Everyday life

Hope for spring.

Jack and I picked a crisp day to plop ourselves down on the ground in the front yard and plant some hyacinths for early spring. I could sense his confusion when he discovered that “planting flowers” really meant digging holes, inserting a bulb bearing no resemblance to a flower, and then covering it once again with dirt.

“Where are the flowers, mom?” He’d ask. “We have to wait until the snow melts,” I replied, realizing that he failed to process such a seemingly interminable delay of gratification.

Planting bulbs is something I’ve done for years. Daffodils and hyacinths remain my favorites. Daffodils, for their bright cheery color and hyacinths for their delectable fragrance. Both for their early burst through the soil, sometimes even before the snow has melted.

After a dark winter, I need every sign of life I can get.

In my seasonal affective disorder I muddle through the winter, seizing upon every 40 plus degree moment of sun.

I shovel the driveway after each snowfall, grateful for the chance to get my heart rate moving and to enjoy the silence and awe of freshly fallen snow.

I bake rolls and cookies, infusing our home with warmth and an open invitation for friends to join us.

I drag myself out of bed each morning long before the sun rises to shuttle kids to and from school and activities. I retire long after the sun has gone to bed, feeling spent from a long day of fulfilling obligations and drudgery.

Then I wait.

There are days I sit back and wonder, much like Jack after planting bulbs, at the point of it all. Will the hyacinths ever make an appearance?

Indeed, winter is not my favorite, though there are bright spots to be found.

I saw a quote on Facebook recently that inspired me to reframe my relationship with winter. It read, “If you choose not to find joy in the snow, you will have less joy in your life but still the same amount of snow.”

In my life, this quote might read, “If you choose not to find joy in the teenagers, you will have less joy in your life but still the same amount of teenagers.”

You see, teenagers resemble for me that hyacinth bulb in winter. I cultivated a spot for each one, inserted them with their pointy ends toward the sun, then covered and watered them to ensure the best possible outcome.

Likewise, I find myself shaking my head constantly as I endure the winter of raising teenagers.

I hold my tongue, hoping that the lessons of years gone by managed to sink in. That the ground I have worked so diligently to cultivate provides an adequate environment for the beautiful bulb to thrive.

Then I wait.

I muddle through the years where each interaction is on their terms, where contributions in the home are regarded as optional, where adversarial relationships abound when standards are upheld.

I enjoy the moments of laughter when happy moods happen to collide in a universe of hormones. I eat up the chance to connect when they take me up on my offer to read to them as we did in younger years. I wake up bright and early to make breakfast and dabble in conversation as each daughter walks out the door, one by one. I buy and make mountains of food to keep them happy when they invite friends over. But mostly I stay out of the way.

Indeed the efforts are staggering and the payout seems minimal.

But much like the hyacinth, the growth beneath the surface cannot be underestimated. And spring is on its way.

Truly, the instant gratification of planting annuals barely scratches the surface of the joy one feels when that first hyacinth breaks through after a long, cold winter.

And then another. And another. Within weeks my garden is bursting with color and sweetness fills the air. A gentle reminder that efforts made long ago and endurance in between were well worth it.

Winter can feel like an eternity. But spring always comes. And hope will see us through.

Ten thousand steps a day.

A few months ago, Tim replaced his fitness tracker because it wasn’t compatible with the app that his work uses to give him “credit” for healthy living. My man wanted his 50 bucks a quarter for getting his steps in, for heavens sake.

I gladly accepted the cast-off fitness tracker as a gift.

Admittedly, I was kind of obsessed with checking how many steps I was racking up throughout the day (and how).

I became frustrated when pushing my son on the swing for fifteen agonizing minutes yielded like 20 steps.

Or when I exercised one morning (it was arm day) and yielded less than 500 for a half hour sweat sesh. What a rip-off.

Then again, what a pleasant surprise to discover that folding three loads of laundry converted to almost a thousand steps.

Clearly, the “steps” feature of my fitness tracker is somewhat lacking in accuracy.

