The other night I was putting my babies to bed. It had been a long day. A good day, a normal day. But I was so ready to be done. Jammies were on, teeth were brushed, books were read. I knelt with my three little ones, ready for prayers. This last part of the ritual proved to be the breaking point. Calvin started crying, wailing, at the impending bedtime. Everett joined in, not knowing why he was crying, just sure it must be done with gusto. Olivia, upset at the symphony – no, rock band of noise accompanying her prayer, began to pray louder and more whiny with each word. Then she stalled. “Thank thee . . . . um, thank thee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .” looking at the ceiling, around the room, “thank thee . . . . . ”

“Olivia, finish your prayer!” I hissed in a voice too loud to be a whisper.

“Thank thee . . . . . . . . ”

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, I thought. This isn’t right. I couldn’t even conjure up the strength to say my own prayer. I just thought of how the whole thing was all wrong.

Where was my soothing, motherly spirit? The one that could whisper away every tear and sadness, the one who taught reverence by every aspect of my being, the one who had simple faith that emulated – no, radiated, from my being, giving peace to all in my presence?

Five years ago, I was ready to have kids. It’s about time, my in-laws said. Even Wyatt, who had said from the start “when you’re ready, I’m ready,” had begun to wonder.

Thou shalt not put off having children – saith the Mormon Doctrine. Thou must create temples of clay for the children of God.

Very imposing. Very demanding. Very, very intimidating.

No way, jose! I told Wyatt as we dated. Not until I’m ready. I don’t care about finances, or education, or pressure from other people (we received adequate of all of those). I won’t have kids until I’m ready.

See, here’s the thing: I knew I wanted children. I’ve always wanted children. I’ve always wanted a family. I knew I would love having babies, that I would adore them and revel in my role of mother. But . . . not until I was sure I was enough. Let me clarify: prior to the moment of crowning glory (serious pun), no one is enough for motherhood. But I wanted to be enough for me. I wanted to know that I had developed and persued and explored my life, to look back fondly, to draw chuckles in the future, and to exclaim with full joy, I had lived.

I remember the night I told Wyatt “I was ready.” The moment came after months of serious contemplation. As soon as the words were out, tears started streaming down my face. They weren’t no tears of joy either! They were tears of fear, intimidation. I had an overwhelming sense of a tidal wave about to crash over my head.

Six weeks later I threw up for the first time. Heavenly Father didn’t give me a moment to reconsider. In spite the never ending nausea, and the general stress of aformentioned circumstances, excitement, thrill, jubilation took over. I was about to step into the light of the highest glory God has given- a gift reserved for only his daughters – a glory that would become a part of me forever.

And then the sacred day came, Olivia was born.

Fast forward four and a half years, three children are under foot. One is usually in need of a bum change. Occasionally all three are crying at the same time. More often all three are happy as can be. That tidal wave has crashed. The waters have receeded. I have been sucked out into the ocean, with no sandy floor beneath my feet. Sometimes I can barely keep my head above water. Sometimes I float on my back and marvel at the glory of the endless possibilities. Sometimes I’m just (metaphorically speaking) sea sick.

Prayers were said, babies were put to bed. I bit my tongue and held my breath as I kissed each good night, then rushed to the peace of my front porch, where weeping and wailing could not be heard. I wondered at my inability to sooth, to teach reverence in that moment of prayer. And then I thought, triumphantly, that no harsh words were spoken, no voices I would regret later. A smile spread across my face, I had endured to the end . . . of the day. I had endured it well. Perhaps the radiating faith thing was meant for the sage. Perhaps motherhood was meant as an everyday glory.

Everett’s first Rodeo!

It was a lovely evening. *Sigh.*

Leslee & Jason, Jared, and Beth & Alex all came along this year.

Luckily, the Engh’s took care of that.

Barbeque. (√Check).

Back yard games. (√Check).

Ice Cream Sandwiches (√Check.)

Sparklers. (Check).

Lovebirds. (√Check.)

Friends and Neighbors. (Check).

