Last December 21st I got the best early Christmas present I've ever gotten.  Lucky me, it is the gift that keeps on giving.  On the 21st, our sweet little love turned One!  Can you believe it?  I'm so happy/sad.  Happy that we have such a wonderful little son.  Sad that time insists on flying by.

Jason was a little tired by the time we got to cake.  Tired and slightly worried about the giant cake we kept shoving in his face.  The rest of us were having a great time, however.  :)

(By the way, I added a few videos on this post.  Blogger was struggling to accept them, so I had to use photo bucket.  If you want to see the video big enough to actually see who is in it, you should press on the full screen button that looks like a square.  Otherwise, enjoy the micro-videos.)

Here we have our big boy with his brand new build a bear.  I got each of the kids their bears when they were about 1 year old also.  The kids named Jason's bear, "Wilson".  He has red hearing aids.  (isn't that cute? Jason like to eat Wilson's hearing aids almost as much as his own. Pill.)

On Christmas Eve, Jason took a grand total of 7 steps over to Lindi.  We didn't get that one, but the we filmed the next attempt.  It was as many steps, but just as cute.

And here is a little clip of big-boy Jason walking one-handed with daddy. This is all hard work for someone so small, but I think he's up to it. (again, these videos are seriously miniature. Full screen them or you will give yourself a headache trying to stare at them.)

Christmas music is blaring behind me.  The kids and Robert are gathered around the Christmas tree playing Monopoly (I graciously bowed out since it is really just a 4 person game.  I won't mention that it is my absolutely least favorite game on this good green earth.  It just goes on FOREVER!)  So we are ready for Christmas.

But WAIT!  I never posted anything up from Thanksgiving!  How embarrassing.  Well, we still have two days before Santa comes and so I'll just sneak this little post in today.

Thanksgiving was so much fun.  Mom and Dad Jones and Tonnette came to spend the holiday with us.  Lindi wasn't feeling well, which was very sad,  but I was secretly very pleased to have everyone staying at our house.  Don't tell on me.  :)  And it was fun.  We got to have big breakfasts in the morning and play games at night.  During the day we were able to go over and spend time with Nathan and Lindi when she was feeling up to it and we were able to give her some space when she wasn't.  And of course, there was the cooking.  I cannot tell you how much better cooking a Thanksgiving meal is when Grandma and Grandpa keep the kids busy.  Especially Jason.  There were so many helpers around that things happened even when I wasn't looking.  Dishes would be washed.  Children fed.  It was like Christmas.  (No. No. No.  Not Christmas....not yet.)  

One day we tried to go to Hoover Dam, which is what every other family in Nevada was trying to do at the same time and so we decided to hike around a random hill instead.  It was all the same to the kids!

On Thanksgiving day we all got together at Nathan's and ate and ate!  I still have to get the recipe of homemade stuffing that Lindi made.  I think that is the first time I've ever eaten stuffing that wasn't from a box.  Delicious!  It was so much fun to get everyone together.  So much fun, that I failed to take many pictures.  Well.  Actually.  I only took one.  *gasp!*  I know.  So very unlike me.  To make things worse, it wasn't the most wonderful picture, but here it is nonetheless.

Despite the twins and Anna being whited out by the sun...doesn't that all look very yummy?  It was.   Good food.  Good company.  That makes for the best kind of Thanksgiving, if you ask me.  A big thank you to Mom, Dad and Tonnette for making the trip down.

One morning Nathan got Robert, Dad and Tonnette to go shooting with him.  It looks like they enjoyed themselves.  A lot.

Beside all the fun we were having for our Thanksgiving crew, we found out how cool it is to be living in-between Utah and California.  It turned out that Jim and Steph were going to CA form UT to Stephanie's Dad's house for Thanksgiving and Spencer and Lisa were going to Mom's house in Payson from San Diego for their Thanksgiving.  So before Thanksgiving, both families criss-crossed each other and stayed one night at our house to cut their trip in half.  They missed each other by a couple of days, but on their return trip, both families were here the same night.  That meant that we had Mom and Dad Jones, (Tonnette had left the day before) Jim, Steph, Yve, Oliver, Spencer, Lisa, Myles and Ellie here for one night.  I realized how much fun being a half-way house is.  

Here are their pictures all mixed together from both mini-visits.

Alaina and Ellie

Alaina and Yve

Jimmy was here for his Birthday so Rob made him a gigantic pancake to eat with a weird little candle we found.  Jim was a sport and somehow ate the whole thing (even though I told him he din't have to.)

Austin, Myles, Ethan.

We spent the morning before Spence went on to Utah at the park.

And the boys love Uncle Spencer.  I don't know why.  It's a mystery.

Overall, the before, Thanksgiving itself, and the after was all full of family and laughter.  It made me even more Thankful for my entire extended family.  

