One Sunday while teaching the Primary children (ages 3-11) during singing time, I shared a story regarding a childhood memory. I finished the anecdote by mentioning my age at the time, which was about five years old.
One of the kids piped up with the query, “How old are you now?” Without hesitation, I responded, “I’m forty-two.”
One of the Primary teachers felt inclined to add his two cents, remarking that asking someone’s age is not polite. Which sort of annoyed me. Because clearly, I failed to be embarrassed by the question.
And why should anyone be? Aging is inevitable. At what point do we decide that rather than “celebrate” another year of getting older and wiser, we need to conceal it from the general public? It’s just plain weird to me.
It didn’t help the matter that the teacher who “silenced” the child was a twenty-something male. Perhaps he was trying to be sensitive to the fact that women are often particularly averse to the aging process.
Not this woman.
The problem is, if people (and women, particularly) shy away from revealing our age, it only perpetuates the idea that old age is worthy of our disdain.
So while I may not shout my age from the rooftops, I will do my part to remove its stigma by giving inquiring minds a straight answer. Especially kids, who should never be made to feel ashamed by the simple curiosity of asking someone how old he/she is.
If I’m not ashamed to answer, hopefully they won’t be when they’re “old” like me.
April and May were characterized by lots of walks around the neighborhood(to prevent going stir-crazy), playing badminton in the backyard almost every day, more baking, church at home, and a brand-new subscription to Disney Plus.
Jack broke his collarbone when his sister crashed into him on the swings. Collarbone fractures hurt terribly for the first two days. Bouncing back is surprisingly quick. He was as good as new within three days. At least he thought so.
Jack also got an infusion in May. He’s grinning from ear to ear in this shot because it was OVER.
The kids limped to the end of the school year.
Rachel had her first socially-distanced piano recital.
We are so grateful to have endured the remodel fiasco of 2018 so that there was room enough for the seven of us to spread out as needed. Despite the loss of interacting with friends regularly, we cherished the time it allowed us to focus on our most important relationships within our family.
Between waking up at the crack of dawn to make a fancy breakfast to fighting the kids over them not helping out, to dealing with a wife who is laughing under her breath at the extremely unpolished way in which he goes about the business she carries out day in and day out, Mother’s Day is torture for husbands.
I often throw in the towel early in the day, either because I can’t bear the messy kitchen any longer (is it SO hard to clean up as you go?) or because it just plain feels weird to relax on the couch while the house is falling apart around me.
Not today. This year, I determined to let my husband and children feel the true impact of not having my full contribution in the home. That way, maybe they’d realize the true labor of love that is dinnertime. Maybe they’d see that counters don’t clean themselves. Perhaps they’d clue into the fact that the trash doesn’t take itself out.
It’s true. Mothers are magicians. Most of what we do goes relatively unseen. But if one could truly see the Herculean effort that goes on behind the scenes, it would seem almost miraculous.
So when our poor husbands make the ambitious attempt to duplicate the incredibly mundane(but absolutely essential!) tasks we undertake on a regular basis, it probably feels like torture. At least that’s how it appears when my husband conks out for a long nap each and every Mother’s Day.
Gosh, being mom for a day must be exhausting.
Being mom for a lifetime, however? It’s everything I always wanted. And I’m not just saying that because my kids made dinner tonight.
She wondered why I was taking pictures. She and Tim and I were just parked on a bean bag chair in front of her laptop after all.
But that’s what you do when school’s gone online for the rest of the year. Your National Honor Society induction ceremony is gonna look a little different, you know?
But that doesn’t mean a proud mama can’t post a picture or two of the moment just because we aren’t all dressed up and the honoree isn’t called up on stage to accept the accolade.
She earned it. Her initial application rejected likely because of the rushed manner in which she submitted it. (I suppose she figured that academic excellence carried the most weight and failed to mention a few service and leadership roles on her resume). Her appeal reflected more accurately the numerous bits of service she has contributed to the community in the last year.
