Arizona and I are not friends.

There's a movie no one should ever watch called "I Am Legend" where Will Smith is the lone survivor in an area where humans are becoming infected and morphing into crazy scary creatures that cannot abide sunlight. He's free to roam around town during the day, but at night he hides behind closed/locked/bolted/reinforced windows and doors because the creatures come out in darkness.

Thaaaaaaat's kind of how it is to live here.

The other night I needed to get something from the van. I went upstairs and walked out the front door.

Oh, I should back up to earlier that evening. The girls and I had gone grocery shopping and when we got home I unstrapped Chiara and Noelle and lifted them out onto the driveway. I bent back in to unstrap Eve when Chiara let out her real fear shriek (yes, she has a fake fear shriek). I whipped around and saw my daughters cowing in fear as a GIANT beetle scurried toward them on the pavement. Shrieking myself, I flung them behind me and braced myself to stomp on the bug before it got any closer. It was so huge I literally started and stopped three times as I lost my nerve to approach this thing. Then with a war cry I smashed it beneath my foot, felt and heard the CRUNCH of mammoth-sized beetle bones, and quickly lunged backward. All this bug's innards (and there were grotesque amounts of them) squirted out behind it, but the tenacious little frigger kept army crawling toward us, dragging its mess along behind it. This was an unnerving display of perseverance. I almost wept as I went in for a second, deadly stomp.

Once it was dead it occurred to me that I shouldn't leave the massive carcass on the driveway, but I thought, "Maybe a bird will eat it or something. I'm not touching that thing again."

Now, I will resume my previous story.

So it's after midnight now, but I was certain I must have dropped my cell phone in the van because I couldn't find it in my purse or the diaper bag or in any of Noelle's usual treasure stashes. And when your husband is thousands of miles away, you need your phone! I went out  the front door and triggered the motion sensor light. When that light went on, oh my goodness ... The ground was SWARMING with ants and little green something-or-others, all devouring that giant beetle I'd murdered earlier.

A jagged chill ran up my spine and my whole body raised goosebumps is horrified disbelief. Every bug in the whole wide world had congregated in my front yard.

But like I said, a girl needs her phone. So in courageous desperation, I leaned from the top step of the porch, arching myself over the infestation on the ground to reach for the passenger side door of my van. Just as I opened the door, a huge black flying thing buzzed itself against my curly, perfect-for-trapping-insects-against-my-scalp hair.

"Uh-AHHHHHH!" I screamed the s-word (sorry), flung the door closed, and ran into the house. I shook myself off, flailing my arms and legs, and immediately started to cry irrational tears. Gross, gross, gross, gross, gross. My thoughts were a panicked labyrinth of the following ideas, with varying numbers of exclamation points:

"I can't believe people live here."
"This is the wilderness."
"I can't live like this."
"Who would ever live here intentionally?"
"What was that thing?"
"And what were those little green things?"
"How can anyone ever leave their home at night?"
"Where are all those bugs during the day?"
"I'm never leaving this house again."
"Why was I not warned about this?"
"Eldon must have known about the nighttime perils of this place."
"Eldon never told be about the nighttime perils of this place."
"I think I might hate Eldon."
Etc. etc.

A few nights later I went out to the van again and had a similar experience, with the added bonus of a lizard which at first glance I mistook for a giant scorpion.

It's cool. I'll just never, ever go out at night for the remaining 10 months of our stay here.

Now I know - with the same degree of certainty that Eldon knows he will not be a gynecologist - that we will NOT NOT NOT be doing a residency in Arizona. Well, at least I won't.

Oh, for the love.

It's Father's Day, and the girls and I are hundreds of miles from Eldon. For the last month he's been finishing up his last rotation, then a week of tests, while we've been in California. On Wednesday he will drive our van (full of all our earthly possessions) here, then we will get in our car and follow him to Arizona where we will live for the last year of medical school. Heaven help me. We will spend three days settling into the basement apartment of his parent's house, then on Sunday he will fly to an Ohio Air Force base for his first surgery rotation. We won't see him for another month.

So in 60 days, we will only see him for four.

That's not even 10%.

(After that he will be with us for a month studying for the next big board exam, then he will be gone for two consecutive months and we won't see him again until October, but I'm not thinking about that yet.)

While he's gone I'm going to have to do all that awful hoop-jumping of getting Chiara registered for Kindergarten, changing insurance, registering the car in a new state (will I have to get a new driver's license?) setting up utilities, and making our new home into a home, all while trying to avoid melting into a hot puddle on the Arizona pavement.

