Fifteen Years: A Poem

Mike and I celebrated our fifteenth wedding anniversary yesterday. Since we were not able to go on a trip or get tickets to a concert, I decided to take the sentimental route and write a poem (which was especially out of the ordinary since Mike has always been the poet in our relationship, not me). It ended up being fairly epic because I wrote one stanza for each year of marriage, and, it turns out, fifteen years is longer than I realized.

I decided to publish it here for safekeeping and easy finding and also on the off chance that you'd like to read a lengthy poem about a rather ordinary life.

Fifteen Years

April 28, 2005

Fifteen years ago today

A boy and girl were wed, hooray!

Low on cash but rich in love,

Heaven smiled from above

When those two, in joyful bliss,

Shared their first devoted kiss.

2005-2006

In a house not even theirs,

They passed the summer without cares.

But one thing they did not suppose,

A dishwasher they’d never close

Again, in all their married life,

For now they’d wash each plate and knife.

2006-2007

In Year Two, they were divided:

The Y and U, now collided.

But Provo still remained their home,

And to the duck pond they would roam

On weekends and on summer nights,

A book and blanket seemed just right.

 2007-2008

Next spring brought a graduation—

Cap and gown and adulation.

They packed their stuff into a car,

Headed north, but not too far.

Their new place had two bedrooms, sweet!

And bright orange carpet for their feet.

 2008-2009

After many months of maybe,

They found out they’d have a baby!

Born on a hot day in July,

A little boy who didn’t cry—

At least not much, that is until

A brick flew past their window sill.

2009-2010

Another place was called for quick.

They thought Salt Lake might do the trick:

Commute was faster on a bike,

And there were parks for little tykes.

But just when they were used to three,

Max joined the little family.

2010-2011

They took a break from work and school

To see Niagara, wet and cool.

But Max was not the least impressed;

He closed his eyes and took a rest.

Aaron, too, thought it a bore

But could be bribed with fruit snacks more.

2011-2012

Another year, another boy:

This pattern seemed to bring them joy.

Now outnumbered, two to three,

Their home was full of mess and glee.

They tried a van that wasn’t right;

The duplex started feeling tight.

 2012-2013

The PhD was getting long.

“Just one more year”—their constant song.

They came up with a desperate plan

To help him end what he began:

A week or three of isolation

To write the dreaded dissertation.

2013-2014

But at last he got it done

And found a real job, which was fun.

The longed for time had come at last

To put a shared wall in their past.

They found the perfect home to buy

And kissed their rental house goodbye.

2014-2015

They didn’t have much time to spare.

Boy number four arrived with flair.

A fussy baby, he worked hard

To be the thrilling wild card.

An Aussie trip redeemed him some

When he slept ev’ry hour but one.

2015-2016

Their life was filled with much to do:

Soccer games, two kids in school,

Church and work, a new roof (cool!)

And don’t forget their local pool.

They started Pie Day for a treat

So all their neighbors they could greet.

2016-2017

The next year all their dreams came true:

A trip to France and Norway, too.

Eiffel Tower, River Rhine,

A hundred tunnels in a line.

And when they were back home and done,

They thought they’d plan another one.

2017-2018

Still they felt someone was missing—

One more boy who needed kissing.

They all adored him from the start.

He captured ev’ry person’s heart

And took each treat and ice cream cone

From his royal baby throne.

2018-2019

Their home was such a busy hive

With two adults and children five.

They thought they knew just what to do

To beat the cold and winter blues.

They packed the van and left the house

And said hello to Mickey Mouse.

2019-2020

But all their smiles turned to frowns

When Aaron’s blood counts dropped way down.

The hospital became their home

And many nights were spent alone.

But even with this toil and strife,

They still were quite fond of their life.

April 28, 2020

Now we’re back up to the present.

Fifteen years, and each one pleasant,

Have flown past with lightning speed,

But still on this they’re both agreed:

They’d do it all again today.

“I love you,” they will always say.