Whew.  We made it.  Now, let Christmas come!

Last Friday, in Newtown, Connecticut, Adam Lanza walked onto Sandy Hook Elementary and started shooting.  He killed 20 children ages 6 & 7 and 6 adults.  This isn't breaking news, anymore.  Everyone knows about it.  Coverage has been relentless over the last 5 days.  You have probably read more than you care to about the subject.  So forgive me, if I take a few minutes to write down a few of my thoughts.

I started scouring articles online the moment I heard of the tragedy.  It was so horrific that I could hardly believe the words that I read.  Every article I read made me cry.  I cried for the insanity of it.  I cried for the grief that the families were going through.  I cried looking at the pictures of the sweet babies who were lost. I cried at the very thought of something so unforgivable happening to my own little loves. The last time I remember feeling so emotionally connected with something that happened to strangers was on 9/11.

Still, I read on.

In this day of instant information, you can watch, minute by minute, a tragedy play out.  You and I, who live on the other side of the United States, found out the names of the victims almost as soon as their own parents did.  Perhaps that plays a part into how deeply the whole dark event affected me.  Raw emotion seemed to seethe out of each report.  In the live news clips, not even the reporters seemed to be able to keep any distance between themselves and the senselessness.

Still, after each article, I was able to wipe off my tears from the computer, stand up and get back to whatever I happened to be in the middle of.  Making dinner.  Listening to Christmas music with the kids.  Reading a few more chapters of Fablehaven at the dinner table.  We'd laugh, go shopping,  get our homework out and we'd chide our children.

It worries me that I can live with such a stark dichotomy of emotions.  I feel so much sorrow and empathy for the ones affected, however, a click later, I am joking around with my kids.  It is almost like I'm reading a very sad novel that I can put down whenever I feel like it.

I feel ashamed at admitting this.  How is it that I can have such a disconnect between these two realities.  And if I'm admitting my most secret thoughts, I should also add that I also feel relieved that it wasn't me.  Relieved that it happened across the United States and not in my backyard.  (Our school actually is quite literally in our backyard.)   How horrible it is to say, "Thank goodness it's not me." while so many are crying, "Why me!"  But, in a hushed whisper, I say it.

I know it is important to take as much away from the experience as I can.  I'm positive that these poor, bereft parents would never wish the same to happen to anyone else.  I can imagine, however that they want us to take each moment we are gifted and hold it up as our most valued possession.  As indeed it is.

Every day, I've hugged my children a little closer to me.  I've made them a few more cups of hot chocolate and baked a little bit more than my usual.  Enjoying my family just a little bit more intensely doesn't change anything.  The news keeps filtering in.  Everyday 3 or 4 more funerals are being held.  3 or 4 tiny little caskets are being lowered into the ground.  Voices from around the world are clamoring to find a reason any of this happened.  Of course, there is no reason.  Not a reason that would make any sense to a sane mind.

And today I felt something even a little more scary than before.  I felt like not reading the news today.  I  didn't care to dwell on the grief and sadness that is never going to end for so many families and an entire community.  Instead, I felt like taking a shower and cleaning my kitchen.  How easily I have begun to move on.  I still feel sad when I think of it, but Christmas it here and I have presents to wrap and errands to run.

I managed to travel from being overly emotionally invested to passively sad in a terrifyingly short amount of time.   As the horror of this calamity starts to fade into the back of my mind, I hope that I keep, at least, a sharp sense of how quickly our time can be cut short.  Even if nothing ever befalls any of my children,  (please, please, let this be so) I know that this small time of wonder and innocence already passes too quickly.

This Christmas, I will send my prayers and heart out to the families who will have untouched presents under their Christmas trees.  I'm not sure how else to honor the lives of those sweet, tiny, strangers that flashed into my life through a series of computer images.  I feel compelled to try.  I'll try hard to be a better person and a better mother.  I'll work at getting frustrated less and appreciating more.  I'll love my family just a little more fiercely.

Now I'm looking at another computer image; one of my four smiling, beautiful children and very wonderful husband, and I wish I could capture, the happiness that each one of those faces have brought into my life.  (Imagine, the collection of laughs and giggles we could collect, flitting around like fireflies in a mason jar)

No matter what future lays in wait for me and my loved ones, I hope that I can always remember all of the joy that I have been given in my lifetime.

To all my friends and family.  I love you.  I'm grateful for your grace and for the friendship and love you have always offered to me and my little family.  I am thankful that my heart is full of experiences from every turn and challenge I ever had, where someone has reached out and touched my life. 

For this Christmas and for all the Christmases to come, I wish you happiness, joy and peace.  

Merry Christmas

Peek-a-boo!

Here is a little blog post dedicated to sweet little Jason.  He has been growing up so fast and is finally starting to pick up on some sign language.

Here he is signing "more."