I'm a little bit panicked, not gonna lie.

I knew medical school would be hard for me. I knew it, I signed up for this, but wow ... It has truly just slapped me in the face with the reality of what it means to raise our young, high maintenance children, make our home, and take care of a husband who is hardly ever, EVER here. Sometimes I just cry.

Like tonight, when my toddler was crazy and everyone was weeping at me all at the same time for all different reasons. I wanted to just fling myself face first on the ground and cry with them.

I just need the whole world to stop for a week and let me take a break from my whole entire life.

(Noelle, this is your belligerent side. You refused to sit by us or look at the camera. I love you, child, but I kinda wanted to hurl you into that water fountain.)

Also, I hate it when people tell me, "Oh, I don't know how you do that. I could never do what you do." I'm sure they're trying to be encouraging, and I certainly don't get offended about it or anything dumb like that, but I HAVE to do what I do. It's not like running barefoot marathons, or climbing Mt. Everest, or going camping overnight, or eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which are all horrendous, voluntary activities. I don't know how people do THAT. But this ... this is just my life. I WISH I had the option of giving up! I wish I could go back in time and just make a new plan. Somehow. Magically.

But I can't.

So I'll write a blog post about it, and cry into my computer screen for a few minutes about it like a big bawl baby, and then I'll go check on my girls who are clearly not actually sleeping in their room. And someday when my children read this, and they have a sane mother, they will have another piece of evidence that the Lord helps us through our trials and we truly can survive them.

Mother's Day Words

This year Eldon made videos of the girls talking to me for Mother's Day. It was so sweet of him and I loved the thought, even though Chiara told me she hoped I would be nice and Noelle just talked about the food I make. I guess when you don't get your way 100% of the time you have a mean mom.

"Mom, it makes me so sad when you don't give me what I want."

"I know, sweet girl. I get sad when I don't get what I want too. But it's just part of life."

"I don't want it to be part of my life!"

Apparently her world is not living up to her expectations. Poor, poor thing. And Noelle's greeting every morning the first second she sees me is, "Food!" I'm not making that up.

Last Thursday (three days before Mother's Day) I was asked to speak in church about the blessings of motherhood. I was also teaching the women's meeting the third hour, so it was a pretty busy day for me. Luckily I got to sleep in. Oh wait, no, no I didn't. I woke up at 6:00am with my kids like I always do. I spent the whole morning being (internally) mad at Eldon about that, thinking that he had just decided he was too tired to let me sleep in on the only day I get to during the whole year. Turns out he just hadn't heard them. Or heard me when I told him they were awake. Or felt my gentle nudging.

(Side note: One of my friends said people shouldn't say they slept like a baby to indicate a good night's rest. Instead they should say, "I slept like a husband." Aahhh, wouldn't that be nice? To sleep peacefully off-duty, completely unaware of the world around them. That's the Sunday afternoon nap for me, when I know Eldon is awake and he'll take care of the kids if they wake up before me. What would it be like to sleep that soundly every night? I can't even imagine.)

When we got home from church I took a long nap. Happy happy day. The girls presented me with the artistic creations they'd made during their classes, including a game to do with M&Ms that Noelle did not understand but insisted on playing with Chiara and me.

I think that was when her mood took a turn toward stormy.

Whatever the reason, she had a little meltdown at dinner. I think I mentioned that she does that from time to time. Eldon had to take her to her room for a timeout, and he came back to the table he was less than cheerful.

"You gave Noelle a timeout?" Chiara asked him.

"Yes. We don't like to have to give her timeouts, but we have to teach her to make good choices. Sometimes it's hard to be a parent."

"It doesn't look hard to me."

Eldon and I made eye contact across the table and just lost it. We've been laughing about that ever since.

Apparently we make this job look effortless. I'm sure it's the dream of every adult male to pretend he's a horse carrying princesses to their beds at night.

And I, like every other female on the planet, have spent my whole life hoping I would one day have the privilege of  fishing toys out of my toddler's diaper.

Delightful.

Of course I love it all, though. I'd do anything for these darling, lovely, charming little girls.

For them I will cheerfully forgo the next decade's worth of decent rest. I'd rather be a mommy than sleep. 

"BABA. NICE. YOU!" -- Noelle

 Translation: I'm all done. Being nice. To you.

This phrase is usually hurled in the direction of Chiara, whose tender little feelings are obliterated every time. But the thing about you, Belle, is that you don't mean it. And we can tickle/tease/squeeze you out of these outbursts 80% of the time (leaving an unparalleled 20% that never ceases to astound us) and get you right back to being your silly little goofy self. Delightful.

