120. I Am Job's Wife

When Jobed's house fell, I thought my heart would burst. All of my children, gone, without warning, without reason. How is a woman to bear such a trial? My children were my life, my purpose. No matter that I did not bear each one in my womb. They became mine the moment my father promised me to Job. His children became mine, and I ached for them as sorely as the ones that grew in my belly. 

But then they all were lost in one agonizing moment. I know they are safe in heaven now where nothing can harm them, but I am here, left behind to feel the hollow in my heart. 

I still have Job, and he does try to assuage my pain, but he feels the loss differently. And he has been distracted. The fire, the thieves, the plague on our flocks. I feel God is testing us, and we must be failing. Our neighbors say we are cursed. They will not speak it, but I know they wish us miles away. When I go to the well, all eyes avert and the silence becomes deafening. In the market, a path clears around me, and I am able to buy fish at the price I name for no one wishes me to linger. 

And so I sit alone, finishing the weave for my little Daniel's blanket, though he will never feel its warmth around him. I cannot leave it unfinished: it would only serve as a token of the life he left too soon, a life unfinished. I fear the sight of it would drive me to madness. 

I know, in time, if our Lord does not take me to join my children, the sharpness of this grief will dull. But my heart can never truly heal. Each of their souls took a part of mine with them when they fled to heaven. These wounds may heal, but the scars they leave will forever keep my heart from becoming whole.

119.Not An Alligator

Gender by a matter of two degrees. 

Growth by the warmth of the air.

Reproduction determined by length of your bod, from about to the tip of your tail.

Wouldn't it be simple

If all our choices were made

By science?

But then we wouldn't be human.

No emotion

No fear

No love

Just instinct and science

How boring that life would be

I am glad I am not an alligator 

118.Jessa and the Beanstalk (7)

Mother never seemed to notice or care when I disappeared. She was too busy with the farm and with my brothers and sisters. She assumed that I worked alongside the others and took my lunches with the other village children as I used to. To her, there was no change in my routine.

But Walter Rund noticed.

On those days when I was trapped on the ground he would seek me out. He asked me where I had been, but I never told him. How could I? The sky was my paradise, no one else's. It was my haven, formed from the whims of my imagination. I couldn't share it with anyone. 

I was Jessa, creator of the Sky Kingdom. I had a whole world, waiting to be born under my fingertips. What need did I have of others? How could they possibly understand me? No one had seen the world the way I had. 

And yet, Walter continued to sit with me in my days of earthly-captivity. He told me stories that he made up as he spoke, trying to coax my mind back into the world in which my body resided. Why did he care?

For three weeks there was not a cloud in the sky. Walter stayed by my side, a glimmer of light poking into the darkness that was the ground in my heart. It was as if he were a pin, pricking around the walls of my blockade, trying to find a weakness. I hated being on the ground, away from my white world of wonder, but there was no escape. The clouds simply would not form, and my pillar of freedom would not rise without them. And so I let Walter in. 

I knew he could not pull me away from my creation, but I needed something to keep me sane while I waited anxiously for any sign of my kingdom's return. He filled my ears with tales of adventure and soon I discovered that he, too, craved a life outside of this small, cramped village. Perhaps he wasn't so bad after all, I began to think.

117. Stay Small

Why are you growing so fast, little boy? 

Why can't you just stay small?

All I want is more cuddles and hugs

But soon you'll have grown too tall.

Why are you growing so fast, little love?

Why can't you just stay little?

Soon you'll grow up and become a man

And I'll only reach to your middle.

116. 33rd Time's The Charm

I love Dreamworks (animation) movies. Seriously. I adore them. Over the Hedge? Hilarious. Monsters Vs Aliens? Marvelous. Kung Fu Panda? Practically memorized it. How to Train Your Dragon? High-flying fun. Turbo? Tubular. The Road to El Dorado? Golden. (See what I did there?) In fact, of all the Dreamworks films I've seen, I can count on one hand the ones I did not thoroughly enjoy. That's a pretty good record. 