At 11 months, he is still on the very edge of of being able to walk.  He did take his official first steps about a week ago, but has not been very interested in doing any more.

He still has such a sweet, peaceful little countenance; he is quick to smile and loves to have his brothers and sister make him laugh.  He still isn't extremely vocal, although he can hold his own when he does get into a chatty mood.  (He's also pretty proficient at waggling his tongue back and forth...see?)

I have been taking the older kids to a sign language class once a week and I feel like it is a good fit for all of us.  The big topic on my mind lately is what to do once Jason gets a little more sign vocabulary under his belt.  I want him to learn ASL.  It is the most commonly used way to communicate and it is a wonderfully expressive language.  The problem is, when you only teach ASL, the kids don't learn how to read or write as well.  ASL does not use articles and it will often use the same sign for many different meanings or tenses of words (for example, I believe the word much and many are the same...which is fine until you have to differentiate in writing.)  The other option is using Signed English which signs out every single word.  It uses English grammar and is quite different than ASL.  The woman teaching the class was very good at not endorsing one method over the other, but she did tell me that she was an interpreter for a few high school students who weren't able to pass the proficiency test to graduate high school because they were only taught ASL and couldn't read or write at level.

Anyway, it has just been on my mind.  I know very well that I don't need to jump the gun yet.  We need to monitor Jason's hearing and speech ability as well as just enjoy these first few months of emerging communication.  Still.  I'm an English Major.  I can't help but be a little obsessed regarding language.  :)

Just look at those chubby cheeks!

 What we do know is that Jason is a happy little guy.  Unless, of course, he is being forced to eat what used to be his very favorite meal.  How is this for starting to show his own opinion?

I love questions.  I really do.  I love it when my kids ask me things so I can give them all the right answers.  "4 x 5 is 20." "Your hair is tangled like a rat's nest because you haven't showered for three days. "You put your helmet by the fridge."   "I told you to brush your teeth because I love you and because no one likes talking to someone whose teeth are black and yellow and falling out."  (I admit it, I love going to the extreme!)  These are all questions that are easily answered.  All have a definite correct response.  And all of them keep me perched up on my comfy pedestal as the resident know-it-all.  That is, until they ask me a question that pushes me off the ledge.  You'd think, by now, that I'd be use to the bumpy, bumbling, clumsy fall back to reality; such a common occurrence.  Shockingly, it catches me off guard every time.  As was the case, yet again, this weekend.  It only took two very simple little questions to send me tumbling down.  I'm such a light-weight, know-it-all.