She’s lucky they let her appeal. But I’m glad she had to put in a little extra for something for which she’s an obvious shoo-in. Things won too easily are seldom truly appreciated.
So there we sat staring at her laptop as they read her name and that of many friends, our hearts swelling with pride. Not just for the honor of her acceptance into an elite group. But even more for the humble appeal she submitted as evidence that she really wanted it.
What parent wouldn’t want to take a picture of that?
Incorporating church music into our family culture.
When I was a young girl, my parents decided it was high time we kids began to learn some church hymns. Though I can’t recall the methodology, I do remember that it involved lots of repetition. Consequently, by the time I was five or six, I had learned all three verses to the hymn Let Us All Press On. That stirring song holds a sweet spot in my heart to this day.
Fast forward twenty or so years to when Tim and I were raising our young family. During sacrament meeting, Tim would thoughtfully hold up the hymnbook to give me a chance to read the lyrics as we sang each congregational hymn. Except that nine times out of ten, I politely let him know that I didn’t need him to. Having practiced hymns with regularity as a child negated the use of a hymnbook because I’d memorized a majority of them.
My earliest memories of feeling the Spirit are directly tied to my experiences singing Primary songs and hymns both in my home and at church. For that very reason, I have worked diligently to ensure that my kids are given those same testimony-building opportunities.
Now that our church worship has temporarily shifted from meeting as a congregation on the Sabbath to gathering as families or individuals in our homes, how do we maintain the benefits of worshipful music? Without our organists, our conductors, the special musical numbers and the energetic Primary choristers, how do we keep the music alive?
It doesn’t take much, honestly. We don’t have to scour Pinterest for amazing ways to teach primary songs (although, as a Primary chorister there are some pretty incredible ones out there and it never hurts to borrow someone else’s awesome idea).
Here are a few simple ways to incorporate music into your home-centered church routine:
As I mentioned above, repetition is key. When my girls were little, we labeled one of the “tasks” on our family home evening chart “music”. The person who is in charge of the music picks a song to learn that week. Each night after scripture study and before our family prayer, we sing the chosen song…every night until the next family home evening when it’s someone else’s turn to pick the song. After singing the same song 6 times, you can bet we’ve learned it pretty well. (And are darn-ready to start singing a different one, not to mention.)
You might be familiar with Music and the Spoken Word. It broadcasts every Sunday at 9:30 a.m. Mountain Time. I can’t boast that our family reverently sits down to listen to this broadcast every Sunday, but I can attest that it plays at some point in our house every Sunday. Although the Tabernacle Choir sings a variety of tunes from Broadway classics to Mendelssohn, my favorites are the tender arrangements of primary songs and latter-day hymns set to slideshows of beautiful scenery. The inspirational message is always a winner, too.
Did you know that just about every single Primary lesson in Come Follow Me for Primary includes a song? If you are using this awesome resource to prepare Sunday lessons for your children at home, feel free to incorporate the suggested song(s). It is easy to do, ties into the lesson, and might even be one of the songs our ward Primary is preparing for the program in September.
Do any of your children play an instrument or like to sing? Find an arrangement of a hymn or primary song (at their level) and help them work to learn it. Then have them provide the “special musical number” in your family’s sacrament meeting one Sunday. When kids know they will be performing something, even it’s just for your family, they will feel accountable to learn it. As they learn it, it becomes a part of them.
As a side note, as a Primary chorister, I have invited several families in our ward to record themselves singing a chosen Primary song during the past month in which we have not had regular church meetings. Then, I used the videos to make a single mashup video(Here’s an example). I got great feedback from many families who participated, indicating that learning the song was such a positive experience for their children. Added-bonus: at least a few children will know each song we are preparing for our Primary program really well. Hopefully the rest of the kids will pick them up quickly when we resume our regular meeting schedule. Hopefully.
