Videos

Sunday night we watched a short video, "Room on the Broom." It was a kind, gentle video.  The whole family shared the couch, and Johanna spent much of the time sitting and wiggling and squirming on my lap.  I love cuddling with her so much.  She's so much fun to tickle!  I love hearing her laugh. 

Last night we watched an early episode of The Cosby Show.  (Rudy's fish died and Cliff made up a funeral in the bathroom.)  William and Evie and Mirjam and I laughed at all the jokes, and little Rudy reminded me of our little Johanna -- clever and funny and precocious. 

It's fun to spend good time together as a family.  I like it better than shuttling kids around to busy activities, which seem to take up too much time away from our family time. 

Springtime

Yesterday everything was melting.  It was almost 60 degrees outside.  When I came home after work, the kids were playing in the backyard.  I walked around the yard, picking up trash.  We all sloshed around on the ice rink, which was quickly turning into a pond.  Johanna helped me take down the last of the Easter eggs that had been hanging in the front crabapple tree all winter.  William and I played catch with a baseball and glove, while Evie rode around on her bike, and Johanna went scootering for the first time on Evie's old Razor scooter.  Mirjam threw a couple snowballs at William and me, and then we all went inside for dinner. 

It was a beautiful evening, with the sun setting later and no activities to worry about, and the squishy grass everywhere, no longer covered with snow. 

Pure love and kindness

Last week I had a couple of very stressful days, feeling heavily weighed down by the burdens of things at work, at church, and decisions we had to make at home.  One night at bedtime, the whole family was in the kids' room to read and pray.  I was sitting in the black IKEA lounge chair with the Bible on my lap, waiting for it to be my turn to read a couple pages from the Old Testament as the kids fall asleep. 

I felt very down, and I must have looked it, too, because when Evie saw me, she got up from her bed and without saying anything just walked over to my chair and gave me a big hug.  It was exactly what I needed, and she knew exactly how to help. 

She is one of the kindest, most inclusive, and most caring and loving people I know, and she's only 6.  I'm truly blessed to have her as my little girl. 

Speaking clearly now

Yesterday Johanna was playing with the big Cinderella puzzle on the carpet and I peeked into her diaper to check for something.  I tried to discreetly pull the backside of her blue cloth diaper, which I had done many times before.  But this time, her response was clear:  "Hey, no lookit my poopy!" 

It was unmistakable.  She knew exactly what she was talking about.  I couldn't help but laugh.  :)

Trying to have good days

Sometimes I get frustrated and upset.  I don't want to, and I try not to.  But sometimes it happens. 

I love my kids, and I only want the best for them.  I don't want them to feel scared or hurt, especially because of me, and if I've ever caused them to feel scared or hurt, I am truly, deeply sorry.  My job is to protect them, teach them, guide them, train them, and give them what they need to be smart, safe, and spiritually prepared. 

I'm not perfect at any of this.  I make mistakes, sometimes the same ones, sometimes over and over again.  But I try to fix what I break, and sometimes that means I have to fix things over and over again. 

I don't do everything right every day, which is why I'm so grateful to have so many days to try again.  Some days are better than others.  Some days are a step backward, some are a step forward.  

What counts is that I keep trying, and that I don't give up trying. I thank God for his graciously giving me so many days in the past, and I hope to have many more days to come.  I'll probably need every last one of them. 


All I want is peace, calm, love, and fairness in our family.  Sometimes I get upset when any of that is upset.  Sometimes I let it show, sometimes I have better control over myself than that.  I just want my kids to know I love them.  More than anything, I want them to know I love them.  And I want them to love each other, and hopefully, to love me back.  

"Exactly What I Wanted"

Monday night at the end of Evie's birthday, as she was getting into bed, without prompting, she smiled and gently said "Thank you for my birthday -- everything was exactly what I wanted."  It was so perfect and satisfying to hear her say that.

