But I don't wanna

Living a life on faith is not for the weak or faint of heart.
It is not easy.
In fact, it may be the hardest thing we are required to do.
Actually, I think I can safely say it is the hardest thing we will ever do.
Not just in this life, but in our whole existence.
This life is the test.
Are we going to trust that God has a plan for us or not?
Are we going to prove that we will be strong no matter what he throws our way?

As I mentioned, I have been feeling the need to be home more with the kids. We originally thought that we would be able to move to make up the difference in our income loss if I quit my job, but it looks like God is not only asking me to quit, but also asking us to stay in our home for now. Double whammy.

I gave my two weeks notice at work yesterday. I don't know how we are going to make it financially except to say that we have a year supply of wheat and I know how to make bread.

God is giving me an opportunity to master the finances. I am about to become even more frugal then I thought was possible.

That's putting it nicely.

What I really feel is what I said in my prayers last night.

"No God. I don't want to do this. I've already been poor. I'm sick of being poor. I trusted you last time when you told us to go to law school with three kids and then open a failed law practiced, and look where that got me. I don't want to do this. Why?"

And the answer comes: "Because you have more to learn."

and then

"And this time it's going to be easier and it's going to have a better ending. Just trust me."

Me:
But I don't wanna.

Last night, I closed my prayer in tears, not feeling any peace. Sick to death for Boston. And worried sick for the little girl that was abducted in Provo.

And then today, I made my depressed self get out of bed and pray again.

"Please God, just get me through today. Help me trust. Give me peace. Bless them all."

I head out on my run with a heavy heart.

And 2.5 miles in, my song comes on.

And I remember where I have to look for peace.

As I warm down, I get this news:

And God says

ever so humbly

"See I've got this Alice."

Who the heck is Mae Jemison

About a month ago my 5th grader, Sophia, came home with the information on the school's wax museum. She was to pick an American hero to impersonate. They gave her a list of great choices such as Eleanor Roosevelt, Helen Keller, and Rosa Parks. We talked the choices over and forgot about it.

A few weeks later, after a long night at work (I now work 4 nights a week to subsidize what we call the Obama tax/health care) I came home and helped LG with the delayed bedtime rituals. As we went through Sophia's backpack, she remembered to tell me that she had chosen her wax museum hero that day because it was the deadline. (Way to be an absent mom! - And how I would pay) My excitement was immediately erased as she informed us that she had chosen....wait for it......

Mae Jemison.

"Who the heck is Mae Jemison?" my hubby and I questioned simultaneously.

"The first female African-American astronaut," Sophia answered innocently enough. (But I know that deep down inside she was really like, "I'll show you, mom, for being at work."

My mom radar immediately alarmed, "Did you say African-American?" as I carefully reanalyzed my 11 year old very blued eyed, very blonde haired, very Caucasian daughter.

It's times like these that I am 100% convinced someone has hidden a secret "gotcha" camera somewhere in the couch cushions. And times like these happen every day at our house.

LeGrand couldn't contain his overly exuberant smile headed in my direction with the subliminal message of, "Thank heavens I have the Y chromosome. It's all you babe."

Today I am proud to announce that I not only immediately committed, but embraced my daughter's dream of being the first Caucasian girl dressed as the first African American female astronaut.

After 2 hours at the thrift store, 1 hour at the sewing machine, 5 hours at the computer, 1 hour printing, taping, and pinning (and re-washing and pinning after the other daughter's judgement error of spilling a bottle of coke on the orange outfit waiting to be worn on top of the nightstand ), 1 hour of wig trimming, 2 hours overseeing the poster making, 1 hour of help with the speech, and 3 hours of searching for the right make-up, a stroke of genius with the snow boots that look like they belong on the moon, and 30 minutes of haggling (and losing) to the girl to let me do it before she went to school, I gladly share the end result.

And yes, she tore off the wig in less than 

two seconds after I turned off the camera.

(I forgot to mention the special trip to Sally Beauty Supply

 for what I learned is called a wig cap.)

And even then the wig was still too itchy.

White girls are so whimpy

about their beauty aides.

