Ward Christmas Party

I think Alaina kind of looked like an elf with her polka dot hat.After a delicious ham dinner we enjoyed a holiday program--the YM/YW acted out a nativity scene. interspersed with musical numbers. Andrew was in one of the musical numbers. He sounded great!

Throughout the program the little kids crowded the stage like groupies. They also pulled decorative flowers out the garland. Aside from showing me her stolen flower, in the next picture Liz is also eating a cookie Mrs. Claus handed her moments before.

Waiting in line to see Santa . . .

This our first picture of both girls with Santa. Somehow we never did this when Lizzie was a baby and this was the first time she sat on his lap--usually she just stands near him.

Lizzie does not like peppermint . . . Luckily these candy canes were fruity.

As I took this picture Andrew was saying stuff like "Okay, that's enough pictures Jill." "Seriously no more pictures." "I'm going to confiscate that camera." "Jill, give me the camera."

So we discovered another seasonal treat that Lizzie is willing to eat (if it is not broken that is). Andrew also likes candy canes--the fruity ones in particular. I can't stand them. Too messy.

Institute

I have to teach institute this Thursday. I am not really looking forward to it because I do not like public speaking, but there is usually a pretty good discussion so I'm counting on that to save me.

For this course class members are expected to take turns teaching the lesson. We have to pick a talk or two by a modern GA and teach/discuss it.

It will probably come as no surprise that I have been thinking a lot lately about grief and mourning and hope. I tried to find a talk that encompasses these themes. I picked "Sunday Will Come" by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin. If any one out there has any ideas or tips related to this I welcome them.

Talking about grief and mourning may not seem to go well with the Christmas season, but the facts are:

1) That's what I'm interested in right now.

2) A lot people struggle more during the holidays because of loss.

3) The hope that Christ brings is what gets us through difficult times.

Norwegian Christmas

Last night for FHE we met Drew at Union Station to check out the Norwegian Christmas displays--a giant tree and model trains. Liz really enjoyed the trains (and the giants/gnomes lurking throughout the display). It was my first time metroing with both girls and I was by myself for the first half. It went pretty well. I only went from Pentagon City to Union Station which necessitated only one train change so it wasn't too bad.

Lizzie thought trying on Daddy's glasses was SO funny. She kept giggling and saying everything looked "weird."

This kid smiles, just not in pictures. She is usually completely bewildered by the flash (and even just the camera).
I have so many of these pictures. Lizzie is happy to pose for a picture . . . if Alaina is right next to her.

My Dad Bought me a Pony (WARNING: Longer than average post)

My dad bought me a Shetland Pony when I was just six years old. It has taken me a very long time to realize just how great I had it as a child. After all, isn't it every kid's wish at some point to have a pony?

The memories of the actual purchase of the pony, though still vague, have only returned to me now as I sit to write this. To my six-year-old senses, it seemed that we traveled quite a distance to the rural home of one of my father's acquaintances in order to buy the pony. Those kinds of excursions always seemed fraught with the discomfort of summer heat in a cramped and bumpy truck cab and accompanied by the sometimes painful pokes and prods of an older sibling (most of my pain usually came from one sibling in particular). Still, it is somehow impossible to remember those summer drives with my dad and my playfully abusive brother with anything other than fondness. It was clear even then that the strength of my father's hand could overcome almost any discomfort with just a simple pat on my knee or by resting securely on my small shoulder.

Unfortunately, I can't say that at the time I really felt a lot of excitement at the prospect of my very own pony. A familiar excitement returns to me now, however, when I think of the fine saddle that came with the pony. The saddle was just the perfect size for a six-year-old boy. It was black, with capped stirrups, and it had silver finishings around the saddle strings and along the skirt, stirrups, and fenders. It had already seen some use and showed some obvious wear. Yet, I could clearly see myself astride that saddle in the next Fourth of July parade. I would be the pride of the parade - no one could overlook such a fine incorporation of virile youth, equine beauty, and elaborate ornamentation.

Infatuation with that fine saddle soon turned into love for my pony, Rocky. We shared some great times together, the most memorable of which include playing cowboy outlaws with my brother and his friends in a nearby field and pretending to be Billy the Kid when my father took me and my brother on a horseback trip to The Kid's actual hideout. Looking back now, I feel less of an attachment to Rocky than I do to the events we experienced together. But Rocky was there, and many of those memories may not have been possible without him.

I'm not sure exactly what prompted my father to buy the pony - in mid-summer, it didn't seem to have any association with any holiday or with my birthday. Perhaps the beauty of the event is that there was no obvious reason for the purchase other than a father's desire to share a joyful hobby with his sons. At the time, I had no concept of what that pony represented to my father. It only became apparent two short years later, when we sold Rocky to help finance my oldest brother's two-year church mission to Portugal, that it might have actually been a financial sacrifice to purchase and maintain the pony. It is only now as I begin to raise my own young family that I am beginning to realize why my father may have made that sacrifice for me.