Rewind 18 hours.  I drove to Cub after midnight to get a balloon, ice cream, and a box of Lucky Charms for her (she wanted her own box, and it's once a year so why not).  I stayed up another couple hours fixing up her "new" bike.  I yanked and tugged and pulled the old tubes and worn out white tires off the green and white and purple bike, and replaced them with the not-as-old tubes from the red bike and the brand new white tires I bought.  It looked like a regular bike shop in our living room, with parts and tools and two undone bikes scattered around.  I wiped down the frame, pushed the white tassles into each handle grip, fastened the basket to the front, and stood it next to the kitchen table.

Mirjam had already arranged the other presents on the table.  Around 7 a.m., Mirjam woke Evie and William up, covered her eyes before she saw everything, then woke me up.  We went together to the kitchen table (Mirjam's hand still over Evie's eyes), and then came the big reveal.  Mirjam and William sang happy birthday (I kind of hummed along, still half-asleep.)  Evie stood there beaming before she started opening the gift bags and wrapped packages.

She got a new light blue swimsuit with little white flowers (which she loved and tried on right away), a new pink nightdress (which she loved and wore to bed that night), a pink piggy bank with (when she opened it, she said with excitement, "It has a tutuuu?!" touching the frill on its back and the tiara on its head), new stencil books from Oma und Opa in Germany, money for the piggy bank and a towel from Gma and Gpa in Utah, the bike, the Lucky Charms, and other stuff I can't remember.

That night for dinner, Evie chose the restaurant -- she wanted to go to Burger King with the play place.  Sounded fine to me.  We got kids meals for William and Evie (and she got to have Sprite!), chicken for Johanna, and a Whopper Jr. for me.  They climbed up and down, played with their kids-meal toys, and we went home and had Sprite floats with the ice cream I bought late the night before.

It wasn't overwhelming or overdone, it wasn't a ton of junk, it was just perfect.  Nice and simple and our family together.  And as Evie said, everything was exactly what she wanted.

School bus

The last two years, William has gone to the elementary school just a mile from our house. Because it was so close, we usually dropped him off in the car. A few times he and I rode our bikes together to his school in the morning, on the bike path around the park. (I'm going to miss doing that with him.) But he's always wanted to ride on the school bus like the other kids.

Two weeks ago we found out that Evie was accepted into Kindergarten at a new charter school, but William was on the waiting list. Evie was so excited to go on the bus, she got up before 6 a.m. to catch it. She loves going to her new school. Meanwhile, I've been driving William 45 minutes to a day camp every morning, which he's been having fun at while he waits for his school year to start.

We've begged, prayed, and waited in hopes that William and Evie could both go to the same school together, somewhere, anywhere. (Evie was accepted into two schools, where William was not. And at William's normal school, Evie was not. It's been a crazy couple weeks.)

Then late last night I got an email from the charter school that let us know William was in, too. I told him the news this morning, and he quickly got a gentle smile on his face that turned into a big grin and he genuinely and innocently and calmly said "Yippee! Now I get to ride the bus!" I don't think I've ever seen him so happy.

Tootsie Roll

This morning as I was putting my lunch together in my little Igloo portable cooler, Evie hopped up on her tip-toes a couple times to see inside. Then she ran around to the other side of the counter and said, "I'll give you a treat for your lunch!" She grabbed her bag of candy from the parade the night before and picked out a little Tootsie Roll for me and dropped it into the cooler (I'm eating it now), and I thanked her and gave her a big hug. It was the perfect treat.

Evie has an inherent generosity and love bigger than anyone I know. She loves sugar -- I often have to make her stop eating large amounts of whatever sweet thing she has (she inherited my sweet-tooth, which I got from my dad) -- but she willingly shared her candy with me, no prompting at all.

Mirjam has told me that when she plays with our friend's autistic daughters, sometimes she'll get pinched, bitten, pushed, squeezed, or have her hair pulled, but her response is not crying or fear. She grimaces and laughs as best she can while telling the other girl, "That's enough" in a very kind, motherly way.

(William, too, is very generous with the other kids. It's uncanny how well they all play together.)

It's incredible to me how loving and generous Evie is. It is truly a gift to have such an enormous heart like that. And she is truly a gift to me and our family.

Motel 6 and AmericInn

Last summer I packed the family in our new (pre-owned) green minivan and headed to Utah for my cousin's funeral. It was a quick trip, there and back in less than a week. Going both directions we stayed overnight at a Motel 6 in Big Springs, Nebraska. William and Evie loved it.