Still, the very first day I wore it, I discovered that I got over 10,000 steps. On a pretty average day. And the day after that, and the day after that too.

It turns out that this stay-at-home Mom gig is rather strenuous. Not that I’m surprised.

What that also means, is that the weight gain I’ve experienced over the last year and a half (I blame the remodel) has little to do with inactivity. Crap.

What does a girl over forty have to do to maintain her figure?

On the days I exercise (only like two a week, unfortunately) I get over 15000 steps…and no weight loss.

I can’t say that the word “skinny” has ever been used to describe me. And I’ve never been willing to take drastic measures just to look good in a swimsuit. It’s just not where I place my value.

But honestly, maybe I should. Cause 10,000 plus steps just ain’t gonna save me from a heart attack unless I learn to put down the fork. Today.

Girls Trip 2019

Every other year a few friends from my mission reunite for a girls trip. We’ve done Boston, D.C., Oahu, Kauai, and BYU Education Week (x2). I’ve missed a few of them, but BYU Education Week isn’t one I would dare miss.

It’s the cheapskate in me, I suppose. Or the lifelong learner. Either way, I love roaming the halls of my alma mater with my sistas, soaking in the knowledge to be found in classes ranging in topic from parenting teenagers to explorations on the Book of Isaiah.

We chat late into the night and then pound the pavement bright and early, stopping only for a bite to eat. Pretty good eats to be had on girls trips. I always come home a few pounds heavier from the food. And a few pounds lighter from the therapy of being with women who build me up and inspire me.

Can’t wait for the next one.

Summer 2019 in a nutshell.

Lest we all forget that vacations are the only noteworthy item of the summer of 2019, here are a few pictures to remind us that the every day can be sort of cool too.

Eve got braces.
Anna worked the snow cone shack with her buddy Kiana.
We might have gone a few times…or fifty.
Probably closer to fifty.
Anna spent almost three and a half weeks at BYU for French Camp. She said she learned more there than in an entire year of French class at our local high school.
We love taking walks along the Boise river. Although, we usually end up throwing rocks more than we walk.
Tim and I look forward to our regular date nights to the Idaho Shakespeare Festival. This particular night was a balmy 42 degrees!
Add in some serious playground play at the park.
And plenty of fun at the “beach”.
And that makes for some pretty sweet summer fun.

Make new friends, but keep the “old”.

When Tim got his first post-college job and we consequently moved away from both of our families, I was mother to a four-month old daughter. Being active members of our church, we happened into a built-in support system of families, many of whom also had no family close by.

My first week at church, I discovered my tribe in what is called “the mother’s room”. It’s a place where moms can go nurse their babies in privacy while the service is piped in from the chapel. You’ll sometimes find moms with disruptive children who need a time-out. The room also hosts plenty of diaper changes and, during Sunday School, the occasional teenage girl (usually accompanied by a friend) who’s just wants to escape.

But mostly, moms go there to breastfeed. And that particular Sunday, I found that pretty much every female in my congregation was a breastfeeding mom. And all of our babies had to nurse at the exact same time. I’m telling you, it was standing room only in that little space.

Stifling, yes. Encouraging, even more so.

You see, every new mother needs support. We all crave the feeling that we are not alone. Each of us typically finds this camaraderie in women who share the same age and stage. Because they totally get us.

And yet, that first Sunday in a new area, I was fortunate to rub shoulders not just with women who were also young mothers but with those just a few years ahead of me. Those are the friendships I’ve really needed.

Sure, it’s natural to buddy up with families whose kids are the same age for convenience sake. It simplifies play-date arranging, baby swaps, and GNO’s.

But, if I were to do it again, I would cling even harder to the moms who were just a bit older and wiser. The wisdom they impart is priceless.

When your friends are in the trenches with you, you feel validated. But when they are a step ahead of you, you’re empowered. They can warn you of things to come, teach you tried-and-true parenting methods, give you hope that things get better (and remind you to be grateful, because things also get worse).