It's at times like these that

homeschooling doesn't sound so crazy.

And just in case you moms are ever

called upon for the same task,

here is everything you ever need to know

about

Dr. Mae Jemison

in the first person

 I was born on October 17, 1956 (which would make me 57 now) in Decatur, Alabama. My parents were Charles and Dorothy Jemison and I was the youngest of three. I am still alive today and achieving many things.

            I was raised in Chicago and graduated high school at age 16 and went to Stanford University on a scholarship. I graduated from Stanford with two degrees! One was a Bachelor of Science degree in Chemical Engineering, the other an Associate Bachelor degree in African and Afro-American studies. I later attended Cornell medical school and achieved the requirements to become a medical doctor.  I then went to West Africa with Peace Corps to be a medical doctor from 1983-1985.

            I then came back to America and became a doctor in Los Angeles, California. I was also a dancer so at the time I was deciding which I should be. Should I be a dancer or a doctor? And I still wanted to achieve a childhood dream, a dream I had since kindergarten, I wanted to go to space. Many people told me that I couldn’t go to space because I was a woman. But I applied to NASA to become an astronaut and they accepted me.

            On September 12, 1992, I blasted off into space becoming the very first African-American women ever to go to space. I went into orbit on the Space shuttle Endeavor and I was in space 7 days 2 hours and 30 minutes. My space mission was called STS-47. On that mission I was the science mission specialist. My mission was a joint operation between the U.S.A and Japan. My experiments dealt with bone cell research. With me I brought a picture of my old dance crew. I proved many people wrong that day. I also fulfilled my dream to be an astronaut.

            Since getting back from space I quit working at NASA. For a while I was a professor of developing countries and advanced technology at Dartmouth College. I got to be the only person who has been to space to act on the TV show “StarTrek: The Next Generation”. I have created the Jemison Group which works to bring advanced technology to people worldwide and fosters a love for science in students. Now I speak at a lot of engagements, am the President of two technology companies, and love to spend time my cats in Houston, TX where I live.

Next year, I am hoping Bella will be wise enough to pick Bill Gates, like this smart neighbor.
Of course, we would have to chop off all her hair and dye it blonde.

My job

This weekend the message came to me for the thousandth time.
It was a clear as a bell, like it always is when I stop to listen.
It was an answer to my two pages of questions to God.

It came from Bruce D. Porter and was entitled Beautiful Mornings.

I do this every 6 months. I write down all the life struggles that I am having in form of questions to God and then I spend a whole weekend listening to living prophets, and I listen for the answers. They always come through the gift of the Holy Ghost. God whispers them directly to my soul. This time there were 18 specific answers all small parts to my journey back to Him, and all connected to one another.

My questions varied from how can I afford to go back to college to should we move to a cheaper place to save money. How can I strengthen my marriage? What is my life mission and how do I accomplish it? How can I be happy in my calling? (I meant my job at church but had no idea until I listened intently that I also needed this answer for my calling in life)

All the answers pointed to my most important title: mom

Pleasing God needs to be my first priority. When I make pleasing God the top priority in my heart, my husband and children rightfully earn their places at the top of my to-do lists. If pleasing God means that I have to quit my job and live on rice and beans, so be it. If it means that I don't get to go back to school for another year or two, it's o.k. I need to live my life on God's timetable and with his rules because He is where I will find the greatest happiness. If I never get the dream house or the coveted vacation because I limped through hubby's law school and supported him through the aftermath (and beyond - for the next 40 years of student loan payments) and encourage my children's extra-curriculars it will be to my glory: eventually.

For me the answer is always that MY JOB is to nurture my children and support my husband. My job is to let go of my need for approval in the eyes of others. I have to let go of the Western culture of acquiring wealth. I even have to let go of my need to achieve certain things because if I am doing it for me and not for Him, it's wrong. It'll never be right no matter how wonderful.

It's so ironic that after recommitting myself and finding inner peace,
my beautiful morning looks like this:

"Mom, do you know what this is?

It's my job to do."

"Mom, move out of my way!

.....

I'm looking for something important.

