I'm Back!

So I don't know if there is really anybody who actually reads this blog regularly other than my beloved husband. But, for those of you who may and have wondered where I've disappeared to, Pearly-Q and I just got home from a two-week trip to Cambodia, Hong Kong, and Vietnam.

The opportunity for this adventure really came out of nowhere, and though leaving a baby so young was not my ideal, it was hard to pass up since it included seeing Angkor Wat in Cambodia. For those of you who are not familiar with Angkor Wat, the ancient temples there essentially qualify as the pyramids of Southeast Asia. One of the temples in particular is actually the largest religious complex in the world, and is still used today by many for religious pilgrimage and worship. The square area of the temples at large surpasses 35 square miles. . . Pretty impressive stuff, and Pearly-Q and I have wanted to see it for years. We figured the fulfillment of this dream would be a fitting celebration for our 10-year anniversary.

In the next few days I will definitely post more about our adventures we had over there. Interestingly enough, I would say our biggest highlight of the trip was not necessarily Angkor Wat, but rather some experiences we had at a couple of orphanages over there. I'm still relishing in the memory as I write this.

In the meantime, I am thrilled to be back home with my kids. Though I'm still readjusting to what's it's like to juggle everyone's needs & schedules, plan & execute meals and cleanup, and do laundry, I am so happy to be able to hold each of my kiddos again, and drink in my baby as much as possible.

It Was Just Snow

February in the Intermountain West can prove exasperating. Two months past the Christmas season, the general population is anxious for spring to appear since the once-celebrated snow now appears worn and melancholy. Winter this year has made this especially so. Normally a fluffy drift doesn’t feel so frustrating, but lately the moisture has been fickle and infrequent, thus making the wintry chill dull—monotonous even.

Today the afternoon held a welcomed surprise. Much to my satisfaction, a beautiful downy snow began right before our hallowed napping hour, and its deafening quiet perfectly matched the calm in our home. Before long baby Coco stirred, eager for her afternoon feeding. I tiptoed into my room to feed her at my rocking chair adjacent to our French doors which overlook the backyard and the open golf course behind it. As I answered Coco’s hunger I smiled to listen to her tiny gulps, and glanced up at the tranquil scene outside the window. Large and irregular, the downy flakes meandered down gently, and reminded me of pieces of colorless cotton candy.

I paused to consider the wisdom in the snow. None of these flakes seemed to be in a hurry. Dancing to and fro, they ease their way downward, obviously enjoying their happy flight. It made them more beautiful, and I wondered if I could learn something about their approach. It seems that in the past I allowed myself to get sucked into the worldly notion that faster is always better. That philosophy asserts that if we don’t all join the rat race of doing more—more—more in less—less time then somehow we’ve failed. Truth is, it ain’t necessarily so.

Going to law school taught me that lesson. The culture surrounding that industry can be acquisitive and cutthroat. More often than not, attorneys enter the trade anxious with ambitious aspirations, only to find that it affords them little time with their families and if they haven’t daringly fought to protect their personal interests they invariably burn out, wishing for the luxuries of a “slower” profession. Though it took me a long time to detox from that philosophy, I can say I now enjoy the unhurried splendor of some of these quieter moments in my mothering.

As I continued to glance at the snowfall I smiled again and wondered whether or not what they say about no two snowflakes being the same is really true. As thousands of them streamed from the alabaster sky, I questioned whether or not it was really possible that none of them could ever emerge identically. . . So many, and each unique . . .

In that moment, I could help but think that we somehow resemble snowflakes. “God sees us this way,” I thought. We all descend on this earth with our own distinctive blueprint, lovely and picturesque in our own right, hoping to be recognized and loved as such. Looking down at my sweet baby I realized all too easily how obvious it is that a parent can differentiate between all the unique traits of each child, every one with his/her own design and pattern.

I closed my eyes and savored the moment in drowsy silence. With Ansel Adams stillness, I stood in awe of my Creator and my worth in His eyes . . . and for the first time this season, I thanked Him for Winter.

My littlest snowflake:

Post-Valentines Delirium

So I have been horribly remiss in being consistent on posting much. . . Which completely defies the entire reason why I started this blog in the first place. Turns out, though I used to pride myself on being a “self starter” (whatever that means) in reality I desperately need deadlines, and without them I particularly fail at recording anything of note about my life. I guess I should just chalk it up as another epiphany of motherhood as I discover more shortcomings I never knew I had. Oh well. I know it definitely won’t be the last time, right?

