Camp Tramp

 They’ve been asking to do it ALL summer.

But it’s just been too hot.

Until tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I thought they wouldn’t even last until midnight.

But nothing woke them – not the cold, nor the dogs barking, nor the busy street behind us, nor the bright street lamps. Not even their dad’s snoring.

The rays of the morning sun touching their sleepy eyelids was the only thing that could stir them.

And they were in the house just before 6 a.m. so delighted with themselves.

First Day of School

Backdated from Oct 4, 2012

Evan has wanted to be a Garbage Man since he was in Preschool. I keep waiting for his aspirations to change. This year, I told him we’ll make a sign every year on the first day of school to see how his signature changes and all the different things he decides he wants to be when he grows up. He said, “But Mom, I’ll always want to be a garbage man, because that’s what I’m going to be.”

Zion is enrolled in two different preschools this year. In the afternoons, she will be attending the same Speech preschool that she went to last year, and in the mornings she will go to the elementary school’s preschool program. She has a Fall birthday, so she barely misses the cutoff for Kindergarten. But I think she will definitely still be academically stimulated this year!

  {In keeping with the theme of her older brother and sister’s statements, Taryn first said“tractor” when I asked her what she wanted to be. But because of her poor intelligibility, I responded, “Doctor?” And she changed her mind in agreement. I decided to keep that answer. We need at least one child with some ambition.} :)

Taryn has been so excited to start preschool this year and get to ride the bus just like her big sister. She is attending the same speech program that Zion is in, but Taryn gets to go in the mornings. She’s been talking about the bus for months and months. I thought she would actually be scared to get on it though, but when the doors opened, she bounded up the steps so quickly I could barely get a picture of her.

Little Red Hens

It's been a sad day at the Palmer house.
Our neglect and poor parenting have fostered 2 fatalities.
2 beautiful creatures have passed away
and 3 more were badly disoriented.

The scorching summer sun and lack of frequent watering sadly produced the loss of two of our lovely chickens.

It has been a somber day indeed.
It's hard to cope with the fact that your negligence murdered two innocent animals.
Makes me realize even more how fragile life is and the importance of due diligence.

The good news is that my children are all still alive and thriving,
though they are a little disturbed by the news that the chickens they thought were just sleeping
are now buried in the dirt in our backyard.

Farewell Peach. So long Henny (or maybe it was Penny or Jenny - the three all looked alike).
Thank you for the delicious eggs and playful running-about with my children.
You will be missed.

(and we promise to take better care of your friends)

Our 5 chickens during happier times

While it lasted

Well, it was nice while it lasted. But all good things must come to an end…

including Evan’s good behavior.

 

 

You can take a guess at what he did in class today that prompted

a phone call from the teacher,

the writing of an apology note when he got home,

and the writing out of sentences.

 

 

 

Sentences in which I just noticed he left off one of the most important words. :(

Clean Up

Phew!

The weekend is over.

The shed didn’t get finished like I had thought it would, and the grass wasn’t ready to walk on like I hoped it would be, but it’s over.

And It’s official – her name is Haven. When we first decided on it (with some trepidation) I told Greg he could always change it when he gave her a name and a blessing. [I’ve heard of that happening before. Crazy as that would be.]

But Haven it is.

Luckily the microphone was still working for that part of the blessing. Unfortunately, it cut out mid-way through and everyone had to adjust their hearing aids and lean forward to hear the rest of it.

Family Pictures are over… for now.

The luncheon was a success. Approximately 40 people in our little house. That’s the blessing of living near family again. :)

My back still aches from all the cookie-making and fruit and veggie chopping I did on Saturday. What can I say? – I have a bad back. Which only intensifies when there’s a baby in constant need of holding.

Luckily, my husband has strong hands.  Which I’m going to go put to use on this here aching back. Right. Now.

The dishes can wait.