I remember as a child the excitement about staying at a hotel. The rarity of it, the big beds, already made for you. The TV in your room. Going door to door and visiting friends in their rooms. It was just exciting. And William and Evie we're excited, too.

When we drove to Texas for Christmas last year, too, we stayed at a dingy, beat-up Motel 6 on the south side of Des Moines, near the airport. Still, the kids were thrilled. We got there late at night, and I carried them from the car to the bed, where I'm pretty sure they excitedly snuggled under the blankets, even if half asleep. Of course, the next morning they were ecstatic to be in a Motel 6, and couldn't wait to turn on the TV in their room!

On the way back from Texas, I decided to forego the Motel 6 in Iowa and drive straight through to home, even though I knew the kids wanted to stay overnight again, and I knew the last few hours would be the most tiring. In the end, looking back, I probably should have stopped at the Motel 6 one last time. It was like a slumber party with the family.

William and Evie now recognize the big blue and red sign glowing over the freeway; when they see it they say, "Motel 6!" And a couple days ago I found an unopened little Motel 6 soap at the bottom of some box. I gave it to William and Evie yesterday morning, and they were both so excited to get it, especially William. "It's Motel 6 soap!" He ran to his bathroom to try it out and wanted to show me how he could make it pop up, slipping out of his hand by squeezing it tightly through his little fingers.

Also, when Ben and Jenne got married in Wisconsin a couple years ago, we stayed at the AmericInn, which they also loved, just a couple doors down from Grandma and Grandpa, whom they loved to visit in their room. I think I remember Evie (or maybe William) discovering that their room was just like ours!

Upon returning to our home, we passed by another AmericInn just down the road from our house. As we passed by, he cleverly proclaimed, "Schau mal, unser Hotel!" We didn't understand what he meant for a second, until we realized he had recognized the big sign high on top of the pole, above the hotel building. We had passed by it a hundred times and never made the connection, but he did. Now even sometimes still today, he'll see it and say the same thing as we drive by.

And sometimes I'll point it out to him, just to hear him say it again.

Weight

This weekend we visited our friends in Sheboygan. I enjoyed every moment of being with them. Friday night, after the kids were in bed, I went grocery shopping with Ben, and on a whim we watched a really funny movie (Knight and Day). Perfect.

Saturday, I traveled to the Chicago temple with Ben, the ward's seminary students, and some other ward leaders. I spent two quiet hours alone in the waiting room while they did baptisms, and I read a book (the latest Joseph Smith biography) studying each page. It was a peaceful day. That night Ben, Suzanne, Mirjam, and I went out for dinner together at a small Mexican place as thick fog rolled in from Lake Michigan.

The next morning we went to church together, and Ben delivered a wonderful, calm, thoughtful sermon on the atonement. "In the temple rests the power and the means to achieve the consummate purpose of the atonement": to just get back home to God and Jesus Christ. They just want us to be with them. He ended by noting that as each of us becomes one with Jesus Christ, we also grow closer to each other, becoming unified among ourselves. We all have our weaknesses, we all have our faults and our problems, he said, and we need to help each other and support each other, not criticize each other, and become unified and one with each other (specifically referring to his ward family). It was very well put, and a great little twist on the end of the sermon.

Ben was recently called to be bishop of his ward (he's only my age, with four small kids). I noticed he was generally calmer and full of thought. I noticed how other people automatically (subconsciously) looked to him for direction and decisions. (And he also mentioned the burden of criticism if someone didn't agree with something.) At least once during the weekend I heard him say, "This calling is really hard," exhaling as he did it, almost in exasperation.

When Ben came home after church on Sunday, after interviewing some people in the ward, I noticed his head hanging low from the weight of his calling. It reminded my of the mental image I had from a Truman Madsen talk, about the fullest, heaviest heads of wheat hanging the lowest. I mentioned to Ben about how someone once chided the prophet Joseph Smith for looking down and that he should cheer up. Joseph's reply was that if he had as much weighing on his mind as the prophet did (the weight of the entire church), is head would hang low, too. Ben mentioned the hardest part is not being able to talk to his wife about some of the more difficult parts of the job (when people confess things to him).

