Hey! Look at Me!

Do I look like a new secretary? That's because I am!

Hooray for new jobs, new beginnings, and challenges! (Wish me luck.)

A Metaphor, I Think

The endowment session in the Salt Lake temple is done live, rather than with a film. I love going to the Salt Lake temple because I love the moving around, the personalities of the temple workers, the fact that the lights stay on, etc.

Yesterday our session was as full as it could be. There were literally a hundred or more people there, most of whom had been to the temple before, probably many times. And one of the ordinance workers did something wrong.

I thought, "Isn't it supposed to be opposite of that?" But I followed the leader, like a pretty little white sheep. And no one else said anything, either.

Until another ordinance worker, a woman, walked quietly over to her husband (a third ordinance worker). She whispered quietly in his ear. And he walked over to the first ordinance worker and whispered in his ear, who flushed. Then humbly he walked back to the front of the room and acknowledged that he had made a mistake which needed to be corrected. And he led us all through that section of the endowment again.

And it was beautiful. And calm. And OK.

I love the temple!

Filling in the Holes

I assume that you are like me, and you have to be reminded again and again; and sometimes you do well and other times, not so well. At whatever.

About a week ago I picked up my scriptures. I opened them. I read them. By choice. Another choice I made was NOT to read 1 Nephi again. It's not that I don't love Nephi, but every time I get bogged down in 2 Nephi I get discouraged and then I miss out on all the rest of the Book of Mormon.

This week I finished Moroni, and I am halfway through Ether.

I'm trying not to JUST read, even though that's really what I'm doing. But I'm getting something out of my reading, too.

And it feels like someone or something just filled in a little hole in me. Maybe it's a big hole. But it feels good to have something filling it.

Yesterday Spencer and I went to the Salt Lake Temple, where our neighbor and ward member, Mary Kay, was receiving her endowment. We counted about 31 people there from our ward. And it felt like this must be what heaven feels like--to see so many people we love.

And that filled in a hole, too. Holes I didn't even realize I had; but holes, nonetheless.

Is It May Yet?

I am freezing. To death. My Cozy Legs (also known as an "under-the-desk-space-heater-thingie") is on high. My legs and feet are wrapped in a (very cute) fleece blanket. My sweater is on. My hair is long and hanging around my neck.

And as for Mr. Groundhog's prognostications today? Here is what Donna Henes (whoever she is) at the Huffington Post (wherever that is) had to say:

OK. Now pay attention. This is how it works: if the groundhog sees his shadow, it means that there are still six more weeks of winter. If he doesn't see his shadow, it means that spring is only six weeks away.

Huh?

There are always six more weeks of winter. Spring is always six weeks away. That is why we mark the day in the first place. To remind us that winter is half over. Despite whatever prognostication the groundhog might make, spring is never early, never late. Spring always starts exactly on time -- on the Vernal Equinox six weeks hence. But first we have to finish winter.

I hate Donna Henes. Call me when it's spring.

How to Justify New Flooring -or- Damn Dog!

Tonight was our night to celebrate Landon's birthday since Briana and Spencer aren't home on weeknights. We left for a movie. When we came home we found that the doofus had shut herself into the downstairs bathroom. This is what we came home to:



What you are witnessing is the toilet paper drawer, now empty of its contents. The toothpaste is also emptied of its contents, as are the shampoo bottle and the bottle of hair gel. Additionally, the molding around the door is chewed up and the carpet and pad have been destroyed.

Spencer did wonders in making the bathroom at least usable. But the carpet is definitely ruined. I guess this helps us justify purchasing new flooring for this room. *sigh*

Spotlight On...

Landon Spencer Hill is our "baby." When he was little he would always ask me if we could have another baby because he didn't like to be the youngest. I told him that SOMEONE had to be the baby. And we're awfully glad to have our Rubber Bando in our family!

Today our "baby" is officially a teenager!

Landon has brought me an amazing amount of joy. He was my best PTA buddy for two years while I did nothing but school work. He may hold the record for most time spent in preschool--he attended all three of my classes when he was 4, and attended my afternoon classes after he got out of kindergarten when he was 5. Then during off-track times he loved to come to preschool with me.