Can you help me find it?"

Who knew inner peace would be so loud?

or rainy?

and disguised 

as one mess after another

for me to clean?

Once again I am brought to my knees.

Please God, help me to understand.

Help me be humble.

Help me love my job.

Help it to make me happy.

And I just found this on facebook and must include it

for my Mormon friends.

I guess things could always be worse.

Book Review: Parenting with Spiritual Power

Parenting with Spiritual Power by Julie K. Nelson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

You know the old philosophy that parenting doesn't come with a manual?
Well, it's crap.
If you have The Holy Bible, you have one of the greatest parenting manuals in existence.

If you add to the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the teachings of the living prophets, and you are still struggling as a parent, Julie K. Nelson has written this book just for you. I have been so touched as I have read this book: God has given us great stories to help us with the most important work we are called to do as parents. If you, like me, need help in applying those resources, then you need to get your hands on a copy of this book ASAP. It is truly an inspired parenting manual.

I have long studied principles of parenting and found many of the most important theories I've learned over the years in the pages of this book. Truth just oozes from the pages of "Parenting with Spiritual Power." Oozes. As I read I found myself amazed at how many modern-day applications there are in the ancient scriptures. I know that sounds lame, but it's true. I have learned a lot of these truths already in my own study, but to find them gathered together in such an easily applicable format is almost too good to be true: but it's not. This book is full of truth in one easy-to-read resource.

If you want to learn more about depositing into your children's banks of self-worth, setting reasonable boundaries, how to positively correct your children, live sacrificial lives, stomp out anger and develop greater charity as a family, and how to show faith in your children this book is for you. Like me, I believe you will be totally shocked at all you've been missing when studying the scriptures. I've had the handbook in my hands all along, I just didn't realize that I needed Julie Nelson to translate it for me.

Thank you Julie. I recommend this book for all parents, even those that aren't Mormon. What a wonderful and much needed resource for all of us.

You can buy the book for just $11.04 at Amazon or $13.99 at Deseret Book. After reading this book I can honestly say I would spend double that. Really, can we even put a price on better parenting?

View all my reviews

The Mom Test

It's 12:50 a.m.

Because I am a mom

this is how I spent the last

15 minutes of my life.

I was in a dream

and then there appeared

Sophia

 my 11 year old

at the side of my bed.

I opened my eyes

because

she was covered in

florescent paint

and saying

something

that 

I couldn't quite understand.

She called to me

and so I knew

it was important

but I couldn't

get a handle of what

was happening

in my dream

until I let it

register

"Mom, I just puked."

I wasn't dreaming.

I flew out of bed

using the wings

that God installed

just for moments

like these.

If I would have looked

back I would

realize that

my partner in crime

couldn't help it

that God didn't

make him for this job

and that is why

he hadn't moved

an inch

or an eyelid.

Before I knew it

I had stripped

down every inch

of that top bunk.

Of course

it was the top.

And of course

I needed those wings

so as not to

wake the one

sleeping on the bottom.

No need to mention

the smell or color

of the foulness

or how it sloshed

from pillow

to sheet

to comforter.

I looked down at my

daughter

to see her

use the trashcan

I had somehow provided

before flying into action

on the bedding.

The florescent

colors were gone now.

I blinked to make sure.

Before I could get my bearings

I started to remake the bed

and then thought to ask

"Sophia,

do you want to sleep on the couch?"

The answer came quietly,

"Yes mom, that's a good idea

but I have all this gross stuff

all over me."

"Is it just on your shirt?"

"I got a little on my cast,

and it's all in my hair."

In to the bathroom

we flew.

I cleaned

off her arm cast

(and chuckled

at the thought

of the flu

and a broken arm

at the same time)

with a Clorox wipe

in between

the heaves into the toilet.

I applied

the two plastic

bags and rubber bands

that I had so

neatly stored

under the bathroom sink

yesterday.

I then turned her around

and stripped her down.

She's at a private age.

11 is tricky.

Somehow I was

instinctual enough

to just know

to have her step into the

shower before removing

her soiled clothes.

"Sophia,

did you start your period, too?"