I tried to lift his spirits, talking to him, as much as I could, while not getting in the way. I felt like they sincerely enjoyed our company, and we certainly enjoyed being there with them. Mirjam and our kids didn't want to leave. Their kids asked when they could come visit us. It was a good weekend with our friends. We just hung out, let the kids play together (they all had a lot of fun together, and not a single fight), spent time talking and catching up, went out to dinner, played guitar together, watched Lost and a movie together, and just generally enjoyed each others' company.

No (and pop-ups)

One of Johanna's favorite words is "no." And it's pretty cute. Sometimes she draws it out in a long, playful "niaaooooo." Sometimes it's upset (when she's tired). Sometimes its in response to a question she doesn't understand.

For example, driving back in the car from Wisconsin this weekend, Evie started asking Johanna (while her car seat was still facing backward so she could see the kids), "Do you want to ride on a horse?" And Johanna answered with a simple "no." It went on and on:

"Do you want to ride on a house?" "No."
"Do you want to ride on a book?" "No."
"Do you want to ride on a pony?" "No."
"Do you want to ride on a car?" "No."
"Do you want to ride on a pillow?" "No."
"Do you want to ride on a puppy?" "No."
"Do you want to ride on a blanket?" "No."
"Do you want to ride on a cracker?" "No."
"Do you want to ride on a sandwich?" "No."
"Do you want to ride on a cheek?" "No."

Evie was cracking up, and Johanna enjoyed the attention.

Meanwhile, William created his own pop-up book of "the four heads, the ones in the rock" (Mount Rushmore). I helped him spell each president's name, and he did the rest, carefully cutting little tabs out of the paper and bending them back the opposite way, and drawing in pen four heads, with arrows point to each of them, next to the words "This is" and the explanation at the bottom "These are the presidents."

It was a good road trip.

Sheboygan! (Road trip)

We spent the long Memorial Day weekend in Sheboygan, WI, visiting our friends the Holmeses. At the end of the car trip back, William and Evie said it was just a short car ride. (We've taken much longer trips to Utah and Texas.)

Right before we entered Minnesota, we stopped and turned Johanna's car seat around to face forward. She could now see Mama much better. (She had been freeing both arms from the straps and grabbing the side of the car seat with her two hands and wrenching her neck around to look forward before we turned it around.)

She was very excited about this new development. She stopped whining and crying (she was tired, it was late), and instead she happily waved her legs and feet now that they were free. She kept asking for books (saying "buu, buu" while clapping her hands together to make the book sign). She also held her feet in her hands and slapped them together while saying "sh, sh" the sign and sound for shoes. (Before, her feet didn't have nearly the same freedom, as they were up against the seat-back that her previously backwards-facing car seat was facing.)

In the Subway at the gas station, she saw a rack full of stuffed bears and puppies. While we were eating at the table, she made the sign for bear (fingers scratching at your chest) while making the uuuh-uuuh "I want" whine. She can communicate so well now, with her signs. She can also make the sign (and panting noise) for puppy. Any time she sees or hears a dog (stuffed or real), she pats her leg and starts panting. It's adorable. She also looked out the window and saw flags and banners for a fireworks store across the street, and she kept saying "woooow!"

When we got home, William and Evie helped clean up everything out of the minivan. They were great travelers, fun play-friends for the other kids, and good helpers. It was a good road trip.

Honey crab

Johanna took a while to start walking on her feet. She's still not quite confident with her balance all the time, but she's learning well. Up until now she's been "walking" on her knees. It's adorable to watch, and she can really move on those little legs!

She seemed to not crawl very much, instead opting for the knees as a sort of halfway point between crawling and walking. I'd try to show her how to crawl by modeling it for her myself, and occasionally she would crawl with me (and she still does crawl sometimes) but mostly it was knees, even though it wasn't quite as fast.

Last week she did something different though. She was up on her feet, then bended over at the waist and touched her hands and head to the ground without bending her knees. I can't remember why she did it that way, but she thought it was funny, so I joined her. Then we started "walking" around like that on our hands and feet, and she thought it was so fun she started laughing. Every time she collapsed to her knees, she got back up again. And so I chased her around on the carpet on hands and feet.