Story of Us

Aren't old pictures great?! It's so funny to see how Young couples look in their old photos. In fact, Evan doesn't think the man in our wedding pictures is Daddy because he doesn't have grey hair. So I have to point out some of the salt-and-pepper flecks to assure him that, indeed it is his Daddy that Mommy is kissing.

Just like old pictures are great, so are old stories. So here's an old story. The story of us.

Our's begins long before we were born, and even before our parents were born. My grandpa Evan and Greg's grandpa Grant (both of whom our eldest, "Evan Grant", is named after) used to raise and break horses together. I don't know much of their story beyond that, other than it fostered a deep friendship between the Palmer and Porter families and when both of our fathers went to Mesa High together, that friendship continued.

Growing up, I always knew of the Palmer family. Their Dad worked with mine at the cabinet shop. They were cute, cowboy kids that would come over and feed their horses we sometimes boarded in our pasture. And their dad would take us horse-back riding in the Arizona desert now and again.

But after about the age of 10 I never saw much more of the Palmer clan.

Enter summer 2001. I was home from BYU for the summer ready to live up my care-free studiless months. I attended institute once a week with a friend of mine, where one evening I ran into a face I recognized from long ago.

"You're a Porter, right?"

"Yeah. Aren't you a Palmer?"

And so, it began.

We went on a couple dates at the end of the summer. I was, of course, infatuated with his grey hair, penetrating blue eyes, and infectious smile. But he never called me again, and I went back up to BYU with a different suitor on my mind.

From out-of-the-blue, a few weeks later, came a surprising email from grey Greg. I broke protocol and wrote him back immediately, and he double-broke it by replying the same day. That began our long-distance "online dating," which was soon followed by late-into-the-night phone conversations, and a much anticipated meeting in November. His trip up to Utah pretty much sealed the deal and I was head-over-heels in no time. (Despite an unexpected visit from that other aforementioned Arizona suitor whom I hadn't heard from in months and was stunned to see standing at my door as I readied myself for a date with Greg. Talk about a shocker! But that's a whole other story.)

Thanksgiving provided a trip down to Arizona where we each met the fams (for realsies). I don't think either families had ever been so excited at the prospect of welcoming the other to their circle. It was almost like it had all been arranged at birth.

During my finals week at BYU, Greg came up to visit and take me back home for Christmas. Strange thing was, he showed up in my Dad's truck! I found out why the next night, when after a picture-perfect evening with Greg at Temple Square, he told me that the truck wasn't the only thing my Dad had given him. He had also given his permission! Then he knelt down on one knee and asked me to be his wife. Yes!

So we loaded my belongings up in that-there truck and moved back home for a semester's break, full of wedding plans, a ceremony, and the beginning of a brand new life. One full of ups and downs and dips and turns, and tremendous highs because I get to navigate it all with my best friend at my side.

I was just reading in my journal a bit of what I wrote about Greg when we were still dating:

He is hilarious, good looking, smart, spiritual, chivalrous, romantic, sings well, and he's Humble.

I couldn't imagine a more wonderful and perfect guy except in my dreams.

We are so similar in our wishes and hopes and philosophies. I love that. We can talk for hours and hours.

He is definitely worth my very best efforts.

And still is.

Happy 9th Anniversary Love!

Hiatus

Time to just sit down and write.

There's been a lot on my mind. I just haven't written. And now I can't believe that September completely escaped me, and to tell you the truth, most of the summer.

I was spent. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. Just done. I didn't want to add anything else. Even if it was writing. Something I love to do. Something that frees me. I play the martyr a lot. Women are good at the. I'm good at that. And I didn't think I even deserved to be freed. Even by a few minutes of pleasurable happenings or necessary venting. I was down. That place I go to every now and then - isolating, empty, emotionless.

I've shied away from other people's blogs and lives and have been a terrible blog friend as well as real one. So for anyone that has been disappointed in me the last few months - I am sorry.

I started a handful of entries throughout these months that just never got completed. And I composed dozens more in my mind. None of which I can even remember now.

