

Lately, life has been a bit busy.  No time for picture taking, no time for reflection, no time for thinking... and no time for blogging.

Yes, the girls being in two different dance classes each is time consuming.  Porter having half-day kindergarten with a mini-pile of homework each day and baseball on the weekend is hard.  Adi is running for student council, Piper just joined her big sis in Activity Girls, after school clubs for the three eldest, play dates, doctor appointments, dentists, trying to buy a house (should it really be this hard?), Orrin's new job and new promotion, insurance stuff, extended family stuff... life has been coming hard at me lately and sometimes I feel like a sloppy juggler trying to keep a myriad of balls rotating in the air.

Those are wonderful excuses, you are probably thinking, but that's life.  And you are so very true.  The one major difference is my days that leaves me incredibly drained and so mind-numbingly tired that I cannot even sit in front of a computer even when I have a spare moment: a toddler.

This toddler, to be exact.

Little Wyatt has yet to reach his second birthday, and yet his terrible twos have taken this house by storm.  The little stinker has figured out how to open every single door in this house (including the sliding back door and the garage door that Adi can only open on a good day) and how to unlock them all- with a bobby pin from the other side of the door. Wyatt is quite the masterful lock picker.  He has also mastered the art of pulling open the fridge and freezer and opening the OtterPops and chewing through every single string cheese (still in the wrapper) before anyone notices the cold draft coming from the kitchen.  He pulls on the child-lock on the pantry until it snaps off and then he plays how-many-chips-and-fruit-snacks-can-I-stuff-into-my-mouth-before-Mom-sees game. Very entertaining for him.  Not so much for me.

Wy-Fi figured out how to climb onto the trampoline outside.  And when his siblings move the chair away to hinder his jumping practice, he pushes his little red and yellow car over and uses that to hoist himself up.  Terrifyingly funny story: Adi was holding Wyatt's hand, jumping on the tramp the other day.  When they were done, Adi jumped down and turned around to pull Wy off.  Before she had the chance, he backed his little booty up to the edge of the tramp, grabbed a hold of the bar, and jumped backwards off of the tramp, in a move that pretty much solidified his place on the USA Olympic gymnastic team in a few years.  I was watching this from the kitchen window, and before I got myself out of the door to stop him, he was dangling from the bar and grinning at my panicked scream.  We are watching him a heck-of-a-lot closer when he's out there these days.

His fits are rather unbelievable.  He doesn't so much scream, as he is too busy walking around throwing and kicking everything in sight.  If that doesn't attract enough attention for him, he will fall down and start hitting his head into the floor.

Yeah.  My kid's a wierdo.

Wyatt unplugs the computer at least twice a day, pulls off his diaper and runs butt-naked around the house, gets into his sister's make up and rubs red lipstick all over the walls and carpet, breaks the blinds, pulls hair, refuses to eat anything that could be considered healthy, screams when anyone but  myself picks him up, sneaks into his sisters' room and throws all of their clothes from their dresser drawers onto the floor, tries to release his brother's pet frogs into the wild (aka our house)...

He's just so incredibly busy that I stay incredibly busy trying to either a) entertain him or b) clean up after him.

Let's just say nap time and bed time is strictly enforced around here.

And yet...

when the horrible little monster decides to smile,

my heart melts, my anger vanishes, and I am so, so grateful that this busy little boy is in our family.

He is our family's clown.  He'll do anything to get us laughing (wearing a pink tutu while dancing, for example), and loves being the center of attention. He loves playing trucks with his big brother, building blanket forts with his sisters, watching UP, playing with balloons, drinking gallons of water a day... but most of all, this kid loves being outside.

So, to all of my faithful followers (that's you, Whit and Mom), I am trying to get back on here with some kind of frequency.

And if I go a week or two without  posting, just assume that Wyatt has learned how to start the car on his own or maybe how to climb onto the roof.

Shorty

This is Adi.

With her happy face on.

 And this is Adi with her sad face on.

Lately Adi has been making this face more and more.  Why?  Well, for many reasons.  She is the family drama queen.

But more often is has been because people at school have been calling her something horrible.

Awful.

Shocking, really.

Yes, they've been calling her... little.

*GASP*

And not just little; but also short, tiny, or even small.

However will we deal with this bullying?!

Allow me to better show you her height challenges (I just posted these pics, but here they are again).  These girls are some of Adi's besties from her same grade at school.  In fact, she is several months older than both of them.

Yes, the girl is short.

Even though Orrin and I find it quite hilarious that she finds something like this so very difficult to live with, we try to make her feel better.

I tell her that someday she will be so very happy about her tiny stature.