Danke

This morning before I left for work, I decided to say a quick prayer for the day. I asked Evie if she wanted to pray with me, and she enthusiastically agreed. (One of her favorite affirmative words is "sure!")

She said "come here!" and led me into the kids' room, where she previously placed a few pieces of colorful fabric on the carpet, for a picnic. We kneeled down between the picnic spots, and I asked her if I should say the prayer, or if she wanted to. She said she wanted to.

She folded her arms, closed her eyes, and in her three-year-old voice, offered this up: "Heavenly Father, danke für Arbeit (work), danke für Target und Post (Mirjam and Evie and Johanna were going to run errands this morning), im Namen Jesu Christi, amen."

Perfect. She was very happy with her prayer, and I couldn't have thought of anything better myself. She gave me a big hug, and I kissed her on the cheek, and rode off to work.

Summer girl

Yesterday afternoon we all went for a long walk around the lake, in the sunshine and melting snow that alternately covered the path. We took two strollers, so Evie and William could switch off resting their legs. (Johanna got to stay in her stroller the whole time.)

As we came home, I pointed out the snow tunnel they had built early this winter, on the side of driveway/parking area. The snow was melting quickly in the warm weather, and part of the top had already caved in.

Inside our garage, and still in the stroller, Evie got a sad look on her face, and pitifully said she wanted to have more snow. I tried to console her as I unbuckled her from the stroller. I asked her in German if she liked the snow ("Magst du den Schnee?"). She nodded, her lower lip starting to droop.

In German again, I asked if she likes winter, and if she's a winter child ("Magst du den Winter? Bist du ein Winterkind?"). She thought about it for just a split moment, and answered, in English, "No, I'm a summer girl!"

I was surprised to hear her quick understanding of the German phrase and the immediate, appropriate, and mirrored response in a different language. I laughed out loud and gave her a big hug, and we went inside.

Olympics at home

William and Evie had fun watching the Vancouver Olympics with us the past two weeks, and reenacting many of the events.

They have chased each other around the living room, pretending to be on ice skates, pushing each other from behind, just like the team short-track events. Once, he told Evie to stand a few feet in front of him before they started, just like the long-distance speed skaters do, because of the curves in the oval track.

And every time he lined up, William would stretch his fingers straight out and held tightly together, lift one arm behind him and bent at the elbows, crouch over slightly and bend his knees. Then he would utter in a low, long tone, "Rrready..." (just like the voice at the starting line always did on TV), and then "pschew!" -- at the sound of his home-made gunshot noise, he and Evie would take off, scampering around the living room at top speed. A couple times, William kept running/skating along the carpet as long as the speed skaters on TV were still circling the large oval. That really got his heart going, but I let him go, because it was going to tire him out for bedtime.

Earlier last week, William set up a track of pillows across the floor, recreating the moguls ski event. He and Evie would start near the couches, then go sliding/running along the carpet, and hop over each of the "jumps" in front of them, past the kitchen, toward their bedroom door.

After watching the end of the Canada/USA hockey game, William pulled out his red plastic fireman's helmet, the big red plastic baseball bat (holding it down on the floor), his little baseball glove, and a round red wood block as the puck. He cleared the chair away from the kitchen table, and stood in front of the two metal legs, as he played "Canada hockey" -- he looked just like the goalie. I got out my old walking cane and turned it upside down to send the "puck" toward him across the carpet, using the crook of the cane as my hockey stick. Evie also shot a couple goals with my help.

Even William's favorite online video games gave way to some new Olympic favorites: bobsled, snowboarding, and "ski and shoot."

Last night, as the party came to a close, I told them the next Winter Olympics were in four years, and they would be 9 and 7 years old. As I said that out loud, I realized how quickly those four years will go, and how different they will be. I quickly rehearsed in my mind all the fun we've had with them this time, and hoped we could recreate some of it next time.

As I put them to bed, William said he was sad that the Olympics were over. "I love the Winter Olympics," he said. "Me too," I told him. I kissed their heads as I sent them off to sleep, to dream of all the events they had participated in.