Deep Thoughts on Having a One-Year-Old

I had always wanted an April baby. I guess the fifth time's the charm.

The day was warm and sunny and smelled of cherry blossoms. The birth was relaxed and easy and filled with laughter. Both were perfect in their own way.

So maybe I can be forgiven for idealizing Ian's life just a little bit. Some of my dreams came true that day.

As this past year rushed by (at the speed of light, so it seemed), I found myself clinging to Ian's babyness: those squishy thighs, those soft cheeks, those baby blue eyes. As he reached each milestone, part of me wept, even while cheering him on.

Fortunately, he has taken his time with the milestones--at least the ones that involved movement--and that has helped ease the pain. He rolled pretty much exclusively until he was about ten months old. Then he learned how to army crawl. And just recently, he has begun scooting on his bum. That's because he still doesn't know how to get from a sitting to a crawling position or vice versa. Which means that if I sit him down,  he pretty much stays where he is, especially if he's on something that's difficult to scoot around on, like grass.

Before I had Ian, I knew slow movers existed. I just didn't know how wonderful they were. To be able to hold Ian on my lap and not have him constantly wriggling to get down is such a joy.

Because here's the other thing: in every other way, he's just like a one-year-old. He carries on "conversations" with us, says a few words, copies noises we make, laughs at our funny expressions and jokes, eats like a champ, delights in new toys, claps his little hands, and gives the best snuggles. It is so magical to have all of the personality of a one-year-old without all of the stress.

But I know these days are numbered. In fact, last week I took him to the doctor's for his one year check-up, and although Dr. VanDenBergh wasn't concerned per se about Ian's lack of crawling, it did make him think that Ian's hemoglobin level might be low. So he tested it, and sure enough, it was. We started giving him an iron supplement, and I'm not kidding when I tell you that the very next day (the very next day!) Ian got up on his hands and knees and then pushed up to his feet to get into a downward dog position. So maybe the iron is just the oomph he needed to get himself up off the ground. Either way, he's not going to be content with his current transportation options for much longer.

I've tried to enjoy each of my babies fully, completely, and not wish away the fleeting time. But it has felt more desperate with Ian. Is this how it feels with your last baby?

Because I don't know. There haven't been any flashing lights or loud proclamations, metaphorically speaking. Maybe there never will be. I think a part of me will always yearn for a baby but maybe not because I actually want another baby but rather I just want my own babies back.

I feel all this pressure, but I think it's pressure I've brought upon myself. If Ian really is our last, I want to feel like we're ending on a high note. I want him to be the most perfect baby that ever was and complete our family like the candle on his birthday cake. Because of that I've been quick to identify the good (he takes a binky!!!) and slow to find the bad (he gagged on all solid food for three months!).

When you think about it, this isn't really a bad way of looking at life. But it's also not really fair to Ian if it means I'm putting impossibly high expectations on him, nor is it fair to another possible child in our future who would undoubtedly be compared to our perfect "last" baby.

And so I'm realizing, once again, how important it is to just live in the present. And not just with one-year-old Ian. But with three-year-old Clark and six-year-old Bradley and eight-year-old Maxwell and nine-year-old Aaron.

I don't know what the future holds, but at this very moment, everything feels exactly right. Not that everything is perfect but that I think our family is exactly what it's supposed to be like right now. And that feels good.

A Little of This and That in July

I think a little monthly update might be in order. I have a lot of odds and ends things to say--none of them quite long or important enough for their own post but taking up valuable brain space until I get them out. So consider this a bit of a dump.

Right now, I'm . . .

Reading . . . the third book in the Emily trilogy to myself (it will complete one of my reading goals) and Just So Stories and Story of the World to the boys (plus lots of picture books--I try to highlight our favorites on Instagram).

Listening . . . to The Secret Keeper by Kate Morton. I'm on disc three and already loving it so much more than The Forgotten Garden.

