For some more Auld, been in the drafts for a while

My brother is very,very funny. I was trying to sleep and kept tossing and turning and for some reason remembered him playing "Go tell Aunt Rhody".

We all were required to learn piano, at least until we could play some hymns, and of all of us it seemed the most tiresome to my brother.

But there was one song that really floated his boat.

Go tell Aunt Rhody
Go tell Aunt Rho-ody
Go tell Aunt Rhody
The old gray goose is dead.

For years we were treated to this song. He would get an inane smile and made his front teeth stuck out ridiculously, with a fatuous look on his face and sing this while holding his hands at shoulder level and punctuating each line with a parody of conducting, long neck bobbing along, lerp legs kicking. Good times.

Tribute

No-Not the Tenacious kind of tribute. But just as epic, not 'cause I'm telling it, but because the lady in question is epic.

It came to me while I was trying (in vain) to go to sleep. Someone, not naming names, was very gently snoring. Doesn't really matter in my world whether or not the snoring in question is loud or not. Sound is very hard for me to tune out. Yeah, with 5 kids and that particular problem, you now know why I look zombified. Anyway, had one of those moments where I felt like I should write down on my little pad of paper a prompting. I have been waiting for something to write down on my little pad of paper ever since in General Conference where it was suggested that promptings will come if you are prepared for them. I was beginning to feel like that particular piece of advice didn't pertain to me. Finally something to write down! I groggily and blindly wrote down "Mary Blodgett, tribute" and received my first blessing for following the prompting. I had inadvertently jostled my darling hubby and he turned over and stopped snoring. Moving on, Mary Blodgett was a fabulous lady that I met on my mission. She was in her 80's and had been recently converted to the gospel. She had lived a hard life, but her conversion was thorough to the point that her zeal made the missionaries and life-long members look bad. She had quit smoking to be able to be baptized and said that the money she saved was a sacred fund that she dedicated to the Lord to show her gratitude for being given the gospel. Now, you must remember in rural New England that the areas missionaries covered were very large. Ours was over four hours by car and we were allotted 25 miles each day in our missionary car. Much of our time was spent in arranging appointments to all be in one town on one day when a member could take us there. All of the members sacrificed their time to help us spread the gospel. I remember fearfully asking a mom to take us four hours one way! to deliver a Lamb of God video to someone who ordered it off the commercial. The person allowed us to share a first discussion and then that mom drove us all the way back. 9+ hours with the missionaries, not to mention arranging babysitting and gas money. Anyway, Mary lightened the burden on the rest of the congregation by being our taxi and resident testifier. She came with us at least three whole days a week and used all of her cigarette savings money on gas to find and teach others. Most members were comfortable attending a discussion where interest had all ready been expressed, but squirmed if we needed to take them tracting-going door to door-to invite people to hear our message. Mary was fearless and yet so humble and tracting was her "thing". She had lived all her life without the gospel and could not stand that there were others without the knowledge that had become so vital to her. She loved her fellow man so much that there was no fear in her. She is still a solid component to my own testimony of how the gospel changes lives for the better. She has passed on now, but I have learned that when there is real sacrifice involved, the Lord consecrates that and cements it into a testimony that is special. Mary was special. I love her dearly.

Super serious today. To blog or not to blog. And I still find the word "blog" kind of ridiculous-sounding.

Don't you think it will be so cool when the millennium comes and the great mysteries of life will unfold? I sure hope one of these mysteries for me will be to know how to communicate what I am really thinking and feeling into words so that there is no language barrier to confuse what ones' real thoughts/intents are. It is so dang frustrating to speak to someone and know, when you have come away from a discussion, that you are still not able to express what is really true and understanding has not occurred. I was called on in Primary today to share my feelings about what going to the temple to be sealed with my children felt like. Nothing came out how I planned it in my mind. I had been thinking about how one of my students had expressed sadness that a family member didn't behave in a way that made them feel good and that when they sang primary songs, they felt that they must have been unworthy to have a "good" family, or to feel loved. As I spoke today, I was trying to say that even though families can feel like and even be broken, that the temple is the great "fixer" for all things broken. Maybe I told too much of what my own children have been feeling or saying about their birth family, but I feel like for children that have experienced too much of the sadness that life can offer, sometimes the way we teach in Primary can seem trite and even polarizing. It has really made me understand that for some children, hearing that things are not perfect is reassuring because then they know that there is a plan for that too and that their Father loves them. I guess that my feelings have changed about that sealing day. I would say now that I felt naively happy believing that my children would want what I wanted, which is to be loved in THIS family. I have come to understand that as they mature, they have resented being adopted and want their birth mom/dad to be with them as well. Through much prayer and fasting and trying to understand their perspective I have realized that I am way too possessive of the people I consider to be mine. We are all our Father's children. We belong to Him. The temple is the place where we fix our broken relationship with him and covenant to do our best to bring ourselves and our families back into His presence. I believe that we are organized into families in order to achieve this, and that they do and will belong to us forever, but that sometimes our idea of a family is limited. He asks us to feed his sheep and He doesn't specify only the sheep in our immediate families. We all belong to each other because we are spirit daughters and sons of the Most High. By sealing these children to our family, we are bringing them safely to His fold. That doesn't mean to me that we have stolen them away from their birth parents, just that they will be safely there if/when they want to come too and we will join with all the faithful to be one eternal family belonging to each other and our Father. The hiatus from blogging is from not knowing how much to say about what my kids are going through, and linked to my dilemma from above;language barrier. I don't know how much they would be comfortable with others knowing, especially as they grow to adulthood and I am not comfortable with my ability to get down in writing what is really happening. Also, because I cringe to think about how people can sometimes react callously to what other people write. I see comments on news stories etc. that show how viciously people can judge one another and I shrink from sharing my/their story. And yet there are so many that struggle through adoption and attachment disorders/abandonment issues that live such lonely lives that I finally feel at a point where I can say "There is hope! Things can improve!" At least until they're teenagers. I feel sure that things will be very hard then. So.....thoughts? Am I going to regret sharing?