As in,

on top of

the broken bone

and puking.

She looked at me confused.

"Or did you

just poop your pants?"

She sheepishly answered

that she thought

that wasn't her period.

I plugged

the tub

and started the warm water.

Then I gathered the

dirty clothes

and the dirty linens

and headed to the laundry room.

I got the worst

loaded into the washer

and realized that the 13 year old

never started her laundry

like her told her to

before heading to work

this afternoon

or yesterday afternoon,

depending on the time.

Thank goodness

for adolescent

irresponsibility.

I grabbed

an extra blanket

and headed back upstairs

to the couch

where I found an

almost empty roll

of duct tape

which someone

had not put away.

The item that

had been alluding

my memory

for the past two days

came to me.

Compound W

needed to be added to

the grocery list.

Baby Caroline's

wart must be attended to.

Compound W

combined with

duct tape

is the best

antidote

for warts.

I actually

learned that

before I had

kids

if you don't

count the hubby

and his massive

wart on his right knee

that I cured

shortly after marriage.

I washed and rinsed her hair.

twice.

And handed her

some soap

to take care

of the backside.

I held up her right arm

wrapped in plastic.

Placing back the soap

I told her to rinse with water.

I took care of the towel

which I had given her to rest

her broken arm on.

I guess the ledge on the tub

wasn't big enough,

it was floating at her feet.

I ran (I mean flew)

into her room

and grabbed her

comfy shorts,

undies,

t-shirt,

and a cami

because times like

these are too harsh for bras

(even if she does

normally wear hers to bed)

and she will appreciate

the extra layer

of support.

How do I know?

Because I am a mom.

And I always pass the test

even when I am failing.

Here I sit

watching, typing,

shaking my head in disbelief,

not even longing

for sleep to come back to me.

Because I am a mom.

And I am always on duty.

Always.

Notice her favorite

scooby doo blankie?

I made it for her

when she was seven

and without even realizing it

I had grabbed it off

the couch downstairs

while fetching

the other warmer

blanket

just

before flying

back upstairs

30 minutes ago.

Just say no to mom jousting.

I recently read this blog post
after it was shared several times
by my friends on facebook.
Rage Against the minivan wrote it.
Can I rage against the minivan too
even if I drive one?

This is my two cents today.
Parents don't have to tell other parents
what to do or not to do.
Parents have to grow a backbone
and tell their kids to NOT expect something
just because other kids have it.
This is the problem with our society in general.
Parents are all competing
instead of supporting each other.

Sometimes (actually all the time)
we just need to check out of the
Mormon mommy blogger culture.

"Oh, you throw huge themed parties for your kids,
well my kids must have that too."

You read 10 books every night.
You always have ironed clothes.
You have sterile bathrooms.
All your clothes are from Matilda Jane.
You have an elf on the shelf.
You have a 5 course meal every night?
Your kids are each in a music lesson, a sport, and a cultural extra-curricular...
and you have 10 boys and 5 girls?
You have a leprechaun that shows up for Christmas?

Do you see how it can become a really huge problem
when you try to do everything like everyone else?

No. No. No.
That's all it takes.

And guess what?
Your kids don't care.

Or they may care
and then when you say no
they'll figure it out for themselves.

Case in point.

This is Bella
pretending to be
a leprechaun
for Saint Patrick's Day.
She thought that
Caroline deserved some fun
that we didn't want to provide.

Momming

Did you know that there

are college degrees

in family science?

I never got it when I was younger.

Why would anyone

go to all that school

just to learn how to

be married and have a family?

Can't anyone do that?

Doesn't everyone do that?

I felt that those who majored

in family studies

were just doing so

because they wanted

an easy Bachelor's Degree.

Or they were looking

to build a resume

for their future spouse.

"Look at me,

I want to

spend eternity

in your kitchen."

The older I get,

and the more I attend

marriage counseling,

I am grateful for

the other suckers who

went through all the work

to help me to figure

out the complicated

parts that I never

understood back then.

And honestly: still don't.

But,

just like everyone else,

sometimes,

I get it right,

without any studying at all.