Truly, I love being this child's mother. She is so hilarious, I am  endlessly torn between amusement and outrage as I witness her crashing through our days like a beautiful, unpredictable little storm cloud. I'm so sorry, Noelle, that I am so strangely delighted by your emotional outbursts. I think you're mostly a happy child, but seriously, Honey, when your mood takes a plunge toward hostile I can hardly keep my countenance. No one on this planet is as adorable when they're thoroughly ticked off as you are.

This is what baba looks like:

Also the face plant is delightful.

This particular beauty was when Noelle was "baba" taking pictures for the Valentine's Day letter I never sent out. It only took two previous pictures to bring out that beast. I think the look on Chiara's face can safely be translated as, "Op, here we go."

When she looks up at me through her furrowed eyebrows it's almost too much for me to bear. I just think it's so funny! Belle, I don't mean to be disrespectful of your feelings, and I never laugh in front of you ... but my heavens, child. Nothing about your life merits this expression.

This one was a doozy. It might be my favorite, because it was actually followed up by a dramatic backward lunge into the carpet which bonked you on the head. You were caught off guard and forgot yourself for a moment and smiled at me like, "Look how silly I am." But then you remembered you were baba and quickly resumed the facial storm cloud.

This, my darling, is your real self:

Okay, just one more.

Whoop! There it is.

Happy Three-Month Birthday, Little Evie

There's not a photography studio around here anywhere, so I've been thinking about how I'll do Noelle's Two-Year Picture myself. Today I did a little experiment.

 

How did I set it up? I threw the blanket I made her over the HUGE pile of laundry on my bed I hadn't folded (still isn't folded, by the way) and propped her up against it. :) Uber professional.

Oooh, she looks like Chiara in this one. Only when Chiara does this smile it's fake. Eve's is real. :)

How I love this beautiful, charming child.

And here's Noelle chewing her fingers at the same age:

And Chiara:

All my babies ... All my heart. I knew I would love being a mom, but I had no idea it would take my breath away like this. Nurturing these little girls in our little corner of this world is the greatest thing I've ever done. 

The Joys Of Young Sisterhood

Noelle doesn't really care what Chiara is doing. She just wants to do it too.

If Chiara is sitting on a chair, Noelle wants to sit on a chair. Usually the same chair, actually, so that's a lovely unnecessary fight I get to break up. If Chiara is running, Noelle wants to run. If Chiara is sitting in the back seat of the van, Noelle wants her car seat in the back seat of the van. If Chiara is singing music from Frozen, Noelle wants Chiara to STOP singing music from Frozen so Noelle can sing music from Frozen, etc.

They are the very best and very worst of friends. Eldon and I wonder what Noelle would be like with no Chiara to boss her around and compete for toys and attention. Poor Eve. Sometimes I snuggle Eve to sleep at night and whisper, "You're not allowed to spend any time with your sisters."

Grown up Chiara and Noelle, I love you, and no matter what you do I'm always grateful you're my girls. Just sometimes I want to rip my hair out, that's all.

To Our Teenaged Chiara:

Oh, my precious "treasure" girl. You are so eager to learn and do all the things I do. This morning I was reading my scriptures on the couch, going over notes from the General Relief Society broadcast, and I heard you open your door. 6:37am. (At least it's not 5:30 anymore ... you're sleeping in. :))

You came running over to me, wearing that sweet, delighted smile you save only for this time of day, and after you hugged me you asked, "Hey, what are you doing over here?"

Me: "I'm reading my scrippers." (Yes, I call them that because she calls them that, and I'd hate to be the reason she stops calling them that.)

Chiara: "Your scrippers?"

Me: "Yeah, is that so great?"

Chiara: "But why are you drawing?"

Me: "Oh, I'm coloring the words I like."

Chiara: "Oh, don't worry, I can do it too." (reaching for the marker)

Me: "Um, that's not a good idea. These are just for Mommy to color in. But it's okay if you color in your scrippers. Should we go get them?"

Chiara: "(GASP) Oh, I'm so exciting!"

So we snuck into her room where Noelle was still sleeping, grabbed her little blue Book of Mormon, and snuck back out. I grabbed her some kid-friendly highlighters (the gel kind ... they're fantastic) and we went back to the couch.

Me: "Look, Honey, see how you can mark in a line over the words?"

Chiara: "It's okay, I can do it." (That's how she says "Back off!")

Me: "Oh, you did it, Love! What's that word you colored?"