That being said, I can only think of two Dreamworks films that I actually wanted to see before I saw them. Two. There are thirty-four. That's a pretty BAD record. See, as much as Dreamworks is doing right in their films, they are terrible at previews. Every single time I see a preview for a Dreamworks animated movie I think "oh my goodness that just looks terrible." Seriously, every time (except those two mentioned above, but I'll come back to those). I mentioned earlier that I have Kung Fu Panda practically memorized, but that happened only after I was bribed to go see it after many, many invitations and much cajoling. Honestly, the only reason I went was because someone else paid. And oh my goodness I love that movie ("Legend tells of a legendary warrior whose Kung fu skills were the stuff of legend!"). 

The same thing has happened with pretty much every Dreamworks movie I've seen since then. I watch the preview, roll my eyes at how incredibly dumb the movie looks, finally spend the minimal amount of money necessary to watch it simply because there is nothing better to watch, and wonder where this film has been all my life. 

It's gotten to the point where if I see a preview for an animated film that looks awful I can pretty much guarantee that it'll be Dreamworks. And yet, I still roll my eyes and wonder how anything that looks THAT dumb can possibly come from the same writers who made Prince of Egypt and Madagascar (I'm looking at you, Boss Baby). And (nearly) every time I am reminded of how much Dreamworks just needs to fire their preview-maker guy (team? I don't know how that works, but they need a new one).

Now, there have been a handful of exceptions to this formula. There are the few Dreamworks movies that I don't really care for, but those are all within the first few years of the company's existence or sequels, both of which I find acceptable reasons for not-quite-so-fabulous-work. And then there are the (again counted on one hand) ones I haven't actually seen.

But, there have been, in fact, two cases in which I saw a Dreamworks preview that did not turn my eyeballs backward with disgust. The first time this happened I was 13 and had not yet recognized the greatness of Dreamworks or the disparity of their previews. And, to be totally honest, I didn't even know it was a Dreamworks movie until tonight when I looked up the complete list for number accuracy. And this movie which I actually wanted to see, I hated. Go figure, huh? It wasn't the MOST boring movie I've ever seen, but it's definitely in the top five.

The second time this happened (tonight, by the way), I also didn't realize it was Dreamworks, but that's because it actually looked good! So I popped it in the DVD player and saw the logo and was a little worried (because of my last experience). Could it be good, I wondered? And guess what--- it was! For the first time in the history of my relationship with Dreamworks, they actually made a preview that accurately reflected the movie it was presenting! Hooray! I am so proud of you, Preview-maker guy! 33rd time's the charm, I guess. 

115. A Close Encounter of the Awkward Kind

You know those times when you're walking and someone is walking toward you directly in your path and you both try to move out of each other's way but you go the same way and then you have that awkward pause where you're staring at each other like "okay, are you going to move or am I going to move? Okay. Oh wait. Gah!"?

That happened to us yesterday, in a way, except we were in cars. See, we got in the suicide lane to turn left into Walmart, at the same time that this other car also got in it. Now, the other car got in way down the road, so we figured he'd turn left at one of the three driveways between us and him. He didn't. While we waited for a clearing in the oncoming traffic, this car just kept slowly coming up toward us. And then they just stopped in front of us. 

So there we are, staring down this old couple, awkwardly trying not to look into each other's windows, but trying not to be obvious about how awkward it was. See, there was no driveway to our right. The next place he could turn was the stoplight, several fee behind us. And by several I mean the stoplight is past one end of Walmart and our turn was at the other end. So not only were we laughing at how absurdly early this guy got into the turn lane, and how awkward it was that we were stuck staring each other down, but then the poor guy's wife starts I-told-you-soing him. Seriously, I didn't know where to look. But then, not looking was awkward, too, because we all knew that we weren't actually interested in what was outside our windows but that we were purposely not looking at each other. So we'd look back in an effort to play it cool, but then we'd awkwardly be staring at each other unable to actually communicate because of the two windshields and engines between us. It was awkward (did I say that already?) and highly amusing. And the traffic just kept coming past.