Sometimes I get it right

out of sure dedication

and practice.

In the kitchen,

I need no therapy.

I am the boss.

In one small area

I've got the momming down

to a science.

I'm a PHDmf.

People Hone Down

(my food)

Here is a photo

for evidence.

Tuesday afternoon

this is what my kitchen counter looked like

right before I headed

out to my real job.

(ha ha - we all know

momming is my real job)

white chicken chili, homemade bread,

and after-school cookies

Let me brag for a moment.

Just the other day,

while we were on our way to soccer

Abigail received a text

from a charming young man

with whom we attend church.

We had taken his family

some cookies the day before.

He said,

and I quote,

"I would marry you

just so I could get your mom

in the deal."

Fist pumps were had

all around.

This little exchange

made my day.

Add to the fact

that Abigail's boy buddy

at school

(who has learned to cook

out of sheer desperation

because his mom doesn't)

calls me

"the regular Rachel Ray."

And

The neighborhood

adolescents' each have

their own

favorites of mine

whether it be

pumpkin bread,

rolls,

cinnamon rolls,

chocolate chip cookies,

cake pops,

homemade bread,

pizelles,

or pizza.

Yeah I screw up

in the momming

category

often.

But today I just want to take

 a moment to scream from my laptop:

"Guess what?

When it comes to

momming,

all it takes

is some skill in the kitchen!"

Momming comes naturally.

It comes best

while wearing an apron.

You can't learn it at college.

The reason any food is good

is because

the cooking of it has been

practices and practiced

and mixed,

and spooned,

and baked,

with LOVE

til it reaches

the status of

perfection.

God had it all figured out.

He gave us plenty of time

to get it right while they are young

and didn't know any different.

By the time

they just want to hang out with their friends

the moms who have put

in the most

hours

WIN!

They can't resist bringing

their friends home

for some down home food.

They don't know it

but they are all getting 

some good old momming

all of the time.

Every bite

includes a

subliminal message

"drugs are bad"

"believe in yourself"

"I love you"

"I'm always here for you"

I might still have a bunch

of stuff to figure out, 

but when I think of

my success in the kitchen,

I know

that even

without a college degree

I'm doing pretty good.

It's not that complicated.

It's called I love my kids

enough to cook for them.

No matter how else I screw up,

I know one thing.

As long as I feed everyone

til I die

I'll always

keep them coming

back for more.

Did I mention

that my girls

have all been fighting

over who gets

which  recipes of mine when they

get married?

I told them I would

make them each their own

recipe box.

Maybe I won't have to cook til I die

after all.

Thank goodness.

Newga

This little lion has been with Caroline from birth.

It was a baby shower gift.

Thanks Aimee!!

Caroline named her

sometime in her first year.

Her name is 

New-Gu

or Newga.

Every night before this sleeping angel goes to sleep

we have a routine.

We go potty, change into clean panties and p.j.'s, and read three books.

We then give each other big kisses

and I say,

"I love you the mostest."

She then repeats it back to me

anywhere between 5 and 10 times.

Then I pull out Newga

(the last step til sleep)

and proceed to shower Caroline

with kisses from her favorite lion pal.

Caroline always tells Newga to "Stop it Newga"

while trying to hide under her covers.

Newga promises to behave,

Caroline comes out

and gives her a kiss

and then shares with lioness

her favorite pink blankie.

As I walk out of the room

I say

"Goodnight Caroline.
Goodnight Newga."

Thank you to

Ms. Sunshine

(the pre-school teacher)

for a very permanent reminder

of how powerfully

this nightly ritual

speaks love

into Caroline's heart.

Caroline brought this home on Valentine's Day.

I am so glad Ms. Sunshine

wrote down exactly what

Caroline told her

even if she had no idea

what she was talking about.

We all knew

exactly who Caroline

loves.

I am so grateful to God

for giving me Caroline.

She is spoiled rotten.

We all love her so much.

Thank you God for Caroline

and for Newga

as a nightly reminder of

how blessed I am

to love and be loved.

I need a mom.