A fireworks show to light up even the most loathsome soul. (√Check. √Check.)

It was such a blast! We feel grateful to be invited to such events. Thanks Kellie!!!!

Today our Bishop stood up during Fast and Testimony meeting and encouraged the parents to let their children bear their testimonies during the first ten minutes of sacrament meeting. (I imagine that was due to last month when it really became a kid-circus up there).

Olivia wanted to go. She’s wanted to go before, but we’ve always said no (not into participating in child circus shows).

Today we said ok. But she had to go by herself and bear her own testimony.

She walked herself up to the front, sat down in Bishop’s seat (I don’t even know where Bish was), and waited patiently for her turn. When her turn came, she stepped up to the pulpit, just her pigtails showing up over the height of the podium. She bore her testimony. This was the jist:

I know this is the church.
Jesus loves everyone on this earth.
I know today is a special day.
I know even though Jesus died, he still loves us.
In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

And that was that.

So sweet. So beaming proud.

Calvin playing with Everett:

This little piggy played inside
This little piggy had time out
This little piggy played outside
AND THIS LITTLE PIGGY RIDES FOUR WHEELERS!!!!!!!!

Among all the other events of fourth of July weekend, I did want to mention that we went to a Herzog family barbeque at the cabin in celebration of Grandpa’s birthday. (Hurray Grandpa). He’s 91. Still going!

For a few weeks we’ve been telling Olivia that we were going to take her training wheels off. But when she saw her friend Drake riding his bike without training wheels, then the importance became paramount. She asked daddy: will you take my training wheels off? Every morning and night until finally we had an evening with out other commitments. Training wheels: off! Olivia is excitedly practicing riding her bike without training wheels. What a big girl! Calvin wants his off too, but we’re only doing one at a time

*UPDATE* As of June 8th Olivia is officially a two-wheel-rider. She can start, stop, and ride her way up and down the streets. I am so proud.

6:22 am . . . really? REALLY? REALLY?

Walk in from working out. Come around the corner to catch Cal doing this.

Kissy kissy bye bye hubby.

Baby Sunshine comes down, wild haired. Carry her back upstairs, pour breakfast for her and her brother.

Make the bottle for Everett. Go in to greet him.

He stinks. Blow out. Awesome.

Nakie baby and I take a shower.

Kids are done with breakfast. Time to change bums. One, two, three.

Time to get dressed.

Wrestle Calvin into his selected outfit (why are you wearing that winter jacket again?) – while holding baby Everett on my lap. He’s suddenly turned clingy.

Clothes on, shoes on, walk down the hall. Suddenly, Calvin is wailing!!

He wet himself (in the misadventures of potty training). He does not like the wet.

This time I put Everett down with another bottle, back down the hall to Cal’s room, strip him, dress him again.

Everett must have finished the Bah. He’s crying, and crawling, down the hall towards me.

“Olivia, go get the hair brush.” I eye her tangled locks.

I pick up Everett. Olivia has already begun to whine about having her hair brushed.

French braid/pony tail thing is not so neat or so cute. Raise my eyebrows in defeat.

Pick up Everett (still crying) again, down the hall. Now we’re really on our way.

Everett regurgitates all over himself and ME!

No way we’re getting changed. Spit up is a fashion accessory in my life.

Wipe us down as best I can. Outside.

Dig out bikes, helmets, and wagon. Ready for a walk.

Round the corner to Kellie’s, not home. We play in her abandoned back yard, alone.

Home again, into the car. Gotta run some errands. Bank, Credit Union, in-laws for Calvin’s long lost – not urinated on – shoes. A visit to Daddy’s office.

The sight of him makes all the children wail. They want to play with daddy. Maybe an afternoon visit was not such a good idea. Home again.

Lunch. Bananas? All gone. Remember this morning?

Corn dogs? Sure. With ketchup please.

Fold the laundry. Change the laundry. Curse the laundry.

Dinner? Oh yeah. Sigh with over whelming underwhelmedness.

Dinner, Baths, Bedtime. Please bedtime.

TV, computer, ready to start again?