After about a minute and a half of this awkward "do I look at them or out the window or at my kids behind me" we were finally able to turn and break the tension. 

Moral of the story: listen to your wife.

114. Cough

Cough cough

Hack hack

Choke on my tongue

Cough cough

Hack hack

There goes my lung

113."I Love To See The Temple

This morning I had the opportunity to sing with Janie at church. It was just the two of us singing one of Janie's favorite songs, "I Love To See The Temple." It was simple and short. I doubt we were on the stand for even three minutes, but those three minutes meant so much to me.

The song speaks of the joy and blessings of going to the temple. That is where we make the sacred covenants that seal us eternally to our family. When I initially picked the date for us to sing, I did so because tomorrow I will celebrate the anniversary of my own decision to enter into these covenants with my dear husband. Seven years ago we were married and sealed together for time and all eternity. Because of the covenants we made then, we can be together forever. Additionally, any children are we have are sealed to us, so long as we keep the promises we made that day and strive to live righteously.

What I did not know at the time was that my Grandpa, my mom's dad, would pass away quite so soon, nor that his burial would fall the day before we sang. Because my parents and their parents before them also entered into these same sacred covenants, I am also sealed to them eternally as well. Though I am sad that my grandpa's time on earth has ended, I do not need to suffer, questioning his fate, or mourn his loss infinitely. I know without question that I will be with this family of mine, going forward and backward generations, forever. 

These were the sweet things I have felt today as I have pondered the blessings of the holy temple. I am so grateful for these blessings, for the knowledge that the gospel of Jesus Christ gives me, and for the sacrifice that Christ made so that I could experience this life, the joy it brings me, and the joy of the life to come.

112. Prayer

As we lay you down to sleep

We pray the lord your soul to keep.

Forever shall you sit with him

And heaven's work you'll do therein.

Watch over and protect us now.

Our prayer we give with holy bow.

111. Forgiven

What would you do if faced with loneliness? Would you try to fix it and condemn another to the same fate? Or would you suffer through it to save all others from the pain and sorrow of death? Could you be happy knowing you chose this fate for another? Would it relieve your pain or redouble it? Could you be forgiven?

110. The Baker's Daughter

There's a prince in my shop. What do I do? Do I curtesy? He's not wearing a crown. Is he supposed to wear a crown? Am I supposed to know he's the prince! He's even more handsome than I imagined! Oo he's looking at my biscuits! I knew I should have thrown those out. Now he's going to think Father is a terrible baker. What if the one he picks is underdone? Or burnt? Did I put too much salt in? He is so handsome! Oh! He looked at me! Did I just grimace at the prince? I am such an idiot! Get it together, Mara! He just smiled at me! Wait until I tell Renee! No, I can't tell her if he doesn't want to be noticed. I will keep my prince's secret. But is it a secret? Where is his crown? No don't pick that one! Whew. Yes, yes! Go for the strawberry! He is so handsome! Where is Father? Should I go fetch him? Would that insult the prince if I left? Would it insult him if I serve him? Oh! He's coming over. What do I say? What do I say?!

"Umm...hi."

109. Drought

Water rippling wearily

Across the acrid plain

Catching in the crevices

Makes growers merry again

108. Buttchin

Lovely little munchkin

Pulling on my hair

You have a little butt chin

You're ticklish under there.

107. How I Almost Lost My Big Toe

Being a housewife can be extremely dangerous, as I discovered on Saturday. I was doing nothing insane. I wasn't skydiving or parasailing or chasing down trains or wielding a jackhammer or wrestling an alligator or swimming with sharks. I was unloading the dishwasher. Yes, you read that right. 

Jay was fixing his motorcycle in the garage. Janie and Thomas were running around being silly. I honestly have no idea where Berto was. And I figured I'd do a little housework while everyone else was occupied. 