Lando is a ham! He loves to be the center of attention. We love how confident and fearless he is. Except when he was three and wanted to jump off the roof--I didn't love that so much. He has never been afraid to ask questions when he needed clarification, and that is admirable.

Landon is one of the most happy people I've ever met. He was practically born with a smile on his face. His smile is infectious, and he genuinely finds joy in life. If the joy is at his sister's or brother's expense, all the better. :) Luckily he has Ashtyn wrapped around his little finger, and she protects him and scolds him, and things get better.

Landon wants nothing more than to be included with his older brother and sisters. As he is growing we are seeing him fit in more and more. When he was still in his baby carseat we all got loaded into the van. Spencer said, "Briana, you buckled?" "Yes." "Taylor, you buckled?" "Yes." "Ashtyn, you buckled?" "Yes." "Landon, you buckled?" And out of that tiny seat came a little "Yes." We turned around to find him just grinning in that little seat. He was so proud of himself for answering. We laughed and laughed.

Our newest teenager is a blessing to us!

Spotlight On...

Taylor Jon Hill was born at 11:53 p.m. on Friday, January 22, 1993. I had been laboring all day, but I was determined that, after 6 months on the market, our house was going to be sold at that 4:00 p.m. appointment! So I laid around all day, we sold the house, I ate a footlong Subway, and then we headed to the hospital. I was so grateful that Taylor graced us with his presence BEFORE January 23rd! He weighed in at 8 pounds 1 ounce, and in spite of his mother being stoned for the first few hours of his life, he thrived.

Briana, his 2-year-old sister, called him Tayo Jean (pronounced in the french way--"zhahn"), and Tayo-Jonny he became! We have had to promise to only call him that in private, though, since he doesn't want his friends to tease him for life or longer.

Our T has many talents. He is very respectful; he's confident; he has a lot of raw music ability (which is being honed in high school). He understands computers--he's been my go-to guy since he was about 8 years old! He worked hard to play lacrosse well. He's a deep thinker. He's an awesome writer, including fiction and poetry. He keeps friends for a long time.

When Tay was little, he always snuggled with a blankie. Or an article of clothing. Whatever he could find was fine. It made me a little gaggy when he chose dirty underwear from the hamper! Once he brought his pillow into the kitchen, where I was standing at the sink doing dishes. It was after church, and I was still in my dress and hose. He laid on the pillow behind my feet, and rubbed my nylon-clad legs. I had to step carefully so as not to squish our sleeping little man.

For a year or so (ya know, 6th or 7th grade) Taylor didn't do much snuggling with us any more. After that, though, he started draping on us--arms around the shoulders, head in the lap, etc. Sometimes it was a slight invasion of space, but for the most part I loved that we finally had our boy back in our arms (so to speak). Now he is taller than any of us, so when he puts his arm around me, I can lay my head on his shoulder. (I'm only allowed to do this in private, too, but that's OK.) I love snuggling with this boy-man!

Taylor is 17 years old. He is finishing his junior year of high school. In another two years (yikes!) we will be sending him on a mission. He's a fabulous young man, and I can hardly wait to watch him become the man I know he can be!

Random Joy

Our oldest son turned 17 on Friday. We celebrate on Saturday morning by having breakfast together at Virg's (thanks for the referral, Giffords!). It was yummy, and we did a lot of laughing. Taylor had several friends over on Friday night. If the noise level was any indication, they had a great time. They're really good kids.

Saturday afternoon, 5 of us (minus Bri, who went to Logan for the day) went to see "Extraordinary _______" with Harrison Ford and Brendan Fraser. Good flick. We all celebrated that it did NOT have a 70's ending. Have you ever noticed how, in the 70's, all the movies had crappy endings?

Our youngest son turns 13 tomorrow. That means all of our children are teenagers, and I can hardly believe how quickly the time has flown by. We will probably celebrate Landon's birthday this Saturday (presents tomorrow, though). He wants to go to lunch and a movie, I think. He originally said he wanted to see The Chipmunks Squeakquel. We told him we didn't love him that much. Now I think he's leaning toward Tooth Fairy, which may not be a big improvement. :)

Did you know that for Christmas I got flatware service for 16 plus serving utinsels? It is so cool to open the drawer, find enough silverware to set an entire meal, and have them all match. Considering what so many other people DON'T have, this makes me feel bratty. It also makes me feel very happy. I can live with that.