But I can't just jump right back in. It won't feel right without documenting at least a little of what's been going on the few months I've been on hiatus. The good and bad.

8 lb weight gain
jealousy - consuming jealousy
soaking up the sun
moving house or not
feeling numb
empty
nothing to give
wanting to go back to work
almost applying for a job then feeling selfish
demanding
family problems
my Dad, siblings
Mom's birthday
future baby planning
trying to enjoy the now
choirs
finding time
spread thin
Labor Day with family
activities
DI date resulting in strip battleship
using time wisely
fear of a better life
wiping bums all day long - nearly even wiped my husband's during a brief moment of rote insanity
improved hearing tests
bout of measles possibly
rescheduled MRI
auditioning for and making new choir {barely}
Brigham City Peach Days
realizing I need to change my attitude - about music, about callings, about talents
school starting - two kids gone
being spoiled
more piano students
Constitution choir performance
weight loss challenge
Fall drive up to Logan temple
piano students moving
inadequacies
wanting to be involved
elected Head Start Vice-Chair
feeling unintelligent
wanting to give and do more
running here there and everywhere
my oldest is only 4!
what is in store for the future...

---------------------------------------

These are obviously very brief descriptions as I try to get caught up, but if there is something anyone wants details on, I will gladly expound.

I've done enough procrastinating. Even if I don't feel like my life is worth documenting, my children's lives are. They deserve that.

Hopefully now I can begin again.

Home Sweet Home

Then------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Now

This week marks Four Years since we first moved into our house. A lot has changed in those four years:

• the color of our front door
• the number of bikes and strollers in the garage
• the lack of space in the garage
• the function of our then-unfinished basement
• the minivan parked out front
• the size of our bushes
• the number of bedrooms being used
• the color of paint on the walls
• the garden plot in the back
• the weeds covering the side driveway

And while it is by no means my dream home, I love this house. Probably one of my favorite features of the floor plan is the kitchen. I think I love it so much because it reminds me of my mom's kitchen in the home I grew up (sans the carpet). In fact, sometimes for a split second I often confuse her kitchen for mine - and I will think the cereal is in the cupboard to the right of the island, or the spice cabinet is to the right of the sink. But that was my childhood and not my present. That house was actually sold the same summer we bought ours. And craziest are those moments when I think the master bedroom is just off the kitchen and suddenly I'm in my laundry room. So trippy.

My Kitchen -----------------------------------------------------My Mom's Kitchen

It's been a good four years. I don't really know how many more there may or may not be, but I look forward to them. Home still feels far far away to me in beautiful Arizona.

But when I walk into this house I love being home.

How is this Possible?

One year already.

What a year it's been. So many changes. So many ups and downs. You've tried us, and strengthened us, and made our hearts soar.

I've never been one to put a label on a baby's personality. There is so much time, so much development yet to occur before speculation as to what a child might be like when they grow up can accurately be assessed. So I bite my tongue or chuckle silently when I hear other mom's brag about how smart their newborn is or that their 18 month old is most certainly going to be a teacher when she grows up. {smirk and sigh} Just let them be what they are - babies. That should be their label. Leave the judgments and the dreams of professions for the future. Enjoy the now.

Well, that's what I used to think. Until I met you.

And Taryn, while I don't know what you will be when you grow up, I do know that you can be anything you want. And you will succeed. For such a tiny little pumpkin, you are strong. So strong. And determined. And dare I say, defiant. And I am certain that those qualities will help you accomplish any goal you set for yourself.

And if I were to just put one tiny little label on you, then I will indulge myself with the thought that you will be a dancer. You can find the beat in the tiniest of sounds and your shoulders immediately sway and shimy. Be it a simple melody whistled unknowingly by a passerby, or the sound of your brother counting to 30 during time-out, or the hum of the roaring waters in the dishwasher, or the click and squeak of our rocking chair, you dance to it. And your sensitivity to rhythm has opened my eyes to the music that constantly surrounds us. The world is more beautiful because of it.