But then that darn salad tong decided it needed freedom and did a jackknife out of the silverware basket. It hurt. Oh my gosh did it ever hurt. The best I can figure is that the sharpest part of this spork-like salad tong landed in just the wrong spot, hitting a nerve and slicing my skin.

I yelped and groaned and snorted and didn't curse! But oh golly it hurt! 

Janie and Thomas came running to see what happened. Thomas was fascinated by the blood, of course. 

When I say it hurt, I'm seriously downplaying the pain. There are not polite words to describe my agony. I could not move because my body was not responding to any signals other than *ALERT ALERT ALERT INCREDIBLE PAIN ALERT ALL HANDS (toes?) ON DECK*. Seriously, I thought for sure once the blood was cleaned up I would see bone or at least the complete removal of my toenail.

So I stood there gritting my teeth trying to keep my big girl panties on so as not to freak out my little ones. I managed to breath out instructions for Janie to go get her dad. What felt like several minutes (it was probably only something like 30 seconds but when you're immobilized by the pain of what could possibly be you toe-capitation time is a bit skewed) and at least three requests later, he finally came in. 

Now picture this: I'm standing there, holding onto Berto's highchair for dear life, weeping silent tears, gritting my teeth to keep from uttering unkind words at the salad fork from hell while blood is slowly pooling around my maimed appendage, and Jay walls in all calm-like and says "what's up?" 

It is probably a good thing I couldn't speak at that point.

Luckily my sweet two-year-old came to my rescue, exclaiming "mommy hort! See beeding! Owie." Unluckily, he also felt the need to point it out. Apparently Jay got the idea when I yelped again. 

Being the wonderful knight in shining armor that he is, Jay got pain aids, ointment, all that other stuff needed, cleaned me (and the floor) up, got me all bandaged and used me as an example of a good way to react to pain ("is mommy yelling and screaming and throwing a fit?" "Noooo" "see, when we get hurt, it's okay to cry, but we don't need to wail and throw tantrums"). Way to take advantage of my pain dear *thumbs up* (I do mean that seriously. Good job.) 

Once he was finished I finally got coherent enough that I managed to get my body to behave and sit down. I put my foot up and eventually the pain eased. Throughout the rest of the day it still hurt, but the pain lessened and lessened (minus the occasional bump from my kids or accidental foot smash by my dear husband). 

Fast forward to the morning. When it came time to take a shower, I sat down to unwrap my injured toe. I had to prepare mentally for this. I didn't know exactly what to expect, because I had closed my eyes against the pain almost as soon as it hit. So I could only imagine the gruesome sight the bandage-removal would reveal. How bad would my toe look? Would I have a nail? Would I be black and blue? Would I have to deal with an ugly scar for the rest of my life?

Slowly I peeled back the bandaid.

Guys, maybe half a centimeter of cuticle is missing. That's it. 

No bruising, no broken or visible bone, no puncture wound. Just a tiny little cut that's barely visible. 

But seriously: blinding, searing, immobilizing, agonizing pain.

106. Easter Resurrection

My heart is especially grateful for the sacrifice and glory of Christ that we celebrate on Easter this year. In less than a two month span both of my grandfathers have passed away. My heart aches for my grandmothers, now going through life without their beloved husbands. But I rejoice in the knowledge I have of my redeemer, Jesus Christ. He suffered the agony of our sins so that we might be free. He suffered death so that He could be resurrected. And He was resurrected so that we might some day be resurrected also. Because of Christ, my grandparents will be reunited. They are sealed together for all eternity through the blessings of Jesus Christ. And, like Him, they will rise again. The next time I hug my grandpas they will be able to wrap both arms around me without hesitation, weakness, or obstacle. They will be whole, because Christ was made whole. This is Christ's work: "to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man."