Orrin reminds her that he was a tiny runt for a long time, but he finally hit a growth spurt and now he is the massive mountain that she looks up to everyday (yeah, he thinks pretty highly of himself).

But still, she frets and worries over when she will grow.

Finally, I told Adi a quote from my favorite Disney movie to say to these horrible people who dare to call her puny.

It's at 00:18.



"I am travel size for your convenience."

Perfect.

Except Adi changed it to "I am pocket size for your convenience."

And she loves it.   She came home from school so proud of herself because she said it to a kid who had the audacity to tell her that she was tiny.

You go girl (yep, I just time traveled back to use that expression).

I came across this quote on Pinterest and immediately thought of our little Shorty.  I showed it to Adi and she loved it.  So I made up a cuter little poster for her to hang in her room.

**I used the stuff from this cute digi-scrapping kit to make it**

 Now Adi is calling herself fierce.  A lot.

And I feel like I might have actually helped boost my daughter's self esteem.

Once again, Pinterest and YouTube have saved the day.

On this day of Mothers...

I love to watch my two little girls from a distance.  I love to see how they interact with one another and the world around them when they are uncensored and away from a grown-up's corrections.  I've seen a pattern emerge with my Ad and Pip when it comes to Wyatt.

When Wyatt is in need- whether it be a diaper change or merely a refill of water in his sippy cup, a love or someone to hold his hand while he steps down- Piper is the one to run to him.  Adi suddenly finds something incredibly important to do in the next room.  I am not harassing Miss Adison Nae.  That is her personality.  Her urge to care for others in this way is not as strong as her sister's.

Piper was born with a Mother's Heart.  She mothers everything in her site: dolls, stuffed animals, potato bugs, frogs.  Seriously, anything that appears to be in need of someone to care for it, she adopts.  

The funny thing is that these two daughters of mine remind me a heck of a lot of two other little girls.

*I'm the curly-haired one*


Growing up, my sister and I had the privilege of being the oldest girl cousins on my mom's side, which meant we were the automatic babysitters at family functions.   I have always been somewhat-less interested in babies, much like my Adi.  I would look down at my little cousins, smile, maybe coo a bit, and then I would move on.


Whitney, so much like Pipes, would grab a baby and never let go.  All of my now-adult or almost-adult cousins have had the privilege of being carried on her tiny hip for hours.  She played games, fed, changed and all-around cared for the little kiddos while I found something waaay more pressing in my room.

Whitney has always had a mother's heart.  I had to grow mine.

Now-a-days I have a gaggle of babies around me.  I wade through diapers, soggy towels, loads of laundry, and dinner dishes daily.  I cuddle, console, play, feed, nurse.. all that being a mother entails.  I had to learn to love doing these things- and not without some serious growing pains.

My loving little sister is struggling with becoming a mother.  Her aching arms yearn for a baby to cuddle, to adore.  Her body pines to share itself with another, to sacrifice itself to the upbringing of a soul.  She is ready for the stretchmarks, the morning sickness.  She wants the mountains of laundry, the sticky fingerprints on her walls, the sleepless nights.

Whitney is- and always has been- there for me and mine.  She is the Aunt that has sleepovers and goes to every mind-numbing animated cartoon.  The one that creates and teaches a dance to a room full of young girls for their school talent show (not once, but twice!).  She's taken my sick kids to allow me some rest, been on call for nursing advice, picked up the girls from school, accompanied me to pediatrician appointments, listened to my children, listened to my complaints.  She has helped me plan and decorate for almost every one of my youngun's birthdays (even when she lived a state away).  She has spoiled my children rotten and been there for guidance.  She has changed diapers, carried babies until her back and arms hurt, kissed them, swayed with them.  She comes to baseball games, dance recitals- and she is the one that remembers to bring her camera.  She has loved and cared for my children as her own.


I am not exaggerating when I say this:  Whitney is simply amazing.  She is the mother that I aspire to be.

So, on this day of Mothers, I wish to call attention to those who we may not all consider to be members of this club.  Those who do not have the minivans, but who pray for the day when they will.  

Happy Mother's Day, sweet sister.  Today is for you just as much as it is for me.  You are my children's other-mother.  You are the very epitome of motherly love. 

Someday soon you will hold a bawling baby in your eager arms.  Someday soon I will get to repay you for all the debt I have incurred over the last 9 1/2 years.  Someday I will listen to your hurt and exaggerating  little boy (because in my mind, it is always a son that you have) tell me how much you hate him and just how mean to him you are.  On this future occasion I shall wrap this upset little-one-half-Whitney in my arms and tell him all about his mother.  How long she prayed for him.  How every time she held one of his older cousins, she dreamed of him.  How she worked for him, planned for him.  I will tell him that if there is anything in this world that he should believe in, it should be the depth of his mother's love.  I will then give him chocolate because I have found that chocolate cures all pain at this age.