Making friends with those who are in a different stage of life can evade us if we are not deliberate about doing so. I was lucky that a few of the nursing moms I met my first week at church were on their last kid. Which put them 5-10 years older than me. I realized something very quickly about them.

Parents of school-age children and especially teenagers are far busier than parents of babies and preschoolers can even imagine. Carving out time for new friends is probably not at the top of their list. But they can be persuaded.

Don’t wait for them to host play dates. Ask if they want an early-morning exercise buddy. Start a neighborhood book club. Hire their teenagers to babysit. Rubbing shoulders with experienced moms will bless your life, despite the extra effort it might take.

The adage to make new friends but keep the old, just might be referring to literal age, not longevity. In my experience, navigating the fatigue of early parenting and the emotion of parenting teenagers with grace would seem a daunting task without older, wiser women in my life.

(It still does, but having friends who’ve already fought the fight provides much-needed sustenance to weather it all). Cling to those “old” friends. They are gold.

Toddlers and Teenagers.

I stepped out of church this morning with my three-year-old. We were knee-deep in a power struggle and the volume had escalated enough to warrant a cool-down session in the foyer.

I sat down in a chair and calmly explained to Jack that if he could sit on my lap quietly for two minutes, we could return to the chapel to sit with our family.

He wasn’t having it. We ended up outside the building to minimize witnesses to the tantrum that was unfolding. Quickly.

On my way out, a friend remarked, “Be strong, mama. I was there once.” I laughed out loud, thinking to myself. Yeah, me too.

In fact, I’ve been there for 16 years (almost without interruption), my dear. She was trying to be supportive, and I appreciated the gesture. But I couldn’t help but find the humor in a mom who is two years younger than me reminding me to “be strong”.

You see, this toddler thing. I’ve got it down. Sure, I was inconvenienced that I was missing my 14-year-old’s talk because the 3-year-old thought it would be a good time for a meltdown.

But I was calm. Collected. Just biding my time until the kid decided being inside the chapel was better than being outside. Which he did within minutes. And I was barely ruffled.

Yep, I’ve done toddlers five times over and while I don’t claim to be an expert, I’m wise enough to not lose my head over an ordinary tantrum. There’ll be another one tomorrow, after all.

It’s the teenager thing that’s got my head spinning.

Boy, oh boy.

If you ever wanted to feel like a fish out of water, try raising a teenager. Or two or three.

Raising teenagers means that sometimes you feel like a human punching bag.

Other days you’re left scratching your head at the idiocy of these creatures who sure look like adults (and think they’re adults) but are anything but.

Some of them are master manipulators, appealing to the side of you that wants to be the nice guy by saying, “everyone else’s parents let them do this. Or that.”. It’s the oldest teenage trick in the book but it still hurts.

They keep you up late at night, then claim to be too tired to go to school the next morning. They eat you out of house and home, expect you to run them to and from multiple activities almost every day of the week.

Teenagers possess an uncanny tunnel vision that persuades them that everyone else in the world is tuned into their every failure or moment of awkwardness. While failing to consider that others feel the exact same way.

Teens bite the hand that feeds them and place a higher value on the opinions of pretty much everyone they don’t call mom or dad.

It can be brutal.

I have friends who LOVE raising teenagers. (At least that’s what they say on their social media accounts, so I suspect it’s partly for show). Or they’re just remarkably gifted in ways that it would seem I am not.

And while I adore my teenagers I can’t say I have wrapped my head around how to shape them into the amazing humans they can become. I can barely come up for air right now.

The other day Lily (one of my teenagers, who was a very “spirited” toddler and preschooler) remarked that she felt sorry for me for how difficult they (meaning she and her sisters) were as little kids. She doesn’t know how I did it.

Neither can I. But here’s the thing. Difficult children become difficult teenagers. And they’re much bigger. And less open to suggestion (and threats, for that matter).

And yet, just like the tiny babies I cradled lovingly as infants, they are full of greatness. In fact, they’re closer to it than ever before.