105. Tetris

Tiles four any way

Enter from the top

Turn it twist it

Right or left

Into place

Settled

104. For Grandpa Bob

Today is Good Friday, the day on which we commemorate the death of Jesus Christ. It seems oddly fitting, comforting even, that today one of the most Christ-like people I know passed away. 

My Grandpa Bob, my mom's dad, died this evening. All of my life, Grandpa has been solid influence and example of Christ-like love. As a child I looked forward to our family reunions that he presided over. Every two years all of his progeny gathered together to celebrate our love for each other. Grandpa loved nature, God's masterpiece, and so the reunions always seemed to focus on the outdoors. I remember seeing the Redwoods, going to the beach, Yellowstone, staying in mountain cabins, playing on lakes, swimming, boating, hiking, fishing. 

Grandpa led our family is loving Christ. Without fail, one of the days of our weeklong trip, all of the adults would go do work at the temple. There would always be a family testimony meeting where we shared our love and experiences of Christ. He led us in song, always praising Christ through hymns. 

Grandpa served. Throughout his life, Grandpa was helping people. He served those in his ward, in his family, in his neighborhood. He served in the temple often, and he served a mission with my grandma. 

Grandpa blessed the lives of everyone he met. Grandpa was devoted to Grandma. He was always thinking of her first. When his own mother was near the end of her life, he took her into his home, providing and caring for her until the end. He provided housing for several of his children and grandchildren throughout the years when they were unable to make ends meet. When his grandchildren started college, he hosted a monthly grandchildren dinner. 

Grandpa loved. Perhaps the two most poignant memories I have of Grandpa involve the love I felt after doing wrong. The first was when I was young, probably between 7 and 10 years old, but I don't remember exactly when it happened. We were at his home having lunch and he was pouring drinks for everyone. When I asked what it was, he told me it was white grape juice. Growing up poor, I didn't know that was actually a thing. My dad had tried "tricking" me with the same title applied to water. I was bothered that Grandpa, whom I had always seen as perfect, would try to pull one over on me. So I called him a liar. I was angry and hurt and let him know it. Instead of getting mad at me he just laughed and told me to try it. When I did and realized it was not, in fact, water, I was ashamed. Instead of pointing out my flaw, he simply gave me a hug. 

The second instance was in my rebellious teenage years. I was being a dumb teenager and my parents were worried. I assume that at some point my parents asked him for advice. Grandpa sent me a letter in which he told me how much he loved me, how much my parents loved me, and how much God loved me. Though I wasn't sure how, I knew he must be right, because Grandpa never lied. It was comforting to know that though I was struggling, if Grandpa still loved me, perhaps I was still worth something. 

I love my Grandpa, and that won't end now that he is gone. He will always be in my life because of the person he was when he lived. 

I am grateful to know that he is with Christ now. Because of Jesus' death which we honor today and His resurrection which we will celebrate on Sunday, I know that I will get to see Grandpa again. I know he will live again just as Christ lives again. 

103. Molly Moe

Little lolly molly moe

Counted pennies with her toe

Held her magnet by the hair

Kissed a frog upon a dare

Little lolly molly moe

Broke her finger and her toe

102. Little Sleeping Boy

Little sleeping boy

My heart belongs to you.

You bring our family joy.

You make us smile, too.

101. Sibling Love

I've been frustrated lately by an increase in fighting between my two older kids lately. It seems every hour there is some debate that ends in one or both of them in tears. 

But today I found reassurance that they do, indeed, still love each other very much, despite all the fighting. We've been playing outside for about the last hour. They've played nicely for some of that time, riding bikes, picking flowers, and fighting with sticks. There were plenty of squabbles and yelling. I was frustrated. When it started sprinkling, Berto, Thomas and I moved into the garage but Janie wanted to play in the rain. 

She ran upstairs to get her raincoat and umbrella. While she was gone, the drizzle became a downpour. It was then that Thomas realized Janie's bicycle was still on the driveway. And that's when I knew that, even though they fight, the love is still very much there. Thomas, worried for his sister's happiness, ran out into the downpour to bring her back to safety. He struggled with the bike, tripping and dropping it a few times, but he persevered. By the time he made it back into the garage, he was soaked through, but he was smiling. 