Here's to the women who do not yet hold a child of their own, but who are always willing to care for another's.  Today all such women deserve a flower, a loving smile, and a warm hug. And probably a yummy meal which they did not have to prepare.

Thank you, my sister, for all you've done.  Thank you for all of the many things you have yet to do.

And, most importantly, Happy Mother's Day.

P.S.  Don't kill me for putting this on my blog- you deserve the praise.

Why I hate mother's day

See these two ladies?

At the charter school they go to, they are required to memorize a poem every grading period to recite in front of the class (this, strangely, has no affect on them.  at their age I would have broken out in a nervous sweat and probably started to cry).  The kind teachers try to match the four choices in poetry to the time of year.  In December there were verses on Christmas, Veterans Day there were ones all about soldiers... you get it.

Well, because I am Mom-Extraordinaire, I kinda forgot all about these memorizations.  Until last night.  When they were due the next day.  Great parenting, right?  Anyway, the girls pull them out, choose a poem and start practicing them while I am trying to bathe Mr. Wyatt and get the Stubborn Porter-Pot to please just clean his room already.

 **this pic was actually taken last night, after his bath, while I gave him his nightly rubdown.  He is extremely ticklish and belly laughs the entire time**

To fill you in, earlier in the day I had a total of seven giggling girls parading around my teeny living room, working on their dance for the talent show this week (six performers, one spectator).  I also was the only adult home and had my two rascal (and rather disobedient) boys running around.  And then I got it into my head to paint all of the girls' nails a neon color to match their neon costumes.

Long story, short: I got every last extra-child out of my home by 6:15.  And I had no plans whatsoever for our dinner.

We ate cereal.  Don't judge.

Fast-forward to the poem memorizing.

I finally get Wyatt to bed, then Porter goes in the baby's room and pulls him out.  One, Two, Three... "Why did you do that, Porter?"

"Because I want to play with his blocks."

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six...

"Did you get your room clean?"

"Yes."

No, no his room wasn't clean.  "Go clean it up the right way please."

All during this Piper and Adi are following me around, competing for my sole attention in hearing them recite.  I sit down on my bed between the girls and we start again.

Wyatt cries, Porter runs into his room and shuts the door.  "What happened Porter?"

"Nothing."

"Why is Wyatt crying?"

"He was touching my tools so I pushed him away."

Back to bed Wyatt goes.  Back to "cleaning" Porter goes.

Meanwhile, the girls have broken out into a full-on cat fight over who gets to write their poem on the white board (we have two).

I send Adi into my room to practice while I sit on the couch next to Piper, with the promise that I will be right in to hear hers.

Adi is scared to be alone in my room with the door shut.  I have absolutely no idea why.  The girl is afraid when I take a shower at night and Orrin isn't home.  Also to go in the garage in the middle of the day to get me a roll of paper towels.  Big chicken, this one is.

"Adison!  Just do it."  This was not said in my nicest voice.

Porter comes running by with marker all over his hands.

"Porter, what is that on your hands?"

"Nothing." (Why do kids think this line will work?)

"Why aren't you cleaning your room?"  He turns around and runs back to his room.

"Mom! Please listen to me!"  Whiny Piper voice has made it's appearance.

"I am now focused solely on...  PORTER GRANT MERRILL!  GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM AND PICK UP YOUR TOYS!"

Notice the all-caps?  Once again, not in my kindest voice.

"But it's cleeean!!" He is now jumping up and down in frustration.

I can see the floor of his room from the couch.  "Nope, it's not.  See the clothes on the floor?  And the toys?  And is that your sister's purse?"

"AAAARRRGGGHHH!"  He stomps away.

"Mo-om!" Piper's whining.

"I'm scared!  I'm scared!"  Adi in the bedroom.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

That might have been me.

Very loud sigh.  Deep breath in, long exhale, and rubbing of my head.

"Ok, Pipes.  It's all you."

"Motherhood

The dearest gifts that heaven holds,

The very finest, too,

Were made into one pattern

That was perfect, sweet, and true;

The Angels smiled, well-pleased, and said:

'Compared to all the others,

This pattern is so wonderful

Let's use it just for Mothers!"

And through the years, a Mother

Has been all that's sweet and good

For there's one bit of God and love,

In all true motherhood."

Well, hello guilt.

