Carrying a Tune

Now that Erick is 8 and is baptized, and can read fortunately, I am requiring him to go to choir practice with me after church. He was not happy about it until he found out he got to get a piece of candy afterwards. He is such a crazy little character when he is in a playful mood. When he is mad though... ugh! It is Pity City with that boy and he told me that he wants to just go to his room and pout- ha ha. Anyway, our church stake has a conference twice a year where all the wards congregate at their designated stake center and have a service. That is where we hear more of the "business" side of things as well as hearing uplifting talks and musical numbers and I appreciate the publicity of the inner workings of the organization side of my church. I love to sing in stake choir. It has a certain standard that my regular ward choir tends to lack and it just boils down to discipline and experience in singing and technique. This stake conference is going to have a youth choir as well as a primary choir(ages 8-11). I've decided to take Erick to the choir practices and let him experience it for himself. And I want all of my children to be exposed to this at an early age and carry it with them throughout their lives. Erick has been taking lessons for a while now, since March or April, and he will sit at the piano and practice all the time without prompting from me. Sometimes it's annoying when we are trying to get everyone settled down to eat dinner and he starts plinking out a song that he's memorized, but I secretly adore that he does it. And even though it seems like he has a knack for playing the piano(my dad was a natural musician), he can barely carry a tune in a bucket! He sounds so tone deaf when he sings that I try not to be too concerned with it, but I want to help him work on it while he's young. He has been able to correct his pitch, so while that is promising, it is going to make for an interesting choir.

Hoarding...

Like the dragon Smaug hoarding his mountain of stolen gold in The Hobbit by J.R.Tolkien, I hoard clothes. I'm not proud, nope. No. It's just an observation that has now become quite obvious and too hard to miss once you have as many kids as I do! But this tendency, nay, obsession that I have, developed a long time ago. I was one of those middle children who never got what they wanted out of the donated bags of clothes that my mom brought home. Rachel and Sarah got all the good stuff, possibly there was stuff for Bekah, but maybe a shirt or one pair of Jordache jeans(I still remember the shiny pink thread subtly running through the denim like some funky pin stripe) that I was able to claim for my own. Now, 20+ years later, the addiction is rearing its bulky head from the shallow depths of my upstairs closets!

 A youth from my church had a clothing drive today and I decided it was time to purge my home and my soul of the laundry menace in this house. Seriously, it's like reaching into Mary Poppins' tote bag of a bottomless pit laundry basket! I donated 4 huge white bags and still have a bazillion to even go through! I have a strategy. I'm not just going from one extreme to the next and tossing it all out, so that I am never "cured" of this Scrooge-like tendency and go on a "yes-I'll-take-those-off-your-hands" clothing binge. I'm counting out 14 outfits of all sizes, 7 winter and 7 summer. Then 14 more of the same to store as "extra" in the attic in case of muddy puddles, red kool-aid stains, etc. Lastly, 4 church outfits, 2 stored away. I'm exhausted already thinking about all the work that lay ahead, but it is so necessary for the maintenance of my home. I'm like the hub of everything here. If mommy is sick, lazy, distracted... things don't get done and speedily decline in cleanliness while rapidly increasing in quantity. How is that even possible? It sounds like physics but works like some evil black magic.

I recently decided that I need to down-grade and simplify materialistically(yet realistically) in order to truly appreciate the things that I do have. This beautiful house for instance. Now yes, it needs a good exterior painting job, new floors, and just an all around make over, but it is a really beautiful house. Especially when it is not cluttered with paper and other junk that has no purpose and definitely does not add to the decorum of the room. I've realized that these emotional attachments that we make to material things can be very tangible and dangerous if left unchecked. I'm not talking about the physical act of hoarding now, but the effect on our spirituality. It isn't a sin to want nice things, but are they uplifting the spirit in your home and creating an atmosphere of welcome-ness and peace. Yeah, not so much around here. I know that when Adam comes home from a long, hard and fast-paced day at work, he would be able to leave his burdens at the door to walk into a home of love and support. How could he not? This isn't all on me, I know it, but it is a very real concern of mine that my husband WANTS to come home and be home. My kids too. I grew up not spending a lot of time at my house, and by the time I was 16, I was living with friends and had a hall closet filled with my only belongings... wow. Yeah, you can see that addiction developing, huh?