Watching him sacrifice his comfort for his sister, I felt my burden lighten. I know that we'll get through the fighting eventually. At the end of the day, they're siblings and their love will see them through.

100. Vacuuming

Dirt and crumbs are everywhere.

Paper bits, and long red hair

Hidden in the rug's white strands

Tracked where children sit and sat.

So I vacuum up the dirt,

Berto's scared, but it won't hurt.

Vacuum's full, I dump it out.

Missed the trashcan. See my pout?

Feet now dusty, grimy, gross,

Dirt between my barefoot toes

It seems that's just how Monday goes:

Two steps front, one back, I s'pose.

99. I Am The Baby's Mother

I am alone. 

I used to have a husband. I used to have a son. They are no more. I used to have sisters and brothers, but I left them when I married. I used to have Miriam and Joshua, but now they have left me, too.

I am alone. 

My marriage was one of joy. I was lucky in that the man my father chose for me was good and kind. We labored together and the work became light. I miss his laugh. It was beautiful. When I told Nathan I was with child, he was filled with delight. I had never seen him so pleased. We anticipated the birth of our firstborn with excitement. But he never met his son. Sickness swept the city, and then Nathan was gone. 

I met Miriam the day he was taken. She followed the same cart that I did: we farewelled our husbands only to welcome our sons. We mourned together and supported one another. Miriam became my friend, my confidant, my sister. We made a home together, knowing we would need one another when our babies arrived -- and we did.

My Nathaniel came first, but Joshua arrived only two days later. I expected the arrival of my son to bring me joy. I saw Nathan's features in our little boy's face and wanted to feel joy: all I felt was despair. I ached for the warmth of Nathan's arms: instead I heard the anger in Nathaniel's cries. I was tired, exhausted by the hours of labor and the agony of delivery. My body had become something I no longer recognized. I was miserable. 

Miriam understood none of my pain. When Joshua arrived, she glowed. She was radiant as her son suckled and slept. 

I could only cry. I was crushed by the loneliness I felt inside, jealous of the joy I saw in Miriam. I tried to love Nathaniel, for his father's sake, but my heart was not in it. I was angry that Nathan had left me. Angry that God had taken him. Angry that He had sent me this burden that I could not handle. Angry that I could not calm Nathaniel. 

I tried. All I wanted was for the crying to stop. All I wanted was a moment of silence. But then the silence came and I was afraid. The silence was deafening. It was too long. My ears roared with it. I screamed for noise, any noise, but it would not come. 

The anger and sorrow were replaced by fear: fear of the law, fear of God, fear of what I had become. I panicked. But then I heard a cry and my heart soared again. God had given me a second chance. I no longer held a baby white and still; This child was pink and fresh. He looked into my eyes and cooed, his tiny plump fist curled around my finger as he suckled at my breast. Yes, this was as it should be. Nathan would be proud of this tiny child who would carry his name. 

When Miriam returned from bathing she tried to take my babe away from me. She screamed that he was her own. The woman was raving, a lunatic. I had taken her in in her time of need and this was how she repaid me. She ranted at me, clawed at me, but I would not release my child to this madwoman. I needed this child and he needed me. 

When the guards came to take us to the king, Miriam was still wild. They took the child from me, but assured me that he would be safe in the arms of the king's guard. So long as he was not given to Miriam, I was content. She had become like an animal. 

The King heard our stories. I knew he would judge fairly. It is said he is the wisest man ever to grace the earth. And so, when he declared that we should cut the child in half, I agreed. The baby was crying again, unable to cope without his mother holding him. Did I want to be shackled with this burden all my life? No. And the king was right, after all. Perhaps the child would be better off not knowing the pains of this world. And I would be free to leave this city, to find another husband, start another life. 

