Hobbits and Moms, We Learn Things On This Journey

"There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." -J.R.R. Tolkien

Jonah informed me yesterday that he wanted a simple Valentine box this year. You know nothing more than a shoebox transformed into a Hobbit Hill with Bilbo Baggins' Hobbit Hole perched on the top with a round door that opens leading to a trap door where the valentines will drop down into the Hobbit Hill. I began to twitch. I had actually completely forgotten about the whole valentine box thing, as I do every year. Every year I am shocked and then perturbed that this tradition still carries on. 

I immediately consulted pinterest. I found one valentine box covered in silver wrapping paper and cluttered with some hobbit stickers. For pete's sake, there is not a single amazing mom out there who has created a Bag End Valentine Box? If there is, she isn't posting, and that I can't believe. I began to attempt to talk Jonah down. "Maybe you could just draw a really nice picture of Bag End on a crumby piece of printer paper, then we could just glue that sucker to the top of a shoebox and call it good." I watched his whole demeanor collapse. I was preparing myself for epic failure. As I was throwing another quarter in Jonah's Therapy Jar, an angel of mercy walked in through the door from school.

How I gave birth to such artistic and creative daughters is beyond me. Some mystery genes must be floating around from Grandpa Fellows and Great Grandma Essen. Sabrina walked in, rolled up her sleeves, and immediately set to work on a valentine box fit for a hobbit. Bless you, my child. Bless you. She began to transform Jonah's obscure vision into perfect fruition. He carefully supervised and did a little painting and constructed a toothpick fence to go outside Bilbo's door. 

While Sabrina and Jonah were up to their elbows in acrylic paint, I was up to my elbows in pizza dough. I was getting ready for our Valentine's Dinner. It was the kind of domestic chaos that makes me content. The kids busy creating, me kneading dough, Haydn's Cello Concerto humming in the background. Insert that ache. Jessica was playing nothing but Haydn's Cello Concerto at this time last year. I cannot hear that piece without thinking of Jess. I just wanted her back in my home again, practicing her cello, and no doubt helping with Jonah's project. 

I've been experiencing that ache more than usual lately. Perhaps it's because Jessica informed me yesterday that she had put down her deposit for housing for summer and for next school year. In other words, "Mother, I'm not coming back home. Logan is my new home." More aching. That teenage boy you see photo-bombing in the background asked me today if he could move into Jessica's room. I guess when I moved Jess out last fall, I thought she would be back in the spring. These motherhood paradigm shifts are a killer. I cried to Jess via text yesterday morning. Lots of crying and sad face emoticons. Jessica informed me, "Mom, I'm not dying." I know, not dying. Just moving on. Waaahhh!:(

But I am learning to work through the ache. There was pizza sauce to make and mushrooms to chop. We cleared the kitchen table that looked like Mount Saint Crafting had erupted and turned it into a lovely Valentine's setting.

Jonah assembled the jello parfaits. I'm so glad that someone gave us those wine glasses for our wedding twenty years ago. How else would we house our jello parfaits every holiday meal?

Candlelight is the final touch.

Jonah was a little disappointed that we were using paper plates. He likes when we pull out the nice plates. But these were cute and valentiney, and hello, 
less clean up.

I don't know what was being discussed here, but it must have been pretty serious. I believe that Sabrina was trying to come up with a Dickens character to represent each member of the family. I don't remember who she came up with for everyone, but I recall that Jonah was young Pip only less innocent and naive Sabrina says. Sisters. One minute they're making you the best valentine box ever, the next they're calling you Pip, only with more mischief.

This poor kid has been battling an ear infection as a result of a nagging cold that will not let up. He's on some pretty serious antibiotics. You would hardly know it, because the child never complains. He went to the junior high dance this afternoon. I asked him if he danced with any girls. "Oh yeah, lots!" he replied. Good boy. I tell him every year to make as many girls feel noticed and special at these dances as he can. I came home from too many junior high dances and cried myself to sleep. I hope there was at least a girl or two who went home and told her mom about the cute boy who asked her to dance.

Beautiful! Just beautiful!

There is something about dinner by candlelight that makes the conversation more pleasant, and the food just a little tastier.

How is it that my children always take better pictures than I do? I practice all of the time, and yet my kids have a perspective that is just fresh and lovely. That seems to be true of more than just photography. If I could stop, look, and be still for a moment, I might just see life the way my children do. Something tells me that that life is less complicated, less stressful, less noisy. Beautiful Simplicity! If only I could capture that more. Sabrina took the next three shots. 

I love this man. Love love love this man! He is why my life is so beautiful.

Dinner was finished. Time to blow out the candles and help Jonah with homework.

This is me doing something for the last time. After thirteen years of helping kids with valentines, I am done. No homemade valentines here folks! Just slap that name on those Fun Dips, and I'm officially retired. Phew.

We hurried and got this done because I'm in the middle of watching Ken Burns latest documentary on the Roosevelts, and I was dying to get to episode three. Nerdy, I know.

What about Jonah's Valentine Box, you ask? Here is the finished product. Isn't it just the cutest thing? Jonah plans on keeping it in his room.

A sweet sister's labor of love. 

This is my favorite detail. If you open the little hobbit door, there is a fire burning on the back wall and above it, the quote: "Not all who wander are lost."

