The Power of Words

*Life, silly life, has been very busy for Courtney lately.  Which means no time for Mr Blog here.  Lucky for you, my poor reader who has been lost without my witty and wonderful posts, I am stuck in front of the computer doing online traffic school. Which I am totally focusing on.  Thank goodness for split computer screens!*

It should come as no big surprise, seeing what a ginormous book nerd I am, that I love quotes.

Love, love, love.

I have this deep-rooted belief in the power of words: to change, to uplift, to aide, to remind.  I now wish to shove this same belief down the rest of my family's throat.

Because I'm the mom and I can, that's why.

I leave little reminders in the house...

Because, really, that is a very good motto to have- is it not?

Some are just for fun (but totally describe our family).

The kids' rooms are full of little reminders...

*you can find the links to where I purchased the prints here and here, but some of them I just typed up myself; it all depended on how creative I felt that day*

The girls have about ten time more of these reminders floating around their room for a very obvious reason: they can read them.  It's not favortism, people.  It's practicality.  Also: I am currently searching for a huge mirror to put on one of the girls's bedroom wall where I shall line it with the beauty quotes.  There's always a plan.

I also am awaiting this lovely to be dropped off.  Her place of honor shall be atop my piano.

Please, please tell me that you know this song.  I just don't think we can be friends any longer if you don't. 

And yes, I'm very well aware that my house looks like a Pinterest Board threw up all over it.  It is what it is.


I hung up this half-finished chalkboard I had stored away in a closet (it is still awaiting the day when Orrin will put the frame on it) on the wall that runs along our kitchen table and family room, so that all in the Merrill household can see the wonderful quote that I have chosen to display for the week.

This week's lovely:

Now, I hate writing on chalkboards.  Hate it.  But I love the look, and when I first began doing this, I would spend hours painstakingly perfecting the board.  It was, after all, artwork that I had hanging on my walls for all to see.

And now?  I'm just happy to get every word spelled right on there.

Now, how do I make sure that my kiddos are actually absorbing these wise words?  Well, I am so glad you asked.  I put a new quote up every Sunday evening (ok, sometimes it's Monday afternoon... sometimes it's Tuesday night).  Over dinner that next night, we discuss the quote: the meaning, how they can apply it to their lives.  It's all very educational, lemme tell you.  We're a bunch of philosophers here in the Merrill Manor.

Now, the real way I get this family to remember the quotes: I pay them in Smarties when they can recite it to me on the next Sunday.  Not only do they get sugared happiness rolled in a plastic wrapper for knowing the current week's quote, they get one for every other quote they can recite.  And for Smarties, even Porter can remember at least 3/4 of the quotes.

Boom!  Mother of the year, people.  Mother of the year.

Now: seriously, I've seen these words take root and bloom in my family's lives.  Piper handed me her pile of school work the other day.  As I was turning through the stack of papers (wondering how many trees were killed to teach her about sentence structure), I came across a test with the words, "Try a little harder, to be a little better" written all fancy in the corner.  When I asked Pip's about it, she just shrugged and said that she had some extra time and that just popped in her head.  And, apparently, she is scrolling these little quotes on her work often enough that her teacher has asked her about it.  I've heard Porter chanting, "Work will win when wishy-washy wishing won't" to himself more than a few times.  And Adison used, "Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be" as a comeback to a grumpy mom.

Even the hubs told me that on a day when the pressure at work was high, and worry was beginning to weigh down his usual optimistic and cheerful nature, President Hinckley's words, "Get on your knees and pray, then get on your feet and work" popped into his head.  He felt the reassurance that he was doing his best to fulfill his side of the work and that Heavenly Father wasn't slacking in His end.

There.  Proof that not every crazy idea that enters Courtney's mind is a half-baked, silly one!  I'm filling my children's (and the hub's) very souls with ideas of optimism, of hope, of common sense, and of goodness that is so often lacking in their rushed days.  My prayers are full of pleadings that my children will remember who they are, their happiness, their talents, and their morals.  May they feel their parent's unconditional love wrapped around them every minute of every day.  May their hearts stay pure and kind, and their hands busy with good things.  I truly believe that these good words which they feast upon daily are helping them to know and do all of those things.

At the very least it is improving their memories :)

A Captured Moment

"Ummm... can you see what your children are doing?"  Orrin asked on Saturday while we were sneaking in a few hubby-wife TV moments while the kiddos ran free outside.

"Do I wanna see?"

"Absolutely not."

And I always take my husband's word on things like that.  So I continued staring at the television

"Where's your camera?"  His question intrigued me enough to take a peek.

Awww... crap.

Did you notice the look on Pipe's face when she sees Orrin looking at her?  Take a closer look:

Pretty sure she was thinking, "I am so dead."

But then Mom and Dad started laughing and Mom even took the camera from Dad's novice hands and started snapping.  And she knew that she would live another day.

This little girl was loving the mud. 

Wyatt joined for a moment.  But he was really, really confused.

 

Mainly, he wanted to know why his tricycle had a rope tied to it.  

That little knot was truly bothering him.

Adi and Piper decided that it was a spa and they were getting mud baths.

Funny thing: PG was the most reticent about the mud.  I think he was waiting for Mom to start freaking out.