As far as deadlines go, however, turns out I missed another one this weekend: Valentines Day.

Growing up in my house we always received a Valentine from my mother next to our pillow, along with a small gift when we woke up Valentines morning. In it my mother always expressed her sincere love for us, (whether we really deserved it or not). Since becoming a mother, I’ve tried to keep up and expand the tradition, partially as a way make up for my lack of journaling about my kids. In addition to surprising them with a small gift next to their pillow, each year Pearly-Q and I stay up in the wee hours of the morning the night before V-day and write each of our kids a “love” letter of sorts. In it we share our favorite memories of each child from that year, as well as a snapshot of what they are doing in their lives at that particular moment.

It’s a lot of work and at this point our kids are so small they don’t seem to appreciate this effort yet, but we file the letters away realizing that the real enjoyment will come later when they’ve grown and can read about themselves and what they meant to us.

Sadly enough, we missed even our one annual deadline this year. In trying to get ready to celebrate two birthdays at our house, and prepping for other vacation plans, it simply got past us. We’ll try and get the letters done this weekend, but honestly . . . it’s pretty sad. I suppose I should feel better about the fact that I am blogging at this point. Then again, like I said, I haven’t been so consistent in that department either.

Does anyone else struggle with the desire to record/journal the lives of your children better, but just can’t seem to get there? I feel like my life with them is slipping by so quickly, and my memory of it is so fleeting sometimes. I fear that one day I’ll look back and wonder if I can remember any of it, if I was even there . . . I’m sure it sounds a bit melodramatic, but I get concerned sometimes when I repeatedly walk into a room, wondering why I just came in there. Is it the childbirth that does this? The constant keeping track of kids’ different schedules? The aging? I seriously want to know, b/c sometimes this momnesia thing is downright creepy. . . I promise I used to be smart once.

On a brighter note, though my intellectual capacities seem to be challenged, lately I’ve had some wonderful spiritual breakthroughs in my life that have brought me a lot of solace and joy. I plan to share more about it at some point when I can actually collect my thoughts in a more coherent manner and figure out what is appropriate to share. In the meantime, it is wonderful to know that despite my deficiencies as a mother, I am still cherished by a loving Heavenly Father who knows me individually. It is truly what provides me peace.

Now for a few non-traditional V-day photos:

I came out of my room after feeding the baby to discover the natives like this. They informed me they were "exercising."

Nothing makes my heart swoon like watching a good man care for his baby.

Old Ladies

Not too long ago our family sat down to a typical dinner—especially typical because I kept pleading with my children to eat what was in front of them. Apparently fed up with this, Bitty stood up in his chair, and emphatically pointed his finger in my direction, “You eat your dinner, OLD LADY!”

Pearly-Q and I completely broke into peals of laughter. Where a child at that age had come up with age as an insult to his mother, I’ll never know. Thankfully, it didn’t bother me, and I have since smirked with silent delight whenever I hear the phrase. As a result, whenever I have gone to spend time with my book club I always tell my kids with tongue-in-cheek amusement that I’m going to spend time with “the old ladies.” That way, I figure they won’t realize they’re missing out on anything. The real truth of the matter is, if they had any idea how much fun I have with these women, my kids would beg to accompany me each time.

This last weekend was a perfect example of this phenomenon. For just a few choice days, my book club got together for our 2nd annual retreat, complete with lots of time in the car, sharing music, pampering at the spa, eating good food, recharging emotional batteries, walking, watching movies, laughing, and dancing like what else?—“old ladies,” of course.

Truth is—the time I spend with these women can be magical. Though each of us is so unique and different, we share the common joy of celebrating each others’ triumphs while also mourning each others’ losses. Whether it is weathering the storms of ill health, the challenge of caring for aging parents, difficult marriages/children, miscarriage, infertility, financial frustrations, or just rejoicing in new life, new opportunities, or other healing, we are there for one another. We realize that when one of us is down, there is another to strengthen us—all the time realizing that one day the direction of need may be reversed. This is friendship at its best—a place where appearances, social standing, or material wealth mean nothing, but where character and love mean everything.