As my baby is about to turn twelve, my heart aches for the twentieth time this week. For you see, there will be no more children in this house. Just tweens, and teens, and the occasional young adult, when she can afford to visit. I thought there would always be the pitter patter of tiny feet in my life, but I am learning as did dear little Bilbo Baggins:

"The road goes ever on and on." -J.R.R. Tolkien

Forgive My Rants

I've been reading past entries. Boy, I spend a lot of time on parental soap boxes don't I. I sound like all of those other opinionated parents out in blog and Facebook land. I've probably said some offensive things. I'm sorry. 

The truth is, I am drowning in parental insecurity. I don't know what I'm doing. In fact, I live in constant terror that the only thing that I'm accomplishing on a daily basis is the systematic ruining of these poor little souls put under my care. So when I hear of parents with children wallowing in scholarships and achievements and noteworthy successes, I get tired and bogged down and more terrified that I'm failing. Failing as a mother. Failing these children that I love so much.

So when I get snarky, it's because my son didn't get his Eagle at age 14, and my kids don't have 4.0's, and my baby may not get his Faith In God before the clock strikes twelve on his 12th birthday and he turns into a spiritual pumpkin. I get snarky because I'm trying to convince myself that somehow they're all going to be okay despite me and not because of me. 

Forgive my parental rants. If you read closely between the lines, those rants are simply the pleas of a desperate parent looking for some sign, any sign that things are going to be okay. That at the end of the day these children might call me blessed and understand that I did my very best. That they'll remember that I loved them for who they were, and hopefully they will somehow love me for who I am. A mother who failed most of the time but loved all of the time. 

On a side note: Some of the desperation in my writing might be attributed to the fact that Jonah wants to make a double decker Valentine box designed to look just like Bilbo's Hobbit Hole, and I just can't even right now.

What Do You Do All Day?

"Housework, if you do it right, will kill you." 

-Erma Bombeck

This is my popcorn popper. He's making my lunch.

This is my bed, and my laundry, and my lunch.

This is me contemplating folding laundry whilst eating my lunch and watching Death Comes To Pemberley on Netflix.

I hear of people commenting that all stay-at-home-moms do all day is eat Bonbons and watch soap operas. Sometimes that statement turns me into a bitter ball of defensiveness. Other times I simply respond, "And your point is..."

Who's Playing?

"A symphony must be like the world. It must contain everything." -Gustav Mahler

We know very little about who's playing in the super bowl here at the Watson household. But we know a thing or two about who's playing at the Utah Symphony.

Imperfections Documented

"There is a kind of beauty in imperfection." -Conrad Hall

I seem to have a plethora of imperfections at my disposal. First of all, shall we discuss family home evening? We seem to only faithfully practice the treat portion of family home evening most Mondays. The doctrine side gets ignored regularly. Last night the kids were begging us to go to Krispy Kreme for family home evening. I replied that that was out of the question because...people, and because...gross donuts. Then I got a brilliant idea. I will not divulge to you where we went to get donuts because...no people, and because...yummy donuts. I would like this to remain our little secret. As soon as every motivated family along the wasatch front learns of my location, they'll bring their perfect little families over for donuts after their creative and spiritually uplifting family home evening lessons, and we slackers will have to go find a new place. Those who are indigenous to this area will probably quickly deduce exactly where my family was sitting and exactly what delicious donuts we were eating. But please don't come by on Monday night. You see, I'm trying to teach my family important doctrines, and I hate to be disturbed.

Confession number two. I am not a clean freak. Me and clutter cohabitate peacefully with one another. There is a little part of me that doesn't mind waking up to some clutter. As I walk the house alone after all of the children have left for school, I am surrounded by evidence of their little lives. There is evidence all around that people live here, and it kind of makes me happy. Here is a snippet of this morning's evidence:

Not everyone gets to wake up to the Battle of Five Armies playing out on their kitchen counter. I'm just lucky that way.

It would seem that Azog has the upper hand this morning. King Dain is in pretty bad shape. If only his gold-hungry cousin would snap out of it and come help!

Here is proof of my pathetic attempt at being a good Scout Mom. Just kidding. Neil got those books out. Confession number three. I am not a good scout mom. To be honest, the boy scout program makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little every time the phrase is uttered. If my boys get their Eagles, it will be because of their dear father.

Looks like it is time for Sabrina to start thinking about classes for next year. Junior year, that's always a killer. Ugh!

It's Neil's month to conduct sacrament meeting. He just loves when it's his month to conduct:) And he loves coming up with speakers and topics for those speakers.

It wouldn't be my house if my latest read weren't laying around somewhere. I just started this book about Lady Astor. I love the human story. I will always profess that what happens in real lives is better than any fiction.

There are a lot of blogs out there. Many women blog as a business. Thus my problem. So many blogs mostly advertise a woman's latest product, announce the latest online class she is teaching, show off the latest recipe or craft or home organization skill she's mastered. I guess I get bored of those posts. Probably because I don't shop, I don't take online classes, and I rarely try any of the ideas I see on the internet. But I absolutely love personal blogs. Those are becoming scarce these days. I understand a woman's hesitation to share much of her personal life on the world wide web, but those are the posts that interest me. The human story. I love it! I wish there were more people out there sharing their stories even if their lives are as pathetically imperfect as mine:)