I am sure you have all noticed my lack of posts this week
because I know you all come here every day with super high hopes
because I am the world's most amazing blogger.

O.k. o.k. I'm not, I know.
I may not be the world's best blogger
and I am most certainly not the world's best mom,
but guess what I am all they've got.
They'll get over it eventually,
after some good therapy
that I will hold off on as long as possible
so they have to pay for it themselves.
I mean really
if the choice is between therapy
and cold cereal,
I am pretty sure the shredded mini wheats
or the more appreciated at the moment.

What am I good for anyway?
I'll tell you what.

I always throw away the empty bottles in the shower.
I always make sure that everyone is fed.
I always make sure everyone has clean clothes.
I am always the first one to hand over the trashcan when someone is sick.
I buy all the food.
I buy all the toiletries.
O.k LG buys it, but I purchase it,
and you all know that it's not the easiest task
to keep household items in stock.

We never (I mean NEVER) run out of toilet paper.
(O.k. we do all the time in our bathroom where
at least a roll a day escapes through the floor vent
and can never seem to replace itself. This always seems to happen
when I am done with my after-run #2. I always get a little mournful when I notice that once again I am up sheeshcreek - and my husband has absolutely nothing to do with the disappearing TP or the empty dispenser and it really isn't his fault that he's at work when I am the most in need. I love bargaining with a three year old ever so carefully to bring me a roll of the most necessary item in the hygienist's closet that is missing from MY bathroom!)
But it is never missing from the house all together,
and that is totally because I am awesome.

Caroline came home from pre-school today highly disappointed. She has been talking about kangaroo zoo for a month and they finally got to go today but after playing on the blow-up bouncy toys for the hour with her class, she turned to her teacher, and said, "This isn't a kangaroo zoo. There aren't any kangaroos." She was so totally bummed.

I brought her home and gave her cheetos and an orange and then bought her some bubble gum.

I got dinner ready, cleaned the house, showered off my running filfth, and even had two minutes to spare to write this post before running off to work for the fourth night in a row. When I come home tonight too tired to even check my facebook, I will realize for the hundreth time

that I need my own mom.
Every mom needs a mom.
It's too bad mine lives in kangaroo zoo.

Utah style Sugar Cookies

Here is my Valentine's gift

to the rest of you

that I don't sleep with.

I wish I could send you a warm cookie

through my Ethernet cable,

but since we haven't figured that one out yet,

I'll give you my recipe.

I call these 

Loralee's Sugar Cookies

(I got the recipe from my boss

twenty years ago

Her name was Loralee.

Go figure.)

This recipe makes about 60 medium size cookies

so be sure you have some plates ready to share

with neighbors

or make them on the day you are running a marathon.

1 1/3 cup shortening

1 1/2 cup sugar

4 eggs

1/2 cup milk

2 tsp vanilla

5 cups flour

3/4 tsp salt

6 tsp. baking powder

Cream together the shortening and sugar.

Add eggs, milk, and vanilla.

Sift in the flour, salt, and baking powder at the same time

Mix.

The real trick with these is to let them be a little sticky.

Don't think you need to add more flour.

Refrigerate the dough for about an hour.

Then the next trick is to roll them out thin.

No more than 1/4" thick,

like pie dough.

They will puff up a bit

in the oven.

Bake at 350 degrees

on the middle rack.

for 8-10 minutes.

In my current oven 9 minutes 

was the magic number.

Let cool.

Frost with 

Buttercream Frosting

2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter - partially melted

4 - 5 cups powdered sugar

2.5 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

2-3 Tablespoons of milk or cream

(for you cheapos out there

like my mom,

you have to buy the real vanilla

and the real butter

it makes all the difference

I get mine at Costco)

Enjoy.

The Monster

Our baby monster is growing up way too fast.
This seems like a lifetime ago.

Mini-Me Bella

I recently wrote about Abigail and Sophia.
I always write about Caroline.
Well, today it is Bella's turn.
She's a mini-me.
Just look at the picture above
and tell me that
she isn't a me.
Funny girl.
In the middle of it all.
Just like her momma.
The life of the party.