So. I have this gym membership and as I run around the track, I pass all these people in crossfit training class, which is in the center of the track.

I see sweat rolling off these peoples faces, backs, and I don't want to know where. I could even slip and die if I'm not careful, in said sweat. Their bodies make She-Ra and He-Man want to vomit in muscle envy and I am sure that sugar and fat are just as bad swear words as the naughtiest of swear words.

The repetitions seem endless. The agony on each face very real, some with almost a mania. Their breathing is so intense you see all those accessory muscles trying to help out, like some chronic smoker with COPD. My version of purgatory, I tell you.

I am not really criticizing here. In fact, I admire the strength of character and the determination and fortitude required to have a body in such peak condition. I studied health sciences and value being fit and eating well. Just maybe a bit extreme for me.

I, myself, feel as though I am on a hamster wheel as I try to take advantage of the daycare to reclaim several years worth of less than stellar physical activity.

The point of all these descriptors? As I endlessly run in boredom, I start to think about all the waste of energy we collectively spend in a gym that could be used on more useful projects. My imagination sees me slenderizing while I supply elderly people with wood for their fire instead of them struggling to pay for gas. I see these muscle guys volunteering with the group that builds houses for injured veterans that can't be mobile in their current homes. Just think of how sore your muscles are when you paint ceilings and walls. We could paint the entire down town area and improve our neighborhoods. Digging trenches for sprinklers, yard work, pruning overgrowth, maintaining trails etc-on a volunteer basis can maintain fitness, but are activities that are purposeful and benefit more than ourselves.

Hey.
It worked in Karate Kid, right?? Wax on, wax off. Accomplishing something. (I don't know about standing on one foot on logs, though. Don't call me on it.)

Or at least having fun like in soccer or football or anything other, really, than endless reps and endless circles around the track.

Basically, I just hate exercising in the gym and miss things like hiking, playing a game of frisbee football, going snowboarding, taking a walk that lasts more than two blocks, and really any activity that lasts more than 15 minutes. I tried to help with the cutting up/loading/ hauling away of all the trees that fell down in our area and spent most of my time helping my children, which is how it should be-and I love it. It is just such a sedentary role. They want to be held a lot. They need a lot of face time and attention. They want to interact-at all times. This is why even though I have a perfectly good double seater running stroller and a portable dvd player and toys galore, I still can't run outside, because remember 15 min? And that is the extreme end of patience, they would be glad to be home after about 10 minutes.

I guess I'm writing all this to remind myself why in the world I take myself to the place of useless pain and energy waste.

Oh yes! I remember the first game of racquetball I had with my husband there. We both looked at each other, incredulous. We two, together, having fun, minus children. It was liberating and I felt guilty for feeling it. Most days he works, so we only do that about once or twice a week, but even when I am running circles and attending classes where ladies scream at me to "hit it!" and "push, push, push", (lamaze class, anyone?) I am thankful for a little break so that I can come back stronger to my little lovies and hear them say "I missed you mommy, but we had fun doing....etc." and seeing them learn that I really will come back every time. I have been so concerned about attachment, you see. Allowing gym daycare has been a stretch for my overprotective mommy self.

My husband read through the above and said "I still don't know what the point of this entry is." So I'll tell you. It is that I ramble a lot. Also, if you don't have children and can pursue other pursuits, why are you spending time in the gym?? Why?? For the love!

You see this package? The perfect treat. If you are a glutton, the fiber will punish you. I have been punished, but I still love you little coconuts. Even though you have 55% of daily fiber in one oh so small serving.

Words

We were having fun at lunch today and remembering how the littles used to say their words when they were even littler. They all wanted to know what they said "cute." So I thought I should put it down since I am forgetting so fast.

Goosie- Currently calls her thumb her "flum"

Bitty- "Does this food have any 'fiver'?" (fiber)

Bryguy- libary

Claus- slammitch. As in "Can you please make me a slammitch?" This is one of my all time faves.

Babs- I couldn't remember one. I'll have to dig out my journal. But I do remember the pained look on her face as her toddler friends mispronounced words and I would see her mouth the right way to herself. She has always been good with words. No babbling or such for her. It was kinda sad. Actually, I just remembered that she mispronounced library too, but she added too many syllables. It was "libe-er-ary"

Then they asked about M'deary and me. I told them gramma said that I called fingers "thingers" and when we were married, I had to inform M'deary that "plogged" wasn't actually a word. (He made me look it up to be sure) It is a smashing together of plugged and clogged. I still don't think he quite believes me.

I will have to rack my brains to think of more. It was one of the things that kept me going when they were so little-yet so frustrating; to enjoy the funny words that were derivatives of real words.

March of the Penguins

Ready!

Set!

Go!!!!

You may be thinking that we enjoyed a nice outing sledding, but you would be wrong. Clearly we are the penguins from the classic "March of the penguins" movie. Babs encouraged us all to turn our coats around to be able to better belly slide. Apparently she and the other school kids have been playing penguins every recess, complete with people assigned as the seal that chases them from hole to hole in the snow and baby penguins assigned to crouch under the parent penguins. It has been a real hit. I wish I had a picture of M'deary pretending to be the old penguin that has fallen over in the snow ready to die. The children very quickly disabused him of the notion that he could get out of playing by faking his own death and poked and prodded him up. What a stinker. In the end we both had fun participating in their imaginative play.