The world is more beautiful because of you.

Happy Birthday Taryn!

{your very lucky Mommy}

Arizona Mountains

We made it!

And despite the 12 hour drive;

a baby with diarrhea, a 102 degree temperature, and the worse bloody diaper rash to boot;

dozens of cuts, bruises, and bug bites;

2 flat tires;

nearly overflowing porta-potties and a daughter fascinated with what was in them;

freezing our noses off at night;

and speaking of noses - a two-year-old that woke up in her sleeping bag covered in blood from a bloody nose;

and speaking of sleeping bags - that same two-year-old puking all over hers and then again all over our camping chair;

and all of this leading up to Greg proudly finding, pulling, and displaying my very first

Grey Hair...

we had a Fabulous time!

(really we did, and I can't wait for our next family excursion. The kids did amazingly well considering the circumstances. Besides the lack of sleep, I enjoyed every minute of it - especially the 40 minute shower I took when I got home!)

Now I need to work on unpacking all of this... While washing all of this... and my kiddos do some of this...

Relief Society

[I was asked to share my feelings on "How the Relief Society Has Blessed My Life" tonight at Enrichment (excuse me... at our Relief Society Activity). I am a terrible terrible terrible public speaker. I would much rather sing than speak. But if I have to speak, then I have to write it all down. So, since it was already written down, I thought I'd share.]

When I think about how the Relief Society program has blessed my life, I immediately think about my first real exposure to it. My freshman year at BYU I lived in the dorms and was in a student ward consisting completely of other College Freshmen. For most of us, we had never been to a Relief Society meeting or activity, and suddenly we were asked to organize, conduct, teach, prepare, fellowship, and promote this society we knew very little about. It was an organization meant for our mothers, not us. But, as most girls like to do, we had fun putting on our mother’s shoes and role-playing. Our visiting teaching statistics were close to 100% every month! At first, I felt like I was just “pretending” to be a member of the Relief Society. But as my attendance and experiences with the program increased, so did my testimony of its divinely inspired organization. It was then I knew that I did not just attend Relief Society, but that I actually belonged to the Relief Society. That is what makes the Relief Society so special. It is something we all belong to - without having to pay dues, or subscribe to literature, or hold a card membership. As LDS women, we all belong to this wonderful society and it belongs to us.

The Relief Society is always there. No matter where we go. When my husband and I moved EIGHT times in the first five years of our marriage, I found comfort knowing that with each move, I would be able to latch onto a community of sisters who would encourage and sustain me when I needed it.

I feel extremely blessed to currently hold the calling of Compassionate Service Leader. It has been inspiring and humbling to watch so many of you drop what you are doing to come to the aid of a sister in need. Every call that I make, I do with apprehension - always worried that I will be told “no way” or “take a hike”. But I have been in awe of the willingness to sacrifice that every woman has that I have called. Whether it’s taking in meals, providing a phone call or a thoughtful note, or planning a wedding, the sisters in our ward have really stepped up. And it has been a wonderful blessing to witness.

But probably the way that the Relief Society has most blessed my life has been the role it has played in sustaining me since my mother unexpectedly passed away two years ago. I was left with so many questions, so many why’s, what now’s, how’s, and who do I’s. I was Lost. But in the Relief Society General Meeting that was broadcast soon after my mother’s passing, President Julie B. Beck told a story that Found me. She tells of a time in her young-adulthood when her parents, who had been her neighbors, announced that they would be moving to another part of the world. Since this was before the time of modern communication, she felt she would be especially deserted and alone. She says, “One day before my mother left, I sat weeping with her and asked, ‘Who will be my mother?’ Mother thought carefully, and with the Spirit and power of revelation which comes to women of this kind, she said to me, ‘If I never come back, if you never see me again, if I’m never able to teach you another thing, you tie yourself to Relief Society. Relief Society will be your mother.’”