I sometimes feel like the little blue engine in The Little Engine that Could when she says:

“I’m not really big. I’ve never even been over the mountain. But, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”

Actually, I’m not always convinced I can. And though I would go back to having unruly preschoolers in a heartbeat, I don’t exactly have a choice. So I guess I’ll just plow through in my inadequacy until I get over this mountain.

See you on the other side.

Top ways to save money on one income.

Sacrificing one income to stay at home with your children can be as affordable as working (and, in my opinion, much more satisfying). Those first few years before they enter school play a vital role in their development. As a parent, being at home with them, particularly in those early years can be not only emotionally-rewarding, but financially sound.

If you want to stay at home with your children and are unsure that you can make it work within a budget, this post is for you.

I’ve been at home with my kids since the day my oldest was born over 16 years ago. Our family has swelled to seven (five kids) since then and I have not earned a single dime in that time.

In our case, the phrase “a penny saved is a penny earned” plays the greatest role in making having a stay-at-home parent affordable. Besides saving thousands of dollars in child care costs, justifying a stay-at-home parent for financial reasons can be accomplished in many ways.

Here are my top tips for saving money as a stay-at-home parent.

1. Don’t pay someone else to do something you can do yourself.

I have taught nine years of preschool to my children. (Amount saved: $1000/year)

Each and every haircut my husband gets is at my hands. My kids get one professional cut per year (if they’re lucky).

Amount saved: $500/year, give or take.

I have taught approximately four years of piano to each of my kids. Had I enlisted an outside teacher, it would have cost $250/month on the low end for my four daughters and $500/month on the high end.

Amount saved: $3-6000/year.

My husband and I perform most minor fixes/maintenance on our home and landscaping.

I never knew how much home repairs/updates cost when you pay someone else to do them until we did a major remodel on our home last year. We thought maybe we’d just wrap up the final touches ourselves but after 7 months of living in chaos, we were ready to be done. So we hired out the painting. It was several thousand dollars. We could have done it for under $500 (the cost of materials).

Having done many repairs over the years, we’ve saved thousands of dollars.

Consider your skills, your time, and your budget and figure out which tasks you can perform that others might pay someone else to do. If you lack confidence, YouTube is always your friend.

2. Don’t feel like you have to fork out cash to look put-together for a bunch of littles.

The global beauty industry is worth almost $600 billion. That’s just cosmetics. To make us look prettier. Think about that for a second.

I know moms who claim that they are better moms when they put on their “face”. I think that’s fine for them but I’m just not buying it.

My kids don’t care how I look and neither should I. I figure I can learn to love myself without spending my kids’ college funds on my appearance. Harsh? Yeah maybe. I’m not opposed to makeup, just overspending on makeup.

As for clothes, since there’s no set dress code when you work from home, feel free to dress the part. A few great outfits never hurt anyone, but you can do it on the cheap. Same goes for the kids. Graciously accept hand-me-downs, shop at thrift stores, and wait to buy until end-of-season clearance rolls around to keep costs low.

3. Save on food by making most everything at home. Better yet, from scratch.

Talk to anyone who’s ever pulled themselves out of debt in a hurry. The first thing they cut: eating out. Because it’s totally unnecessary. And it costs an arm and a leg.

Cooking from scratch just makes sense for stay-at-home parents. It’s cheaper, it’s healthier, and it is delicious. We eat out pretty much only for birthdays and on vacation and I estimate it saves us $500/month for our family of seven. At least.

If you’re feeling really ambitious, baking your own bread, rolls, and making your own snacks (or refraining from buying them in the first place) will ease your grocery bill, as well.

Take, for example, this glorious garlic naan I made with my own two hands. Know how much this would cost at the grocery store? I don’t. Because I’ve never bought it. Besides, does the store-bought naan look this good?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Loving leftovers makes a difference too.

4. Cars are depreciating assets. Don’t waste money buying the fastest and most furious.

A car is simply a mechanism to get from point A to point B. Yes, a reliable car is a must. A fancy one is not.

My husband and I pay cash for used cars, repair them as needed, and run them into the ground. We capitalize on all those people who buy new cars that depreciate the moment they drive off the lot.