First night

Tonight was the first night home for our new baby, Johanna. William and Evie were very excited to see her. They've been waiting for months, and asking for the past few days/weeks when she's going to finally arrive.

So after church, I loaded William and Evie into our new green minivan, and we drove through the city to the hospital. As we pulled around the parking ramp to the patient pick-up spot, Mirjam, the baby, and the nurse stepped outside into the bitter cold. I kept the engine running, quickly loaded Mama and Baby into the car, and we started our trip home.

Late that night, after Mirjam and I had put William and Evie to bed, we were sitting on the couch, trying to get Johanna to stop crying and fall asleep. From behind us, we heard the kids' door open -- I was about to stand up and send whomever it was straight back to bed.

But when we turned around, we saw a squinty-eyed William quietly but quickly scooting across the carpet on the red PlasmaCar that aunt Karen gave the kids for Christmas, pushing every few feet with his two legs stroking in tandem. He had heard his new baby sister crying, and he wanted to come see her and help her.

We let him say hello and good night, and give her a kiss, and he scooted back into his bedroom on the red plastic car, closed the door behind him, and climbed back up into his bunk bed again.

Good morning

Act 1. All of a sudden, William walked into the bathroom this morning, right as I was getting in the shower. He opened the mirrored door on the small wooden cabinet that holds all my toiletries and grabbed the brown plastic canister of my American Crew pomade. "Was machst du?" I asked. "Ich mache mein hair spikey," he answered, quite matter-of-factly. And with my pomade in hand, he left.

Act 2. Evie and William have grown fond of the word "poopie." Instead of fighting a losing battle, I play a long and have fun with them. We call each other "Poopie" as a sort of pet name: "Hi, Poopie" or "Gute Nacht, Poopie." It sounds cuter if you don't think about it. Occasionally William, and sometimes Evie, will call me Papi, which to my ears is very endearing (maybe it's a mix of Papa and puppy?).

Act 3. Somewhere along the line, soap got involved, and at times they just run around saying "poopy soap, poopy soap!" I have no idea where they got it, or what sense it's supposed to make, but they sure think it's funny. So this morning as I'm in the shower, Evie came into the bathroom for a moment, just like William, and then left. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she opened it quickly again, said "poopy soap" and closed it again.

Hello Kitty!

Evie loves Hello Kitty. She loves pink. She loves her dresses and princesses and those Barbie movies with the awful, catchy, melodic songs. But that's another story.

In the last few days, Evie has taken to crawling on top of the couch in front of the big window and laying there on her stomach, across the big back cushion. Sometimes that how she watches a video on TV. Sometimes she stares out the window, following the birds and the squirrels from her perch in the sun.

"Hallo, Evie-Katze," I say as I notice her from the kitchen. She doesn't move, or acknowledge my acknowledgment. Without looking up, she only smirks a little, and resumes whatever else she was doing.

Puzzle

This afternoon, William asked if he could play on the computer. I randomly guessed that he was referring to his new Lego Star Wars game that he got for his birthday. He's allowed to play it once per day, with his sticker chart providing the necessary backup anytime he tries to get in too much screen time.

But when he asked today, I simply pulled out the trump card and calmly explained that we don't play video games on Sunday. He didn't blink. "I mean a church game!"

Of course! What was I thinking?

So I fired up lds.org, clicked on The Friend, and to my amazement saw that the Church is totally rocking this whole online experience thing with it's kids magazines. I clicked on the "Play Games" link. What happened next took my totally by surprise.

"Puzzle" said William. I couldn't believe it. Of the three options to choose from on the screen in front of him, "Puzzles" was the middle one. So I asked him, pointing with the mouse, "Did you read that?"

I then pointed to the other P word, right next to it, slowing moving the mouse under the word from left to right, and he said "Picture."

I couldn't believe it. (Yes, I already wrote that, but I thought it twice, too.) He had read two words, that I had never seen him read before, without prompting of any kind from me. Incredible.

So he clicked on the "Hidden Pictures" button, played with that for at least a half-hour, and totally forgot about Lego Star Wars. For now.