And that is what the Relief Society has become to me. It is as dependable, loving, forgiving, comforting, inspiring, constant, knowledgeable, compassionate, understanding, and beautiful as my mother. I have truly been blessed to have the Relief Society in my life.

Tick Tock Tick Tock

I am an Arizonan.

The thing that Arizona has, besides the warming sun, clear skies, cool swimming pools, desertous mountains, citrus galore, higher speed limits, inspirational sunsets, and my heart, is stable clocks.


I want my one hour back!


At least now, the clocks I never changed five months ago finally reflect the right time.

Top 8 of 8 Years

8. Lying side by side in the grass and talking under the moonlight.

7. The family hike we took to the waterfall. Watching you trek-it with Zion on your shoulders and then bond with Evan under the falls. Contemplating how our family has grown and being so thrilled that you are my husband and, even better, the father of our children.

6. Both getting sick at Magic Mountain and finding comfort in the realization that at least we were growing old together.

5. Every time you hold me in your arms and we get to really talk with eachother. Those are precious moments and I relish in every minute.

4. Watching you carefully and lovingly hold each of our brand new little babes. There is an indescribable emotion that overwhelms me when I get to witness that moment. It is beautiful.

3. When you "broke the ice" with me on our wedding day. Still brings a smile to my face.

2. Painting the bedroom with you while both scantily clad. I loved watching you up on that ladder. It was so much fun, even though we were both too exhausted afterward to do anything about it.

1. Taking you to Babies R Us to announce the news of our growing family. The smile on your face was magical and the embrace we shared is still my most favorite hug of our marriage. It is a moment I will never forget

Happy Anniversary Love! Let's shoot to make these next EIGHT even better.

I LOVE YOU

I'm a Big Girl Now

Dancing Through Life

Once upon a time I wanted to be a dancer. I was eight and at that time in my life, was pretty darn cute, petite enough, and could get my body to do the majority of the things it tried. And I loved to dance. But then adolescence hit {a little earlier than it did my friends} and when my body started looking absolutely ridiculous in a uni-tard and my legs were not as flexible as they used to be, then I gave up on the dream and stopped dancing.

But in the cobwebbed corners of my mind, dancing was still a party of my makeup.

I brushed off some of those cobwebs today while attending my first Zumba session. It was great. And though my hair was completely soaked with sweat afterwards, it didn't feel like a work out at all. It was so much fun.

I'm sure I looked just as awkward {who am I kidding - more awkward} as I ever did during those pubescent years, but I loved it. The only part I didn't love was the shakin' of my booty when I wasn't doin' the "booty shake". :)

But I remembered that I am coordinated and can pick up on choreography pretty quickly. Don't get me wrong - I'm no pro. And would never profess to being a good dancer. But I was pleased with myself, especially when I would look at the other girls {fit and trim as can be} who struggled to do the Zumba steps after months of attending the class, and I got the technique down in a few seconds. Is it okay to be proud of that? Come on - I'm an overweight mother of three. Yes! {dog-gone-it} I am proud.

And as I was swinging my hips to the Latin rhythm, I decided on a new dancing dream of mine. To take a ballroom class with my husband.

So here's the plan...

I want to look as least comical as possible when I do it. So my intention is to get down to my goal weight, and then enroll. And for some reason I'm giddy as a school girl just thinking about it.