Chiara: "I don't know."

Me: "It says 'Nephi'! What do we know about Nephi?"

Chiara: "He wants me to be baptized."

Me: "Yes, he does, Honey, you're right. (chuckling) Who else wants you to be baptized?"

Chiara: "Um ... Alma aaaaaaaaand Binadi!" (That's Abinadi, by the way,)

Me: "You're right! And does Heavenly Father want you to be baptized?"

Chiara: "(GASP) My Father??"

Me: "Yes."

Chiara: "He loves me. He needs me, Mom."

Me: "He does, Sweetheart, you're so right."

Chiara: "He's so sad because I'm so far away."

Me: "Why is He sad?"

Chiara: "Because He wants me to come back, but I'm so far."

Me: "Oh, Sweetheart ... I love you. You know all the things, don't you?"

Chiara: "Yes I do."

I just want you to know, my girl, that when you were little you came with a testimony of God's love and affection unlike anything I've ever seen. You told us Heavenly Father needed you before we ever taught you that. You are so convinced that He is there and that you have His loving attention. If you ever lose your way, my girl, I want you to remember you came to our home knowing these things. I have faith you'll never truly forget. I love you so so much. And you're right ... so does He.

"Let me explain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up."

One of my many 2014 resolutions: Keep a family history!

So here I am, sheepishly blogging after a long, long silence. Girls, I love you and want you to know we've had some truly lovely times during this gap in our family history. 

Noelle is TWO YEARS OLD now. I can't believe that. I mean, in some ways it feels like she's never not been with us, and I have to really concentrate to remember life before her in it. But in other ways I look at Eve and call her Belle* and it's shocking to me that so much time has passed.

(*We never call Noelle by her actual name ... not even when she's in trouble, which is - I'm just being honest here, Honey - a LOT of the time.) 

We were actually still in California visiting the Lowder family on her birthday, so she had lots of people singing to her on her special day. "Mamma" and "Dadda" got her a "cuh-coh!" for her birthday, which is a helicopter in normal human speech.* She loves them and will detect them before anyone else sees or hears anything in the sky. We'll be having breakfast and all of a sudden she'll gasp, "CUH-COH!!!!" and listen intently as she looks out the window, mouth open and eyes as wide as they get. It's hilarious. Nothing else in her life gets that intense of a reaction.

Except maybe Grandpa Lowder.

*Okay, so she doesn't really talk very well yet. Her pediatrician says it's perfectly normal for younger siblings with extremely talkative older siblings not to develop their language skills as early. I know. I was surprised too. "Wait, Chiara is considered extremely talkative?" But it's true. 

She talks to EVERYONE. I've stopped being embarrassed and just embraced it. If she wants to tell the girl with the bright pink hair that she looks like a princess, that's fine. If she wants to express her confusion that the guy next to us has earrings, go ahead. My personal favorite, though, is when she is clearly parroting phrases she's been taught at home. Example: 

We were in the checkout line at Safeway a few weeks ago and she saw the person behind us put a big can of coffee on the conveyor belt. I knew she saw it and knew what it was, because she fixated on it and I could practically see her wheels turning. 

"Mom," she said, in a matter-of-fact, right-out-loud voice. "They are buying coffee."

"Yes, they are, Love." I cautiously replied.

(little pause)

"We don't drink coffee," she had one hand on her hip and the other palm up about shoulder height. "But they are making their own choice about that."

"That's right, Sweetheart. Everyone makes their own choices."

I love her so much. I love all three of them so SO much. It's delightful to be the mommy of a little gaggle of girls. And the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, gave me the easiest third baby in all the land. Oh my goodness, Eve is the most calm, smiley, contented child I think I've ever encountered. She cries if 1) she's hungry 2) she's pushing (sorry for that image) 3) she lost her bink 4) there is no #4. It's remarkable. I can literally put her in her little portable bassinet thing next to our bed while she's wide awake, turn off the light and go to sleep, because she will just lay there until she falls asleep too. Not to be sacrilegious, but that's like Baby Jesus behavior. Fantastic.

Eldon swears he heard her giggle yesterday, but I haven't heard her yet. What are the odds he would witness the first giggle when he's with her a fraction of the time I am? Oh well, I guess daddies deserve some of the milestones as condolence prizes for how much they miss out on while they're out saving our little worlds. 99% of the time I'm so grateful I get to stay home with my children. About one day out of a hundred, though, I want to rip my own uterus into shreds. I can only assume that's normal. All I can say is if there are more babies waiting to come into this family it was a good call to send Eve this time around. :)