Loving . . . my new header. Do you like it? My friend, Molly, painted it for me, and I think she perfectly captured what reading looks like in our family right now (at least, the way I want it to look . . . )

Neglecting . . . the backyard, which is slowly being overtaken by weeds. Actually, not so slowly. You leave it for a day, and when you come back, the weeds have taken up residence again.

Hosting . . . lots of house guests. We've had some friends from our BYU days, my little niece and nephew, Mike's cousin and her family, and Mike's brother and his family.

Planning . . . for a new school year (and bitterly wishing summer wasn't coming to a close). Aaron and Maxwell will be going to two different schools this year, the explanation of which probably does deserve its own blog post. Stay tuned.

Bragging . . . about my friend Sarah's new podcast, Bringing Up Betty. It's pretty fantastic. You should give it a listen.

Learning . . . how to knit. I've wanted to learn for so many years, and an older woman in my neighborhood recently offered to teach me. I just finished my first project, and I might have a slight obsession.

Appreciating . . . these long summer nights. We try to get our kids to bed at a decent hour, but if the weather is perfect and the neighborhood is out in droves, we make an exception (which means that going to bed at a decent hour has become the exception).

Rescuing . . . items from the trash or the toilet or the pool. On Sunday alone, he threw away the older boys' markers, my shoe into the toilet, and Mike's watch into the trashcan at church. That boy has to be watched like a hawk.

Basking . . . at the pool. Becoming members of our neighborhood swim club was probably the best decision we made this summer. We've gone almost every day (although in the last couple of weeks, it's tapered off just a bit), and the three older boys love it so much. (Clark loves running around the deck and chucking anything he can find into the water, which means this is not really my summer to relax at the pool.)

Dreaming . . . of a new roof. Ever since we moved into our house almost a year and a half ago, we've been planning to get a new roof. Every time someone asks us what projects we're working on, we don't have much to report because all we're doing is saving for that darn roof.

Going . . . to a million family events. I'm really grateful for all the things we get to do with our families, but sometimes I need a day or two to catch my breath, and sometimes the activities are packed so closely together, I don't get a chance.

Chasing . . . Clark. He runs, he climbs, and he gets into everything. The only way I survive is by keeping the doors to every single room closed so that I know exactly where he is and what he's doing.

Missing . . . Mike's parents. They moved to Germany yesterday. The last time they lived out of the country was eight years ago in Chile. That was before any of our kids were born. This absence will hurt a lot more because it won't just be Mike and me missing them but our kids, too. On the bright side, we're already planning a vacation to Europe.

Hoping . . . my parents will move to Utah. With Mike's parents so far away now, I want at least one set of grandparents close. They're dragging their feet though.

Working . . . on our summer goals. With it being the end of July already, I'm realizing that I may have set the bar too high. In the meantime, we keep chipping away at them.

Crying . . . about having a seven-year-old. Seriously, how do you pause this growing up thing?

What have you been up to lately?

A Little of This and That

Last Monday, Clark took his first step. There's a part of me that wants to push him back down (he is my baby, after all), but there's another part that just can't help but encourage it. There is something so thrilling about those first toddling steps. I just want to see them again and again.

If you had asked me three months ago if I thought he would be my earliest walker, I would have adamantly told you no. But turns out . . . he's the earliest. (I checked my kids' baby calendars, and they do not lie.)

That baby is full of surprises. And he does things on his own terms. For weeks, I was trying to teach him how to clap, and he just acted bored. Then early one morning, I woke up and who was lying in the middle of the bed clapping over and over again like it was no big deal? Clark. What a stinker.

In other news, we spent Friday and Saturday at Mike's family's cabin with some of our dearest friends. Mike sent the kids across the stream on a zip line, we squished roasted marshmallows between soft gingersnaps (a definite upgrade from graham crackers), and we basked in the warm spring sunshine.

Then on Saturday evening, I attended the women's session of General Conference with my mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, and niece. It was so fantastic to be surrounded by other girls and women who are trying to pattern their lives after the Savior's--just like I am. I am looking forward to the rest of the sessions this coming Saturday and Sunday.