Just yesterday, Jill congratulated me for purchasing Lizzie her first pair of skis for Christmas. It might seem funny that she congratulated me when the skis are intended for Liz, but I'm sure it is obvious to her that the present is much more exciting for me than it probably will be for Liz. I really am excited to give Lizzie the skis - I can't wait for her to open them at Christmas, and I can't wait to see her reaction. But even if she doesn't get as excited about the skis as she does about the Pretty Ponies we have for her, it won't bother me too much. I'm excited about the skis, but I'm even more excited to spend time on the slopes with Liz, sharing with her something I enjoy so much myself. What I'm really looking forward to is creating happy memories with my little girl.

It is because of this new perspective with a young family that I think I can better understand my father's motivation for buying me that pony when I was so young. I believe I know now what joy he must have experienced then: the joy in anticipation of the time we would spend together riding horses and pretending to be wild west outlaws. Looking back at that time, I find myself experiencing a new joy -- a deeper, more vigorous joy, intensified by my increased understanding of my father's love for me and amplified by the love I have for my own children.

Just a couple days ago (Dec. 3rd), we passed the tenth anniversary of my father's death. I dedicated his grave ten years ago today. It is difficult to believe that ten years have already passed, especially because I don't miss my father any less than I did when he died. Of course, my life has been busy since then, and I've had no other choice but to move on. It's funny how time forces you to focus on the necessities of life. I may not remember the pain of his passing quite so frequently, and yet the pain, when I do remember it, is no less intense.

I long to share with my father the new joys I have found over the years: a beautiful wife and beautiful children. I long to share with him my new understandings of the world and my place in it. Most of all, I long for the strength in his touch from a pat on my knee or a warm embrace.

Here are some of my favorite memories with my dad:

• Best bedtime story teller ever - my favorite was about how he tipped over his teacher's outhouse with his teacher still in it
• Camping in the Southern Utah desert - Billy the Kid's hideout, shooting at empty soda cans
• Buffalo roundup and calf counting on Antelope Island
• Coaching my basketball and soccer teams as a child
• Playing basketball in the driveway
• Accompanying him to visit elderly people in the neighborhood
• Bucking hay together (so strange how such an unpleasant task can seem so enjoyable now)
• Skiing at Alta together
• Even though I'd already been accepted to other universities, he drove my application to BYU on the last day for submission

First bath . . . together

Lizzie was pretty excited that we put Alaina in the bathtub with her. Still, she was a little annoyed that we wouldn't let her move the baby around. Lizzie is still completely enamored with her little sister. She also still thinks about her little brother. In her prayer last night she said "We love Lainey. We are so glad to have her in our family. And we don't know why Jacob died. We hoped can know why he died."

The Pecking Order

We overslept this morning. Andrew woke me at 7:30 saying, "Jill, get up please. We have to go. I have an important meeting at 8." I threw some clothes for Lizzie in a bag, put Alaina in her car seat, and we carried the girls out to the car in their pajamas. Lizzie and Lainey alternatively cried during the drive in because they were hungry. We got Drew there just in the nick of time.

I left DC at about the same time I need to leave my apartment to get Liz to school on time. During the drive I unsuccessfully tried to talk her into changing her clothing while still strapped into her booster. I stopped to get breakfast for Lizzie at McDonald's. We left the drive-through just as school was starting. I dressed Liz in the school parking lot, dry brushed her teeth, and raced her into the building 15 minutes tardy. The next stop was the cafeteria to put money in Lizzie's account so she can buy lunch (a first for her).

Since Alaina had been crying almost non-stop since we arrived at the school, as soon as I got back to the car I diapered and fed my near-hysterical baby.

Next stop, gas station (the gas light came on shortly before I dropped off Liz).

Then finally I was able to go home, and joy of all joys, brush my teeth and change out of my pajamas. So, here's the breakdown:

Breadwinner trumps Kindergartner

Kindergartner trumps Baby

Baby trumps Mother

Jet Lag & the US Botanic Garden

Jet lag! Argh! Lizzie has it SO bad this time around. We got back Saturday evening. Sunday morning we ended up sleeping in till 10:20 (church started at 8 a.m.). That night I put Liz to bed at nine, but she didn't fall asleep till midnight (after I laid in bed with her for the last hour). It was the same thing last night. Yesterday morning and this morning I had to wake Lizzie up for school (a first this year) and dress her while she laid in bed and tried to go back sleep. Sunday afternoon I took Liz to the "Windows on Wonderland" exhibit at the US Botanic Garden hoping to wear her out for an early bedtime (only early since she's still on Utah time). It was so cool! Lots of detailed little buildings (three pig's houses, Cinderella's carriage, government buildings) made entirely out of plant materials and trains all over the place--what's not to love? I highly recommend it.

I took gobs of pictures of the displays, but they just turned out so so. I think the pictures of the girls look a lot better:

Liz kept pretending she was going to drop Lainey. She would say "Timber!" as she leaned forward and giggled.