Think of it this way. If you buy a brand-new, fully-loaded Chevy Suburban, you’ll pay about $60,000, easy. We bought ours (9 years old) for about $7500 six years ago. We’ve put about $5000-7000 into it since then (new tires, mechanical fixes, oil changes, etc.). Which means we’ve spent about $2500 per year to drive it.

We’d have to drive the hypothetical brand-new Suburban at least 24 years (or more, because of inevitable maintenance and repairs) to match the under $2500/year cost. Plus, at $60,000, there’s a good chance we’d have to finance it. Add in interest, and it looks like we’ve saved ourselves a healthy chunk of cash.

On a larger scale: don’t finance anything but your house. Seriously. Paying interest is like burning money. Avoid it at all costs.

5. Travel on a budget.

My husband eats lunch occasionally with a co-worker who was a DINK (Dual Income No Kids) for at least 15 years before diving in and having kids. He and his wife were both engineers so, while not over-the-top wealthy, this gave them time to save a pretty great nest egg before throwing it all away on their children. 😉

I don’t recommend this course, for a number of reasons, but it does seem to ensure financial stability if one actually saves his/her earnings before starting a family. But that’s beside the point.

What I really want to say is, this co-worker relayed in conversation a recent vacation their family took. It cost them five figures. For their family of four. I don’t know that it was overly extravagant, but it indicates just how much travel can bust your budget without even trying.

I could write a whole post about how to save money on travel. My top three money-savers are this: Don’t fly, drive instead. Stay with family/friends or camp. Limit eating out. Like, a lot.

My kids know that lunch on road trips pretty much means mom whipping up sandwiches and passing them back from the passenger seat. They don’t even complain about the monotony anymore. It’s just what we do. And it saves us a ton of cash. PB&J for the win.

Though we’ve not yet left the continental U.S., our family has enjoyed at least one trip each year. We set a budget and we stick to it.

Our most recent trip cost us under $1500 for 10 days. The most expensive portion of the trip was the one day we spent at Universal Studios. But we could afford it because there were days where we spent next to nothing. It’s all about balance. Well, that and sharing a single butterbeer because buying one for each of us at 8 bucks a pop is a rip-off.

It’s difficult to quantify the exact amount we’ve saved over the years. But I rest assured that my efforts to save have yielded close to what I may have earned in the time I’ve stayed home to raise my kids.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Either way, staying at home with my kids was never about money. Sacrificing one income requires discipline, but is well worth it. And anyone can do it. Just remember: a penny saved is a penny earned.

Mother’s Co-op Preschool, a dying breed?

When my oldest daughter had just turned three, I invited everyone I knew who also had a three-year-old to come over for an information meeting on a mother’s co-op preschool I wanted to organize. There were at least 15 moms (and their kids) there.

I introduced the curriculum I hoped to use, discussed what it would entail, and got five of the moms on board to teach Joy School with me that year. Every year for the next eight, I managed to generate enough interest in a mother’s co-op preschool to put each of my four daughters through two years (each) of Joy School.

Something has changed between then and now. It’s not just that I have fewer friends with preschoolers. (Although that’s true).

I met with five moms a couple of weeks ago, who expressed minimal interest in pursuing Joy School with me. The top concern preventing them from throwing their hats in the ring is the amount of time required to prepare and carry out lessons.

The moms who voice these concerns also have their child enrolled in traditional preschool two days a week. Joy School would be in addition to that. So, really, their child would be away from them four mornings a week except for the occasional week where they would teach Joy School. Which takes only 3 hours of prep. Every 5-6 weeks.

I’m frustrated. I’ve never considered traditional preschool as an option.  I figure, I pass my kids off to the public school system for 13 years. I’m not in a hurry to get them out the door any sooner.

But I am definitely in the minority. Even among mothers who don’t work outside the home. And I’m having a hard time understanding why.

Why are we willing to fork out cash for someone else to teach our kids at ages 3-5? Is it because we can? Is it so we can catch a break? Is it because we believe someone else could do it better?