Wyatt also did not care  for the sagging pants.  You know, at all.

Confession time: normally I would have freaked out.  And there probably would have been punishments given out.  Luckily, I have my other half. The calm(er) one. The one that sees the humor in a little girl in pink bathing herself in a muddy lake under our trampoline.  The one that reminds me that it'll take ten minutes to hose the kids off and clean 'em up, but we'll be giving them a lifetime of memories.

And hose the kids off, he did.

And another thing that bothered Wy-Fi.

Like, a lot.

And my floors still have their muddy lil' foot prints smeared across it.

I'll clean it up.

Eventually :)

Slowing Down

My little Piper has inherited a few things from me.  My big blue eyes, smooshed little nose, a love of reading, a tendency toward self-pity, and, worst of all, headaches.

Those babies have haunted me since early elementary age and to this day keep me using up the IB and Excederin bottles, and, at times, morph into fierce migraines that come to haunt me a few times a year. 

I am truly sorry, my Pipes.

Assuming that she had my eyesight problems, I took her to the eye doctor right after they started.  We found out that she is a little far-sighted, nothing that a pair of reading glasses wouldn't fix.  

Still, the headaches have persisted.  We have an appointment with her pediatrician coming up, which I'm sure will go as follows:  "Does anyone in her family have reoccurring headaches?"  "Yes.  Myself, her grandfather, aunt... I could go on."  "It's probably hereditary."  Then he'll have her do some walking and balance tests to check for a brain tumor, tell me to give her the right dosage of IB, and send us on our merry way.  How do I know this?  It's exactly what happened to me 21 years ago when my own mother took me to see my pediatrician about my headaches.

For now, Pipes and I have found our own way of dealing with these persistent little buggers.

We find the quietest room in our house (which is not an easy thing to do).  I put a warm rag on her neck, have her lay down in my lap, and I rub her head slowly and softly.  With the steady hum of a white-noise fan in the background and all the lights off and the blinds shut, it is very soothing.  I hum quietly to her, and watch as Piper slowly relaxes the muscles in her body: her feet stop tapping, her hands unclench and come to lay quietly beside her, and her neck nestles deeper into the pillow. 

I sit there with her until the noise outside of our little cocoon becomes so great that I know if I don't step in as referee soon the house might turn into a WWE wrestling ring.

Before I try to slip out of the room unnoticed, I realize that there aren't enough of these quiet moments in motherhood.  My day is mostly filled with loud, unrelenting busyness.  The cooking, cleaning, homework, laundry, chores, teaching, errands, correcting, activities, routines... it all turns into one loud blur.  Most nights, once 8 o'clock hits and the kids are all tucked tightly into bed, I collapse on the couch, breath a huge sigh of relief, and just revel in the sudden stillness.

But I need to search out these quiet moments with my children.  Yes, they do come on their own.   Every great once-in-a-while Wyatt will wake up from his nap, and while still groggy from sleep, he'll wrap his chubby little arms around my neck and squeeze me tight.  This may not seem like a big deal to you, but this kid is not exactly affectionate.  Seriously, if he voluntarily kisses me, I send a text to Orrin telling him all about it.  So when this moment happens, I stand still and just melt in those tiny little toddler arms. 

Every night before I tuck Porter's Cars blanket around him as tight as I can (as requested), I lay next to him and read him one of his favorite animal books.  Then he has me sing him a song (usually with funny voices) and I ask him what his best part of the day was (it is almost always "You singing to me").  I try to stand up and he pulls me back down next to him and asks me to tell him a story.  Sometimes I comply, and sometimes I tell him no, it's bedtime.  He always asks me for one more kiss and then he grabs my face and licks my cheek.  He then tells me, "I love you Mommy." 

Adi is probably the most difficult to get quiet.  She is always bustling with ideas and questions (something that she might get from her mother), and having her lay still and talk quietly is almost impossible.  But every so often, usually when I am reading, this girl will sneak into my lap, lay her head against my chest, and just start talking to me.  I'll set my book aside, stroke her long California-Surfer-Girl hair and just listen.  Which is very hard for me to do.  But I have come to realize that Ad is at the age where being heard is more important to her than her problems being fixed. 

Perhaps it is better that these moments happen on their own.  If I tried to force them it would most likely end in frustration on my part and on theirs. 

So I will take them as they come. 

And I will cherish them.

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.

Little Moments

You know that moment, right?  When you suddenly notice a stillness that has settled over your usually-bustling household.  No yelling, no tv, just... quiet.  Generally this means that the kiddos are up to no good.

But not this day.  It was after homework time when I noticed the freakish hush in my own home.  Instead of finding a child sitting in a toy basket with one end of a rope tied to the top bunk and the other to the bookcase (true story, peeps), I discovered this:

Even now, looking at this picture, I can feel the reverence in the room.  They were sitting, chatting about the pictures they were making and what sound the letter "B" makes.  Even the wee-one was sitting next to Adi's chair happily chewing on a marker.

It was amazing.  It was phenomenal.  It is a moment that I will be forever grateful that I captured.

The words to Mr. Rob Thomas's song comes to mind,
                      
                         "Our lives are made
                      In these small hours
                      These little wonders
                      These twists and turns of fate
                      Time falls away,
                      But these small hours
                      Still remain."