I was shocked by Miriam's outburst. At least she finally admitted the truth. The baby was mine. The truth of her statement reminded me of the love I felt for Nathaniel. He truly was my child. How could I have been so foolish? I was pleased when she told the king to give me my child. I reached for him, eager to put his warm mouth to my heavy bosom, but then king halted me.

With uncomprehending eyes, I watched him place my baby in Miriam's arms. He called her his true mother. He told her to go. Miriam put her lips to the baby's and I see her eyes in his face.

And now I am alone. I don't know what to do. I am not the baby's mother.

98. A Haiku To My Hair

Turquoise and violet

Peacock hues of vibrancy

Dangling by my ear

97. Innocent Youth

I love the innocence and simplicity in childhood. Yesterday Jay told about a moment in his day when a coworker was being rude to those around him. Janie listened with rapt attention. She  loves listening to her daddy talk about his work.

This morning as we were driving to a friend's house, a car pulled out in front of us and I had to hit my breaks pretty hard to prevent a crash. Without me saying anything, Janie piped up "he cut in front of us! That wasn't nice. Is that the bad guy from daddy's work?"

It hit me how beautiful it is that to this little girl the world is so good that two instances of unkindness must be committed by the same person, because people are generally good. In her world there are good guys and there are bad guys. But most stories have lots of good guys and only a small number of baddies. 

It was a tender and beautiful moment.

96. Chocolate: A History

You know what sucks? Being suddenly allergic to chocolate. This hasn't always been an issue for me. For 27 years (well, I suppose 26 since I likely didn't consume much chocolate during my first year of life) I was able to eat chocolate uninhibited. 

As a kid I liked chocolate a lot. I remember receiving candies at holidays and always being disappointed with the non-chocolate lot. But sometime in my youth that love disappeared, or at least decreased. I don't remember when exactly the change occurred but I do distinctly remember the realization of it. I was on a cruise with my mother and her siblings. It was the third night and I was ordering. There were several dessert options but the only one that sounded truly delightful was the plate of fresh fruit. My waiter commented on my choice, noting that I had made similar orders the two previous nights. 

My apathy toward chocolate continued for several years, which was actually kind of nice for a girl who had self-esteem issues. No chocolate meant a slimmer figure for me. But then I got pregnant with Thomas and everything changed. 

In my last month of that pregnancy I could NOT get enough chocolate. Seriously, the craving was so bad. I ate so much chocolate that month, but I was never satisfied. There was even a day when I made a milkshake with chocolate ice cream, chocolate milk, Oreos, and chocolate syrup. Just writing that out makes me want to vomit in my mouth a little. But it wasn't chocolatey enough to satisfy my need. Finally, in my last week of pregnancy, the chocolate gods smiled on me. I discovered the triple dark chocolate magnum ice cream bar. 

It. Was. Divine.

Never in my life have I been so completely overwhelmed by the perfection of food. My taste buds sang. My body tingled. Ah, what a beautiful moment that was.

Two weeks later, no longer pregnant, I ate another one. It was unpleasantly rich.

However, my attitude toward chocolate shifted after Thomas came. I liked it again. Brownies, cookies, cakes, pies, candies, popsicles, ice cream. I would gladly help you eat them. 

And then pregnancy and childbirth struck again and my body changed. It took me several months to figure it out but I have discovered that somehow, in giving birth to Berto, I became allergic to chocolate. This isn't one of those stand-next-to-someone-who-touched-chocolate-three-hours-ago-and-you'll-die allergies. I just cough. Something about chocolate irritates my throats and I get an unpleasant mucus buildup which has to be dislodged. Sometimes the cough ones I'm a matter of minutes, and other times it takes a few hours. But it always comes. My chocolate intake has plummeted dramatically since my discovery, but occasionally I forget and eat something. Other times I willingly go into a dessert, knowing the punishment my body has in store for me but accepting it for the reward at hand. It's become an interesting dilemma, picking and choosing my desserts, weighing the benefits and consequences of each treat. 