The hardest part of the plan? Convincing my anti-dance husband to be my partner. :)

Holiday HighLights

• Surprise Surprise - On facebook before Christmas, I complained that Greg keeps figuring out my surprise gifts for him. One he found accidentally, three he spoiled, one he ended up buying for himself before Christmas - so frustrating. By the time Christmas morning rolled around I had only one trick left up my sleeve. Greg had asked for a car radio because his "new" used Corolla didn't have a working one. So he knew I was getting him a stereo of some kind. No surprise there. But what he didn't know was that I arranged to have it installed by a neighbor. After the installation, my neighbor gave me the original radio box back that had been replaced. I decided to pull a prank on Greg. I wrapped that radio up in a box full of packing peanuts. After all the presents were opened, I saved that one as the grand finale. He knew what it was going to be, so I hammed it up. As he cut the tape off the box seams I said, "I got it used on ebay, so I really hope all the pieces you need are there. " He kept a stoic face as he pushed away the peanuts. "There's no faceplate," he commented. "You're kidding!? I can't believe it." But I'm not a very good liar. Beneath the peanuts I had hid his car keys. I grabbed them out and exclaimed, "Just kidding!" with a HUGE smile on my face. We ran out in the snow together with our pajamas and sandals on. He was thrilled. And I was relieved to have had one surprise be just that - a surprise.


• Paycheck for Santa - Evan "weeuh weeuh weeuh want[ed] a Teo Twax for Kissus." {Translation - really wanted a Geo Trax for Christmas} He made this request last month and daily since then. When the wish was originally made we unfortunately had to tell him that Santa wouldn't have enough money to bring him a Geo Trax. He was saddened, but seemed to understand. It's an answer he's become accustomed to hearing lately. But after finding a good deal on ebay, Santa and Mrs. Claus became very anxious and excited every time Evan mentioned his one Christmas request. The night before Christmas he asked, "Does Santa have enough money for a GeoTrax yet?" We gave a shrug in response. Then he pulled out the 15 coins he had collected throughout the day and put them on the counter. "Is this enough money for Santa?" So precious. The next morning, Santa left him a note thanking him for the money but asking Evan to put it in his mission bank instead. It was a very touching moment for us to witness Evan's sensitivity and generosity. Of course, the underlying irony of it all is that by helping Santa he was helping himself. But "helping" nonetheless, reflects a glimmer of the Christmas spirit.


• Great and Spacious - Santa granted me my wish this Christmas as well. I got an additional wall of shelves in my pantry. Now I love opening the pantry door and just staring at the space and order reflecting before my eyes. So great!


• Bedroom reclamation - a major highlight was the reclaiming of our bedroom. We finally got a toddler bed for Zion and moved Taryn into the baby crib. The sisters are sharing a room and Greg and I no longer have a stow away in ours.
  
• In Excelsis Deo! - By far the greatest part of Christmas day was one that was least expected. Tara and I practiced singing "Mary's Lullaby", with Greg accompanying on the guitar, to sing for my grandparents on speaker phone. Singing is something we love doing together. Afterward, it was suggested that we walk next door to Grandma Gloria's house. I don't know Grandma Gloria. But she is an elderly woman confined to her bed, all alone in her big house.

Singing for the elderly is something I grew up doing through years of Christmas caroling at nursing homes and choir service projects. To me, it was always a little creepy; a good creepy. But it has been years since I was a caroling youth.

We gave a knock on the door and then let ourselves in. We followed her welcoming voice to the back bedroom where she lay on her bed. She looked beautiful. Though lying in a simple nightgown beneath blankets, her face was dolled up with rosy cheeks and pink lips. So cheery and inviting. Weak and frail, yet a snapshot of Grandma perfection.

After an introduction and an exchange of pleasantries, we began our performance. It was magical. I watched her eyes glow and gloss. After each verse, she would begin to say how lovely it was, but then we would start to sing again and cut her compliment short. By the time the final chord was strummed, I was beaming. Tears filled her eyes and with a broken voice she said, "Thank you, thank you. You don't know how much this means to me." And though the words of gratitude were escaping her lips, I couldn't help but want to echo them back.

We were the ones there to perform an act of service. But she was the one serving me. {Again, that's one of the funny things about service}. She reminded me what Christmas is all about. At that moment it was about lifting each other's spirits. We did it through a verse of song and she did it with her lovely rosy cheeks and grateful praises.

It was real Christmas Magic