At our last breakfast together, a member of the book club said a prayer with something that astonished all of us. She asked that we may “always breathe deeply, laugh loudly, and love eternally.” Astounded by the wisdom of that simple phrase (spoken by an English teacher, of course), I ran to write down her words. I recorded them because I felt it embodied much of what I’d basked in for those few days—the joy of feeling love from so many women that I’ve come to respect.

Women need each other, and when other distractions from the world’s expectations of us don’t get in the way, we can really get down to business and become the people God expects us to be. It’s the perspective that all too often doesn’t come until later in life . . . which means, being called an “old lady” ain’t so bad after all.

Belle of the Ball

Mornings at our house are full of entertainment. As the baby awakes bright and early at 6:30 a.m. we can already hear the kids playing together upstairs, awaiting us to catch up with them. After Coco is done eating and starting her morning coos (we discovered more dimples this morning, BTW), her older siblings amble in one by one and eventually surround their little sister on our bed. Surrounding their favorite nucleus, they gleefully hover over her with electric excitement.

Fortunately Coco’s neck is pretty strong, and allows for her to look back and forth, back and forth, as each sibling competes for her adoration and well-earned grin. Meanwhile, she holds the finger of one of them in each hand and basks in all the attention. I mean, who could resist?

Lately this whole scene has been accompanied by its own soundtrack. Sassy loves to sing (in her sweetest little voice replete with cracking), “I love you baby, I love you baby, I love you baa—bee soo much!”

Meanwhile, the Big-O croons, “Hello baby, hello baby. We love you sooo—“

Bitty’s version repeats, “I love you, baby. You’re so cute—baby, baby, baby, ohhh!”

Sometimes all these tunes are delivered simultaneously, which at first might seem overwhelming for a newborn. Gleefully however, Coco identifies with the happy noise. After all, it symbolizes all the sweetest cacophony of childhood.

God's Pencil

For I was hungred and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
-- St. Matthew 25:35-36, 40

Today I feel restless. Incredibly restless. And I feel the need to talk about why.

I know that many of you probably feel like you’ve reached your threshold in hearing about the tragedy in Haiti. . . It’s tough, tough stuff.

For those of you who don’t know me as well, I have a bit of history with the place. During my last year in law school I actually volunteered for a nonprofit that had built an orphanage there, and was assisting them in trying to streamline adoption procedures, as well as begin efforts to possibly build an orphanage and/or facilitate adoptions in China. During this time, Pearly-Q and I were childless and infertile. Not knowing what to do, we thought we would prepare to adopt from either Haiti or China. Subsequently, I was scheduled to fly to Port-au-Prince in order to meet with some of their adoption officials, as well as visit the foundation’s orphanage. Unfortunately, because of civil unrest (practically a way of life for the Haitians), we had to cancel the trip 24 hrs ahead of time.

This devastated me. After years of wanting a baby, I sat in church and wept, knowing that at that moment I could have been in the Haitian orphanage, feeling out whether or not I felt a real connection with any of those children. I knew that if I did, I would then begin down the path to desired motherhood. At that moment I offered one of the most intense, anguished prayers of my life, and pled for the opportunity to be a mother. Little did I know that that very night the Big-O would be born, and that awaiting me within just a day or two I would experience the greatest miracle of my life—when someone would approach me about a beautiful baby boy, and would I be interested . . .? But, that is a different story for a different day.

The point is, I care deeply for the Haitians and their heartbreak. Long before this earthquake hit it was already considered the 2nd poorest nation in the world (Afghanistan being the poorest). So, when I heard about the quake in Port-au-Prince, I shook my head in shocked disbelief—of all the places! It is simply too much to bear.

Since then, Pearly-Q and I have known that we wanted to donate—but where? Having worked with a nonprofit long enough taught me the importance of making sure your dollars go places where they’ll actually make a difference. Not every nonprofit is created equally, and not all their contacts on the ground are reliable—especially in Haiti. The corruption there would make the heads of the Italian mafia spin, and as a result I felt some reserve in giving just any ol’ place. Pearly-Q's company offered to match donations made to the Red Cross, which is awesome. But, I still, for whatever reason felt resistance or difficulty in making the donation there. I didn’t know why, and I had started to feel badly about it.