The first was one I should have expected.  I mean.  I've had this question already once before, and I blew it then.  Repetition, apparently, has no real affect on me.  So.  The setting: There's Ethan, not going to bed.  As usual.  He's going downstairs.  He's eating.  He's singing in his room.  He's reading.  He's not going to bed.  There's me.  Frustrated.  Tired.  Ready to plop on my bed and veg. in front of the ol' boob tube.  Instead, I find myself following my red-headed night-owl around the house.  To make things worse, he's in a talky talky mood.  I see my zoning-out time diminishing before my eyes, which, I'm embarrassed to admit, is quite annoying to me.  Finally, (I'm praying) I walk him back up to his room.  I lay him down.  I put the blanket over him and for, what probably was my 5th time that hour, I say goodnight.  "But Mom!  I want to ask you something."  Naturally.  Well, I am drawn in.  Boob tube or not...I'm a sucker for a good question.  "Yes.  Go on, child."  "No.  A real question.  You have to come here over by me."  Ah.  Interesting.  I'm too tired to argue, so I go over and sit down.  (I might be the resident question answerer, but Ethan is the resident master-of-the-universe and I was too tired to resist or chide his power of command.)
Ethan continues, "I have a real question and I want the truth.  ***pause for dramatic effect****  The real truth."  So intense!  (the intensity, in itself, isn't so unusual, but curious for sure.)  "Mom.  Is Santa a real person."  He manages to entrance me in one of his unblinking stares. where somewhere in my brain I'm wondering if he can actually read my thoughts.  The other part of my brain is racing furiously for the good answer.   The answer I promised myself I would use if I ever had to answer this question again.   That's right.  I've had this very question asked to me once already.
About 4 years ago, Austin popped the ol' Santa question, and I was unable to come up with an  appropriate lie fast enough.  It seems I am powerless against all my children's mind control tricks.  Thankfully, he chose to disregard my cynicism and happily fell back into belief of the Jolly old man.
You'd think that by now, I would have thought up some good getting-around-the-question answers about the Spirit of Christmas etc, etc.  Two things made this all different, however.  For one.  Ethan is nine years old.  In my book, that is about the right time to know.  And secondly, I can't tell you how many times I've had very serious, very long talks about telling this truth this week.  (And last week, and the week before that and most likely all the the previous weeks this entire year.  It's a big subject around these parts.)  So, I was bound by The Stare and a years worth of my own hot air, to blurt out the truth.  Curses! I blurted it out.  "No.  Santa's not real."  There.  See?  I even wrote it down in black and white for the entire world to see.  Bad, bad mommy!  Dream-wrecker.  Magic-killer.  I stomp on the holiday spirit with my callous words.  But, there you have it.  It was said.
Ethan, for his part, looked a little relieved.  "I knew it.  Some kid at school was saying he was real, but I don't believe it."  Finally, free from Ethan's hypnotic stare, a little sense came back to me and I started backpedaling like crazy.  The spirit of Christmas is real.....  The magic of Christmas is real.....  It's fun to believe in Santa.....   Please, don't tell the twins.....  Please don't correct the kids at school who still believe.....  On and on I went, trying to preserve what shreds of Christmas Magic I could gather back up.  But the look in his eyes screamed out, "Too late!  Too late!"    So, I kissed him goodnight (again) and slowly trudged back to my room.  All thoughts of zoning out were forgotten.  As I sat on my bed, pouting, I heard little footsteps coming down the hall.
Maybe he still wants to believe in it all (that's what Austin had said.)  Maybe there was a little hope.  Ethan comes in, "How about the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy?!"  I was defeated.  "No.  They aren't real either."  "HA!  I knew it!"  Half-heartedly I added, "Don't tell the twins..."  "Yeah, yeah.  I knew it, though!"  (It's been over twelve hours, I'm pretty sure Ethan has never kept a secret that long, yet.  Farewell all magical creatures!  A new, bleak dawn of magic-less child raising flashed before my eyes.)
Contrary to my sad foreboding feelings, Ethan had become quite giddy in his new found knowledge. "They are all just fairy-tales then.  That's what I thought."   His eye's brightened once more, as he gleefully asked, "And the Queen of England?"  Now.  I don't know what he has against that grand old lady, but this isn't the first time he's doubted her existence.  "No.  She's quite real."  "Really?  I never think that she is."  He turned around, not quite convinced, but satisfied, nonetheless.  I walked him back to bed.  Yet again.  From behind,  I noticed how tall he's gotten.  He's so lanky and tries hard to act so mature sometimes.  I could tell that a teenage-Ethan was crammed inside that body of his, toeing the line, daring to cross it and take over my baby.  Once he got back in bed, and I put the covers back over him, he mumbled, "So no one is real." Thankfully, that question I had an answer for.  "Well, Heavenly Father is.  And Jesus, too."  "Oh."  he shook his red hair out of his eyes, and I could see that his sweet face had softened, "Of course they are real.  I know that!"   And just like that, he turned, magically, back into a little child.  I guess I wasn't completely truthful after all.  There still is some magic to be found, it is just never where you expect to find it.

So.  You thought I was done?  Nope.  If you recall, I started this novelette out by mentioning two questions.  The second one that threw me for a loop was ask by little Lane.  I know you aren't surprised.  I wasn't either.  I was having a nice little conversation with the kids while I was cooking dinner.  We were talking about some of the charities that I was looking into having the kids volunteer for this Christmas.  One of those opportunities happens to be at a home for foster kids before they can get placed into a foster home.  From there we started talking about choices.  Good choices and bad choices that teenagers sometimes make.  As the time passed, the conversation flowed on, the way they always do, taking turns and corners around places you'd least expect it to go.  Alaina started talking about who the foster kids' parents were.  I mentioned that some of them were very young when they had kids, so they didn't really have the ability to make great parenting choices.  "Why did they have kids so young?" she pressed.  "Poor choices."  My stock answer.  Then came the clincher.  "So, was Ethan born because of a poor choice?"  Yikes!  My answer came out a bit jilted.  "Uh.  Well.  Yes.  I guess his birth Mom made a few poor choices.  She was too young to make those choices.   So, uh, that is why she wasn't able to keep him.  So then she made a really great choice and we were able to adopt him."  How's that for a mouthful of words?  Alaina not the kind to let someone off easy.  Ever.  Unsatisfied with my mumbo-jumbo, she pushed further.  "So, are we happy that she made a poor choice?"  Oh that girl!  Yes!  Yes we are happy she made that choice.  No!  No we aren't happy she had to make that choice.  I'm sure I gave some blurted out, unclear version of what I was thinking.  It's just such a complicated question.  The chicken or the egg type of question.  I mean, imagine if all teenage girls made great decisions and not life-changing, gut-wrenchingly poor ones?  Where would we be?  Ethan-less.  But to be happy that someone had to go through all of that seems to be living life off of other's misfortunes.  In the end I'm not happy that anyone chooses to risk the chance of pregnancy when they are ill prepared to care for a child, but I am happy to raise that child once the choice has been made and the child has come into this world of ours.  Alaina and her questions!  I hope they never stop.