Chocolate chip cookies are almost always worth it.

95. My Reasons Why

The last week I have been thinking a lot about my role as a stay-at-home-Mom. A read a post recently that said being at home with the kids is degrading and abusive to a woman. I disagreed entirely. Sure, I have days when I am frustrated with my kids and just want some time to myself, but for the most part, I love what I do. 

I adore my three beautiful children. I love the hugs and the kisses. I love the way their little smiles shine when I open their bedroom doors. I love hearing them thank me for a yummy lunch or dinner. I love their curiosity (most of the time) and watching them learn. I love seeing them play together nicely and making up after a dispute.

My life is not perfect. My kids get mad at each over silly things like who gets the crumpled up receipt or how many carrot sticks they get. They lock each other out of their bedroom and steal each other's cups. They hit, steal, and scream at each other. Today I broke up five fights and ignored at least three others. 

But I wouldn't trade this job for any other. While some people sit at computers all day, I get to watch my kids do gymnastics. While someone is dealing with an angry customer, I'm sharing a peanut butter sandwich. While someone is hiding from their boss, I'm playing peekaboo. While others rush to get a burger, I'm making soup or stuffed peppers or lasagna. (Just now I told them for the third time to get back in bed.) 

I am not forced into this job. I am not oppressed or subjected. I chose this life and i would choose it again. Being a stay-at-home-Mom gives me joy that I cannot express in words. These kids are why I do what I do.

94. The Underwear Under There

Thomas is young. He's still figuring out this whole 'independence' thing. Some moments he wants to do things entirely on his own -- loading the dishwasher, carrying the mailbox key, picking his clothing,  cutting his chicken with a steak knife -- but other things he insists on having help with -- cleaning his room, putting a movie on, finishing his food, getting dressed. 

Most of the time we agree on the level of needed help (but not the steak knife). However, the last few weeks I've been trying to get him to dress himself. Sure, it takes coordination, but that's a pretty basic task. The kid can drive a motorcycle but can't pull his pants up. So today after a trip to the bathroom I told him he could redress himself. He cried and pouted ("I don know hoooow"). But we had nowhere to go and I had no pressing matters upon me so I held my figurative ground. 

I walked out.

I told him he could do it. He knew how. He understands the mechanics of underwear and shorts. He just didn't think he could and so he didn't. do it. After a few minutes of mild crying, my half-naked two-year-old came down the stairs, undies in hand, very pathetically asking for help. I almost caved. But being the cruel, hard-hearted parent that I am, I said no and told him yet again that he could do it.

He harrumphed and plopped his naked butt onto my white rug (at least he's a decent wiper). Berto, lying on the floor next to him, laughed with the excitement that comes with the arrival of an older brother and immediately Thomas' attitude changed. He had a baby brother to impress.

He very carefully and deliberately stuck one foot through the waistband and into a leg hole. Then the second foot slid into place. As soon as he realized he had two feet in two holes -- a big step for this kid-- his face lit up with pride. He started giggling and quickly stood up to pull his "hehtotter underair" (that's helicopter underwear) all the way up. And he did it. It took a little wiggling and a couple of hops, but he got that underwear all the way up! There were high fives and hugs and a very wet kiss on Berto's nose. He was so proud of himself. He soon ran back up the stairs, grabbed his shorts and put them on in the same manner.

I didn't have the heart to tell him his underwear was inside out.

93. Score

Run and shoot and dribble, score.

Throwing balls across the floor.

Pass it, shoot it, off the rim,

Round the world, the ball falls in.

92. Prophets

The prophet speaks, it's loud and clear

All within his voice can hear

With confidence and surety 

God's prophet speaks of purity

Come listen to apostles speak 

Their words are for those proud and meek

For you, for me, for rich, or poor,

The prophet knows; he'll tell us more

91. Sleepyhead

Sleepyhead, sleepyhead

Pretty little boy

Give in to your sleepiness

Let your eyes roll.