Sometimes I look at her in
pride and admiration
and wonder why I don't
recognize her
strong personality traits
in myself and pat myself
on the back.

Other times
I shake my head
in shame
knowing she's
going to experience
the same life frustrations
as I have.
I wonder if I made her the way
that she is
or if God just sent her
to me so I could have better
glimpses of myself.

I'll start with the things I love about Bella.

Bella is thoughtful.
She is very aware of the people around her
and their feelings.
This probably stems from her own
deep feelings and sensitivity.
Of course I automatically
go to a bad place when recognizing this.
I'm sensitive too
and it gets overwhelming at times,
but really it's a spiritual gift to be aware
of possibilities for despair in others
and to know the importance of love and support.


Bella just came home with the school
award for
dependability.
Remember a few weeks ago
Sophia was awarded with love.
I am amazed at how astute
the girls' teachers are
in pinpointing their character traits.
Bella is dependable.
She is extremely capable.
She is a lot like me in this way.
She puts all her energy into
what she wants to accomplish.
She looks for ways to help others.
She takes pride in her accomplishments.
You can count on Bella.
She is extremely responsible.

Once again I see the downside in this
because of my own hang-ups.
I know a lot of my dependability
stems from my need to
prove myself
and I wish that I didn't have to struggle with that.

I love watching LeGrand with Bella.
When she is having her stubborn moments
and I just can't handle it
because I am even more stubborn than her,
LeGrand will go in and lay with her in her bed
and talk her down.
It melts my heart.
He's her soothing balm,
and mine too.

We have four kids,
so it's impossible to have a middle child
but if we had to choose between
Sophia and Bella,
Bella would have to be the middle.
She has middle-child syndrome.
The reason is probably because ever since
she was born,
life has been stressful.
She was born one month
before we trecked across
the country
to law-school
and has always known
poverty (until recently).
She was the youngest of 3 kids
under 5
and her mom
was always had-it.
(This is also my life story)
When Bella was 6,
Caroline was born.
She was old enough to
note when she went
from baby to
somewhere in the middle.

Bella is creative.
She loves to write and draw.
She loves to create stories
and she will read them aloud
constantly.
Again, like her mom,
it's as though she feels
things by analyzing
other people's experiences with them.
This is very intriguing to me.
She's a kinsthetic learner.

Unlike me,
Bella is really good at math.
She loves math.
Also unlike me,
Bella hates spelling..
Reading is not her favorite thing
but she has grown to like it.

Like me,
Bella can talk your ear off.
Unlike me,
Bella can also listen.

Like me Bella
loves her sweets.
Unlike me,
she is a picky eater.

Also unlike me,
Bella really isn't
in to sports.
We are hoping she might really enjoy
softball this Spring
when she plays with just the girls.
Her t-ball experience wasn't the greatest.
Impressive though is the fact that
in our family Bella has the most
sports' experience.
She has tried
basketball, t-ball, football,
swimming, dancing, and soccer.
Like her mom,
maybe she is destined
to become
a
jack of all trades
but master of none.

Bella loves to bake.
She is a master baker.
She wants to own her own bakery
when she grows up.

She is proud of the fact
that at 8 years old
she had saved enough money
to buy her own laptop.
The other night she told me
that she would
save enough money to buy her own car
and her own bakery.
I hope she does.
Bella is fiercely independent.
Just like her mom.

Unlike me,
she is great at saving money.
I guess she does
get some things from her dad.
Although for the life
of me I can't think
of any other paternal comparisons right now.

Bella is insightful
and spiritual.
She recently wrote
her own primary talk
that brought the room to tears.
I wish I could do that.

Like me,
Bella is stubborn.
She's impatient.
She constantly fights her
desire to be in charge.
She would get
at least 50%
queen executive
if she took the
archetype me test.
She loves to plan parties
and she can carry them out
on her own.
Unlike me,
she's very aware
of her pride and bossiness
at an early age
and to her credit
she works on collaborating
and humility.

Bella loves music.
She recently volunteered
to sing a solo at church.
She refused to let me
help her practice.
Like I said
she's a mini-me.

And I love her.