Spring break begins this week, and I'd like to think of something fun to do, but I'm also just so excited to have Aaron home with us during the day that I think we'll just do a lot of playing and relaxing and reading (we're almost done with The Wonderful Wizard of Oz--it's been a big hit).

Speaking of books, I'm still slogging my way through Middlemarch (unfortunately, it does feel like a slog about half the time, and so I seem to listen to it in spurts). I just started The Penderwicks in Spring, and as soon as I read the names of those four sisters (Rosalind, Skye, Jane, and Batty) I had this comforting feeling of coming home. The other book I'm excited about is Better than Before by Gretchen Rubin. The Happiness Project and Happier at Home are two of my favorite books, and so when her latest book was released, I did something I rarely do: I bought it. I'm kind of a stickler for only purchasing books I've already read because I only want to fill our home with books we love. But I made an exception this time because I don't have to read it to know I will love it. (Also, my friend just alerted me to the brand-new Happier with Gretchen Rubin podcast--just what I needed, another podcast to listen to (is it any wonder I can't get through Middlemarch?!))

I'm also looking for ways to make this Easter season more meaningful for my kids. We do so much to lead up to Christmas, and I would love it if Easter had a similar feeling of anticipation attached to it. Of course we dye Easter eggs and do Easter baskets (and they're from us, not the Easter bunny), but I want to do daily things that will help them feel the wonder and magnificence of the Resurrection. If you have any great ideas, I'd love to hear them!

And finally, today's your lucky day: hot off the presses is Sunlit Pages' companion instagram account. Here I'll be sharing our favorite picture books, library finds, and what I'm currently reading (or finishing--stay tuned for the momentous completion of Middlemarch). Plus, whatever else I feel like sharing. I hope you'll follow along.

Skills Overload

I'm not shy about admitting that I have a least favorite stage of early childhood.

It runs from approximately eight to eighteen months. It is the stage of constant motion and no sense; tantrums and whining; and BIG messes. It requires constant supervision. It is an exhausting time of life (and not just for the child).

I thought Clark was going to give me a few months of leeway. For weeks he has had little interest in moving (believe me, there's plenty of entertainment around these parts without moving a single inch). In fact, he was perfectly content to just sit on the floor surrounded by a half dozen toys (and since the other three boys all learned to crawl before they could sit up, it was a stage I was fully relishing).

 

And then . . . Clark learned to do practically everything in the span of a single week.

I'm still reeling.

Last week, Clark learned how to:

• go from lying down to sitting up all by himself
• roll over with the rapidity of a steamroller
• spin around in circles
• chow down on finger foods
• pivot from sitting to hands/feet and back to sitting
• pull himself to standing
• perfect the downward dog position
• scoot forward and backward
• cough-cry and blink his eyes whenever he's upset
• only be satisfied with cords, paper, and iPhones as play toys
• crawl on hands and knees

None of my other boys ever learned so much so fast. In true fourth-child fashion, Clark caught us all off guard and pulled a fast one ("You think you know everything about babies? Well, watch this!"). Seriously, when he started crawling on Saturday (like, the real hands-and-knees deal), all I could do was gape. We thought we still had weeks, if not months, before we had to worry about the troubles that come with a baby in motion, so we have literally been scrambling to baby-proof the house.

Oh, and did I mention that Clark decided to learn all these things on little to no sleep? He went from napping 4-6 hours during the day to a whopping hour (or less).

When I put him in his crib, it's as if he doesn't know what to do with all his new-found energy and skills. He sit up; he lays down; he stands up; he falls down; he rolls around; and he cries and complains the entire time. One afternoon last week, I peeked in on him after he finally quieted down and found this:

 

Unfortunately I didn't feel like I could leave him in that position, so I laid him back down, and he woke up (of course).  

So say hello to the new Clark. I think he just lost his status as favorite child.