"Hmmm... that sounds exactly like me, doesn't it Pipes?"  I may be a bit sarcastic.

"Um, sometimes..." This girl could be a politician.

"Ha! I don't think I'm exactly 'all that's sweet and good' tonight, am I?"

"Well, maybe you should work on that."

The forgotten one

It would seem as though I have forgotten about someone on this humble little blog of mine.

Namely, Mr. Wyatt Clark Merrill.  Or, as he is known around these parts, Wy-Fi.  Of course, he is also called Wyetta a whole heck of a lot, but that's a whole other story that includes a tutu and some really giggly sisters.

A while back, my dearest father called me and asked me how "the forgotten one" was doing.  Naturally, I assumed he was talking about old Orrin.  It took me a rather long, awkward moment to figure out that he meant my youngest child who rarely makes an appearance on this blog.

And now I shall make an excuse for this: Wy-fi has a tendency of taking a lot of naps when I have my friend, The Camera, waving around.  Well, that, and he usually takes one look at The Camera and runs in the opposite direction.  Because he is a giant turd, that's why.

See how in this picture he is refusing to look into the camera... well, the phone.  Let's not be picky, though.

**gasp! a rare Courtney sighting!**

Hey kid, I'm pretty sure you ended up with your Momma's eyes.

Please be assured that this little man is still calling most of the shots in the Merrill household.  It's just that most of the time I can only get a blurry shot of his chubby little body streaking by.

There he goes now!

Isn't Wyatt just the perfect little gentleman at church?

You're allowed to snap a picture on your phone before sacrament starts, right?

Do not be fooled by the serene look on the kid's face. He is secretly plotting his chapel exit strategy.

Told ya.

He also has become the computer warden and decides who gets to use it and when.  If you try to use it when he deems it impossible, you'll have to deal with this:

Good luck getting by that guy.

Wyatt likes bath time,

playing at the park,

walks (especially ones that end at the park),

drinking water (yep, he belongs to OP alright),

getting loves from the select few whom he allows to touch him,

car rides,

 the vacuum (nope.  no idea),

and generally running amuck.

  His dislikes?  Well, there may be a few.

Being told "no" when he wants more cookie dough

and when he keeps crying for Mom's attention and she won't lift her eyes from her toy phone.

Oh, and he protests extremely loud when it is time to visit the doctor.  Don't be fooled by his sweet face in this picture.  He was a little devil the entire time.  Although I should point out that he only cried while we held his arms down (the kid does not like to be restrained) while he got his four shots.  Yup, I said four shots.  As soon as we let him go he was fine.

Also, shopping bores him immensely. 

This kid also likes his meals.  And his snacks.  And the random crumbs he finds on the floor or table between meals and snack time.

This picture just might be my most favorite in the history of ever.

Have I mentioned that he is also a little bit accident prone?

Ok, ok, maybe he's a lot accident prone.

See the look on his face?  Nope.  No tears.  He was looking at his Momma in bewilderment- trying to figure out why she was sobbing and snotting (of course the worry was not greater than my desire to get a picture of his calm reaction to nearly taking off his face on the playground sand).

Wyatt is at that fun age where one minute he has me completely under his little chubby-toddler-drooling-grin spell, and the next he has me sitting in the corner rocking back and forth and counting to ten.

But I shall keep this little Tank.  I will share him though, if anyone is interested in babysitting him for a few hours (he, of course, comes as a package deal with three other awesome siblings). 

Oh, and I noticed that I put him in a lot of orange.  Never did realize that.

I'm getting deep, here, people

I was holding my baby tonight. giving him his bottle and staring at his general awesomeness.

**Not too brag, but this kid is pretty awesome**

I was reveling in his big blue eyes and the milk drippings on his chin.  The way his thermal jammies fit so perfectly snug on his pudgy little thighs.  I had Christmas music playing softly from the computer (yes, I am already listening to Christmas music, so sue me) and then the song "Mary Did You Know?" (this version right here) came on.

It hit me.  This is what Mary did all those years ago.  She held the tiny infant Christ in her arms, fed him, giggled at the milk mustache above his lips.  She marveled at his beauty and his perfectness.  I am sure that she too was sometimes overcome with the responsibility that was in in her lap: to raise a perfect little spirit in this imperfect world (although she had waaay more pressure there).  She probably uttered many prayers under her breath or silently in her head to please, please let her succeed.  Please give her strength and knowledge beyond her current capabilities.  Let her be strong but kind.  Stern but gentle.  A soft place and a pillar.