I really would like to understand where others are coming from. Because I personally am unwilling to pay someone over a thousand dollars (for nine months) to do something that I could almost as easily do myself.

I acknowledge that each of us pays others to do things that we could do ourselves.  I recently paid someone to paint interior columns and trim in my house because I just wanted to be done with my remodel.  I could have done it myself.  But I decided that avoiding the hassle of having to was worth paying someone else to do it.

I am reticent to do that with preschool for a number of reasons.  Partly because I’m cheap and partly because I enjoy teaching my children in general, particularly at this adorable age and stage.  And even if I didn’t like it, I would still do it because I do tons of things I don’t really like for the sake of my children.  Camping, anyone?

The moms who have politely declined my invitation to join a Joy School group are moms I admire.  They expend enormous amounts of time at home and in our community for the sake of their children (and others’).  I fully respect their right to determine where to place their energies as benefits their family most.

I just wish that more of them would choose Joy School.  Where are my mother’s co-op peeps?  Are we a dying breed?  And what can I do to appeal to moms who are on the fence?

After nine years of teaching my kids preschool, the thousands of dollars I’ve saved, and the fun memories associated with doing so, I can’t imagine doing anything else.  Add to that the fact that Jack’s special needs force me to question whether enrolling him in a class of up to 12 other rambunctious 3-4 year-olds would be prudent.

I just can’t stomach it.  So here’s to embarking on a Joy School recruitment campaign for the summer.  Wish me luck.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year. April, of course.

April kicked off with a bang when Jack for his first infusion of zolendronic acid. This medication differs from the one Jack has been receiving since he was three months old in that each infusion lasts only about 1 hour from start to finish.

Compared with the three-day four-hour infusions that have become normal for us, this was a piece of cake. Not to mention, he only receives them twice a year (as opposed to the 3 times a year schedule of pamidronate he was on). Yay for Jack (and his very busy mother, too)!

Next up was my birthday-a chocolate affair, naturally. Not pictured: Tim (taking the picture), Anna (who, as I remember, napped through the whole celebration). My gift was season tickets to our local Shakespeare Festival-a summer favorite for me.

My loved ones provided a pizza dinner and I somehow got away with a nap. What more could a girl ask for?

Next up was Anna’s birthday party. We couldn’t very we’ll schedule it during spring break when many friends were out of town. So the day after my birthday, we carted all these awesome kids off for an escape room adventure, then back to our house for food and games.

I enjoyed seeing that Anna’s friend groups are varied-that she is anything BUT clique-ish. I also loved to watch these kids, who knew each other but didn’t really know each other get along so fabulously.

They ate us out of house and home and made a ton of noise downstairs. Thank heaven for that bonus room we added last year so we weren’t relegated to our bedrooms during the party.

I signed Tim up to chaperone Lily’s choir trip. He had the day off (it was Good Friday) and he had nothing better to do (ha!) so Lily had the pleasure of having her dad take her phone away at bedtime at the hotel. But she also had her dad there to buy her meals and the cold medicine she so desperately needed to survive the trip.

When she got back we took her to the doctor and she was diagnosed with a double ear infection. Yikes.

While they were gone we dyed Easter eggs. We probably did some other stuff, but since I neither have pictures to document it nor the memory to recall any details from over a month ago, this will do.

Our Easter egg hunt this year bucked tradition by happening inside the house. Owing to the fact that our yard was destroyed by our remodel and our patio and landscaping currently non-existent, we figured the interior of our abode a more hospitable location.

As usual, we hid their baskets in plain sight (meaning not behind closed doors) and we still managed to stump Lily. She clocked in at about 10 minutes of searching before finding hers.

The eggs were not quite so elusive. They were everywhere-so that even Jack could feel success in his efforts. It never ceases to amaze me how a simple Easter egg hunt never gets old for kids. Like ever.

Jack started swimming lessons, I taught Joy School once or twice, and Rachel won second place in the soccer ball throw (discus) in the Elementary City Track Meet.

Not an all-inclusive list-but that pretty much sums up our April.