“Have I become totally callous to the needs of others?” I thought this morning. “Have I forgotten what I have been incredibly blessed with, and have become stingy unfeeling? What is wrong with me, Heavenly Father?”

Then, I got my answer, and it makes me cry to think about it now.

When I went to pick up the Sass from dance class, I noticed people dropping off boxes at a neighboring business, full of all sorts of odd and ends medical supplies and clothing. And then I saw the sign: Healing Hands for Haiti. In all my previous research and work with Haiti, I had heard about this organization before. They provide physical medical help and rehabilitation assistance there in the capital, particularly for those who are disabled. Curious, I went in to ask specifically what was going on with the donations, what the needs were, and how I could help.

Apparently the large medical facility run by Healing Hands, completely collapsed with the earthquake. As a result, the group has been unable to function. Fortunately, the group that I ran into this morning, (the Utah Hospital Task Force), was gathering medical supplies and other items to put on a chartered plane to Port-au-Prince tomorrow, along with 50 construction personnel, 50 doctors, as well as other nurses and medical staff. They will be there for a month while they work to completely rebuild the hospital and get Healing Hands of Haiti back up and running.

Now, if you’re wondering whether or not this is a major need right now in Haiti, read this article off of today’s CNN. It will blow your mind to think of what the Haitians are medically facing right now, and how ill-equipped many of these doctors are who are trying to go down there to help. The need for a decent facility in addition to the medical staff cannot be overestimated. Providentially, in this case the group organizing this effort is incredibly well prepared, and have reliable contacts on the ground with whom they are closely working with . . .

Let’s just say that I found where our money needs to go, and I am once again overwhelmed by God’s awareness of our desires and needs, as well as His ability to communicate that when we sincerely ask. Being led in this way feels beautiful, and it reminds me of something Mother Teresa was known to say:

I am God's pencil. A tiny bit of pencil with which He writes what He likes. God writes through us, and however imperfect instruments we may be, He writes beautifully.

I would never presume to put myself up there with Mother Teresa. The woman was distinguished as a saint for good reason. But, today I can identify with her sentiment. There is nothing more exhilarating that being led by God. The times I have felt that in my life have been the times I have been the most serenely happy. And though right now I come nowhere close to being able to act as His pencil, I hope that perhaps I could at least work as a thumbtack. That would be good enough for me.


Note: For those of you who might be interested in donating to this project, you can do so online, and the gov't will allow you to do so and deduct it off of your 2009 tax return. If you choose to do so, make sure that you follow the directions outlined on the Utah Hospital Task Force website in designating that it goes to their particular group. You'll see what I'm talking about when you get on there. It's an extremely worthy place to send your aid. All donations will go to cover the expenses of the chartered plane, the rebuilding of the medical facility, and basic food/water needs of the volunteers--just what is required to keep this massive project moving forward.

Two Months

As of today, Baby Coco is already two months old. Sheesh! Where has the time gone? It seems like last night I had just survived her surprise breech birth, and now here she is with eleven pounds of squishy flesh and a smile that could melt the most hardened dictator.


I just came back from her two-month check-up, during which I was “grilled” by the most fantastic pediatrician to ever walk the planet. (I’m only slightly exaggerating.) One of the things I love about her is the fact that she not only checks up on the welfare of my children, but makes sure to ask in detail about how I am faring. She wants to know that mom (and dad) are enjoying this experience, and that we’re taking some self-preventative care too.


Now, there was a time that the answers to such questions would have likely elicited some instant tears. (I know I will eventually blog about that time in my life, but today is not the day.) Happily, today I was able to wholeheartedly smile and reassure her that I am doing well, and that I never thought I could enjoy the first two months of a baby’s life like I have Coco’s.


There are many reasons for the difference this time around, and sometime soon I will share more about this. For now, all I can say is how much I am saddened that two months of Coco’s babyhood have already flown by. Like sand through my hands, I feel like I can’t hold onto it fast enough--but I thank God for the opportunity to try.

Here are some photos from a shoot we did for Baby Coco at only 8 days old:

(Wrapped in the blanket Grammy made her):

Love this spontaneous smile:
Just taken this morning at 2 months old:


Now if I could just hold onto this experience forever . . .