Well, like so many other things that I've learned, a mother sets the mood of her home. I know there are exceptions to any "rule", but this one sits very close to home for me. If I lose my cool, all @%#? breaks loose! Lil' Evil meets Evil Devil and my poor children have no idea what I'm capable of and my delicate-on-the-inside husband would be totally mind blown. But who wants that? Not me. I want simplicity. I want peace. "I'm a minimalist at heart," says the lady with 5 kids. 'Tis true though. It's like a blank canvas. A still, flaccid reflective lake. Any moment a child's piercing scream could break the tranquility, but I tend to think peace promotes peace. A peaceful environment will create a peaceful existence. And don't think about those exceptions right now, you'll break the spell...

Marley

I was on Pinterest, and I clicked on a link to a blog. It hit very close to home.

Inhale... Exhale...

It was a Tuesday on Oct 10th, 2012. Almost 3 months ago. My sister Rebekah was in town and with all our kids together, we had a houseful of EIGHT! So much fun, and some not so much fun, but it was busy busy. I honestly can't remember what had happened earlier that morning. Something, ha ha. But my friend Farica had just had a baby a couple weeks after Finn was born, and she was still in the hospital for swelling. I remember it was 3pm, because I was getting ready to leave with my dear friend Karen to go and visit Farica. I texted Karen to tell her that I was ready to go. I sat down and my 17 month old, Marley, came up to me. She had picked up one of my sister's son's apple and was eating it. I picked her up and put her in my lap. After a few seconds, she started to cough and choke. I looked at her expecting her to cough it up, while patting her on the back, but she continued to cough and struggle. I swiped the back of her throat with my finger and got some small pieces of apple out, but she was now wheezing and struggling for air. I stood up and turned her kind of upside down, hoping some pounding and gravity would do the trick. I was starting to worry, but still thinking it should come out. I picked her back up and she was not breathing, just a straining noise coming from her. I sat down on the floor and tried to put my finger in her mouth to clear something, anything out of the way. But her jaw clenched up and I cut my finger on her teeth trying to pry her mouth open. I looked at her sweet face and realized that it was blue. Her body was limp and her eyes were staring up at the ceiling. They were glassy and unfocused. And at that moment I knew that she was dead. I also knew that I didn't want her to die. I wasn't going to let her die! I brought her face up to my mouth and I blew into her mouth, feeling her abdomen fill with air, and then I flipped her around and pushed the air out of her. I did this over and over, I don't know how many times but it wasn't very long. I knew I would have done it forever if I needed to. I felt her tiny muscles twitch and it gave me hope. And within a minute or two, she took a very ragged breath, but it was her own! She started breathing!! She was unconscious but breathing. My sister, who had been on the phone with 911 the whole time took her from me and I took a minute to pick up the pieces of what could have happened. And what still needed to be done. I called Karen and asked her to come to my home. Mom was on her way home from work. Adam was almost home too, thankfully!! He arrived shortly after the ambulance. The EMTs checked her out and were glad that she was responsive to pain- they poked her big toe with their fingernails. Adam and I rode with her in the ambulance to the hospital, while Karen, my mom, and my sister followed behind with Finn. She had an x-ray of her lungs performed at the hospital and they saw something in her lung- she had aspirated the piece of apple! (I guess I cleared her airway with my CPR, but pushed it into her lungs) They life flighted her to the Children's Hospital of Atlanta, and Adam got his first ride in a helicopter :) The next 4 days were a little brutal, what with not being able to hold her and having a newborn in the PICU ward. She had two bronchoscopies and lots of steroids and antibiotics. She was my little addict having withdrawal shakes really bad, but finally, we could go home! Adam couldn't wait to get one of her famous hugs where she just squeezes you tight! I was worried at first about any neurological damage, but we were blessed that that was not the case. She was fine! She had slight regression of motor skills for a couple days, which they informed us would happen, and pretty soon she was the same happy-go-lucky 17 month old, even more careless than before it seemed, but maybe that was just me. My sweet sisters, Rachel and Rebekah, were so much help and I know that my sister Sarah was an angel watching over us as well. It's been a couple months now, and apples are just now popping back onto the grocery list, but after listening to this father's story, it reminded me of how blessed we are that Heavenly Father allowed Marley to stay with our family. That these children of mine are really His and he's allowing me to raise them and to form family bonds with them that will last for eternity, if I want. And I do. I want that very much.

 *Please look into the links in bold above :)

 Just after her arrival at the Children's Hospital, right before her first surgery.

And when I say surgery, they put her on a breathing tube and 

went down through it into her lungs.

 They had to tie her arms down. They mentioned several times how feisty 

she was when she started to wake slightly. I took

that as a good sign :)

 Finally she was awake, but not even close to full recovery.

 She liked the chocolate pudding!!

 After two hours back at home, she was back

to her shoe fetish :)

Marley today, with Chrissy :)

We are so blessed to still have her in our family!!