Andrew is getting married in March, and there is a bridal shower for Carissa on Saturday. Welcome to the family, Carissa! (Jax and Jess, will we see you, maybe?)

One of my work friends has been offered a fabulous position, still with the Church. She is capable, and I think this job will be a perfect fit for her. I hope she takes it!

The sky was kinda blue today. Lovely!

On Being A Mean Mom

Someone asked me today if I could give her lessons on how to be a mean mom. Yeah, like anybody really wants lessons. But she insists she does (because she loves our children). Here are some thoughts:

I had the meanest mom in the world. Really. She holds the title undisputedly. My mom had/has an absolute true north setting on morality (right vs. wrong). So I had the best example ever.

The term "mean mom" is synonymous with "Mother who loves her children." That means that I am not afraid to not be their pal and just be their mother--a mother who says no, quite often; a mother who tries to explain why, even when the answer is just, "Because I said so!"; a mother who expects her children to learn, grow, participate, and be responsible for items and tasks.

The term "mom" is not synonymous with "maid." There are some things that you have to let go, and others that are important to stress. But children need to know from the time they are very small that being part of a family has responsibility attached to it.

Children need to be allowed to make their own choices as much as possible. Let them dress themselves, even when they look like they've dressed themselves. But give them the consequences. When Briana was little she would not allow me to comb her hair. So I cut the front part off so it wouldn't be in her face. She dies a little now each time she sees pictures of herself at that time with what she calls her mullet haircut. OK, it was kind of a mullet. She tries to blame me, but I feel no guilt. If she had let me comb her hair, this would be a non-issue. As they get older, of course, the choices become more difficult, and so do the consequences. But if they have learned how to make choices while they are still small choices, they do much better at the larger choices.

Children need to know what is expected of them. You cannot mandate every action of every day. They need to be taught what it means to do a task thoroughly and correctly. They need to know what you believe is appropriate behavior. And they need to know that you expect excellence from them. They also need to be told that they are excellent, even when (and maybe ESPECIALLY when) they aren't being so great. I can't count how many times I've said, "You are a good boy (or girl)." I want them to expect that they are good and that I know they are good. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Children need to know they are loved and valued. It's important to show your love. I also think it's very important to verbally express your love, every single day. Hitting or hurting a child NEVER shows your love. Ever. Ideally, these things should not ever be used as a form of discipline. "Discipline" is not synonymous with "hurt." I do believe in touch, however. Children should be lovingly and appropriately touched every single day.

Children should never be allowed to undermine one of their parents. The greatest gift you can ever give your child is your love and respect for his or her other parent. I believe this is true, even if you are no longer with the other parent. Part of good parenting is not undermining your children's parents. My allegiance is to Spencer, and our children know it. There have been times when I've had to speak to Spencer privately about something I felt he did badly or wrong. There have been even more times when he's had to do that to me. But NEVER in front of our children. If I was wrong, I want to be the one to rectify it with our children and ask their forgiveness. I want to give their dad the same courtesy. I believe this only strengthens their respect for us. It also lessens the burden that eventually comes to us all when we realize that our parents are not perfect (who knew?).

I believe every family should laugh as much as they possibly can. I'm not talking about mocking each other or other people. I'm just talking about finding the humor, the goodness, and the joy in every day. I wasn't so good at this when our children were very small. I'm very good at it now (which just goes to show that there is always time to learn). But I don't believe parents should laugh at every "cute" thing their child does, because naughty isn't cute!

I'm no expert, and our children aren't perfect. How could they be, with such an imperfect mother? But I find and have found joy in our children every single day. I pray that one day (in the not-too-distant future) I will be able to say that our beloved grandchildren have very mean parents!

What Worked. What Didn't Work. Part 2

What worked:
Spencer found my pedometer in our bedroom. Woot! (Note to self: find a way to make it more stable on my hip.)

What didn't work:
I didn't walk 10,000 steps yesterday. It felt like I did, though.