At that moment, with the music tinkling in the background and my mind running at full speed, my baby grinned up at me, exposing his one white bottom tooth.  It could not have been planned better.  I pulled him close and breathed in his scent of baby soap, lotion and a bit of banana.  I planted a wet kiss on his forehead (not his lips, he gets mad and starts hitting if you kiss him there).

"Mary, did you know that when you kiss your little baby, you've kissed the face of God?" sang Reba.  I was having one of those full-on "my cup runneth over" moments.  My other three kids were staring at me from the kitchen table as if I'd gone completely bonkers.  "You ok, Mom?"  Pipes asked.

Yes.  Yes I am doing awesome right now.  For that one second I got it.  I knew.  While this smiling baby, and those three kiddos drawing up a storm over there, are not the Great I Am, they are pretty special to this mommy.  After all, does Christ not say in the scriptures, "Whosoever shall receive one of such children in my name, receiveth me"?

Of course, the moment was soon over.  Wyatt wanted to get down to run over and push the bright green light (meaning he turns off the computer) and the little Picassos started fighting over who gets to use the skinny black marker (even though there are three other fat black markers in the marker jar).

But I had it.  And I thank Heavenly Father for the tender mercy He gave me tonight.  He helped me see that while right now raising these kids means a lot of diapers, laundry soap, muddy floors and toothpaste on the bathroom counter, some day these tiny people will grow into the glorious people that they are meant to be.  They will go out into this world and make it a better place (oh yes, they will be something to behold, let me tell you).



And I will get to witness it all.

Miss Pips

So, yes, I have a camera again.

Orrin told me that 3 cameras a year is my absolute limit... so keep your fingers crossed that I can keep track of this one!

Anywho, back to Pipes. I was doing her hair all fancy-shmancy for church on Sunday when Piper says this to me (no lie):

"Mom, I bet no one has as good of a mom as I do."

I have to admit that I started bawling.

And Piper looked at me like I was crazy.

And this was one of those moments that make all the hard work, the sweat, the tears and the frustration all worth it.

And I bet no one has as good of a five year-old as I do.

The Divinity of Motherhood

“Motherhood is near to divinity. It is the highest, holiest service to be assumed by mankind. It places her who honors its holy calling and service next to the angels." (Quote from here)

I believe this.

I really do.

And I try to remember this everyday.

But then everyday-raising-kids stuff happens, and I tend to forget it.

I mean, one doesn't exactly feel divine when clothed in holey pajamas, trying to see out of blood-shot eyes with lids that weigh at least 100 pounds each, and wondering whether you can get away with cereal for breakfast again.

Could you?

And then Piper starts running a fever, and Adi is crying because Mommy is so mean and won't take her to her friends' house and Porter breaks the lens on the camera. Winter is knocking on the door (does everyone have enough warm clothes?), class parties are around the corner, church callings, gotta do laundry, vacuum, cook dinner, oh, and Christmas is almost here....

And honestly, sometimes I just want to find an empty room with an industrial-sized lock, sit down in the corner, and cry.

But then Little Man toddles over, holding his cherished Cars blanket, and says, "Mommy, bap?" In English that means, "May I sit on your lap Mother?".

And Piper tells me that my burritos are the "bestest ever. Even better than Taco Bell."

And Miss Adi grabs my hand and tells me that she just wants to sit by me for a little while.

Now I really want to cry.

Not because I am overwhelmed or stressed.

No, but because I am so blessed to have these little monkeys to love and care for.

And even though I fail at my "job" 5 out of the 7 days of the week, I can only pray that those 2 success days will be enough to get this little family through the chores and the fights and the sickies.

I look at my children and can see in them the person that they are to be, and I feel privileged to be oneof the few who get to witness their growth and change.

And yeah, I have bad days.

Nothing can get rid of those.

But at least I know deep in my soul that some day they will all pay off.

I stumbled onto this little gold nugget of writing from President Hinckley:

"Most of you are mothers, and very many of you are grandmothers and even great-grandmothers. You have walked the sometimes painful, sometimes joyous path of parenthood. You have walked hand in hand with God in the great process of bringing children into the world that they might experience this estate along the road of immortality and eternal life. It has not been easy rearing a family. Most of you have had to sacrifice and skimp and labor night and day. As I think of you and your circumstances, I think of the words of Anne Campbell, who wrote as she looked upon her children:

You are the trip I did not take;

You are the pearls I cannot buy;

You are my blue Italian lake;

You are my piece of foreign sky.

(“To My Child,” quoted in Charles L. Wallis, ed., The Treasure Chest [1965], 54)

You [mothers] are the real builders of the nation wherever you live, for you have created homes of strength and peace and security. These become the very sinew of any nation.”

After reading this, how can I not feel divine?