Another great resource for using music to teach the gospel can be found in the Come Follow Me Manual for Primary Choristers. Easy ideas for teaching music effectively to children can be found there.
There you have it. A few simple ideas to incorporate music into your home-centered church (and your family culture, when thinking more broadly).
What are some ways you use music in your religious worship at home?
Just over three weeks ago was a typical Thursday. I’d attended an after-school volleyball game (Rachel’s first). I dropped Eve off at soccer practice then headed straight to drop Rachel off at hers. That bought me two hours to drop off donations at the local thrift store and make my weekly grocery trip to Winco.
COVID-19 had been marching its way slowly across the country for over a month, beginning with Washington (with whom we share a border). Idaho was one of the last holdouts, so I wasn’t concerned. And frankly, though I’d heard about people hoarding toilet paper, I’d had no issues securing what I needed in the previous few weeks.
But Winco that night was a disaster. Still well-stocked. But completely unprepared for the crowd that descended at the exact same time I did. Holy cow. I waited in line for over 45 minutes to check out, making me 10 minutes late to pick up Rachel from practice. (Tim picked up Eve, since her practice was closer to his work).
While waiting in line I discovered that our church (a global organization) had canceled all Sunday meetings until further notice. Huge deal. Dominoes from there on out. Soccer game canceled. Then all games/practices for the next two weeks. After that-after-school activities/sports canceled. Not long after that – school was canceled.
Suddenly my schedule was completely clear. No running kids to extracurriculars. No art lessons in the near future. No church obligations to fulfill. No waking up at 5:30 to make breakfast before Lily leaves for seminary. No Joy School lessons, no teaching piano, no drivers ed.
Granted, I actually enjoy most of the things I do as a stay-at-home mom. But the term stay-at-home has sort of become a misnomer. And I won’t lie when I say that parenting five kids and all that entails occasionally leads to serious burnout.
It turns out that canceling everything is all I’ve ever wanted.
It means that family dinner happens every single night now. It means my gas tank has been sitting on full for longer than 5 days straight. It means my to-do list is shrinking instead of growing longer under a cloud of obligations I haven’t ever been able to shake. It means my work-from-home husband gets to take a walk with me daily during his lunch break. It means family movie night is every night. And so much more.
So here are a few things I’ve caught on camera the past two weeks:
Home church – complete with Jack giving his first on-camera talk and a few families (including ours) providing singing time for our ward family.
Tim making a Toney family special for Pi Day.
Green pancakes for St. Patty’s Day.
Planting our spring garden.
Sunday outing along the Boise River. Lots of rock-skipping (or, in Jack’s case, throwing).
Breaking in the fire pit for the season.
Pinterest-fail donuts for Anna’s birthday breakfast. (They were tasty – but the hack I’d secured to compensate for the lack of a donut pan misfired, in a major way.)
Hours of fun playing with rice.
Brand new throw pillows for the couches (I bought the fabric last summer so this to-do list item was long overdue).
Matching piano bench re-cover.
A deep appreciation for a full-container of eggs.
Starting on a recipe book of family favorites for my soon-to-be-college-bound daughters. Beginning with banana chocolate chip muffins.
Game night with the fam.
A complete inventory of our food storage. Spring cleaning – 5 boxes destined for Deseret Industries (that will unfortunately languish in our house until it reopens after the pandemic dies down). A freshly cleaned (and painted) pantry.
We even resurrected the butterfly garden we used years ago and ordered some painted lady caterpillars.
Right after they arrived.They grow a lot in ten days.
Plus a whole lot of reading, binging on TV, video gaming and overall laziness.
Oh my. I’m so far behind schedule I’ve started lumping entire seasons together.
Well, Christmas happened.
Soon after the holidays, Anna jumped right into daily rehearsals for her school’s production of Les Miserables. Being a junior and not a senior, she didn’t stand much of a chance at snagging one of the leads. But she was pleased as punch to have a solo in “At the End of the Day”.
Photography was not allowed during the production but I managed to sneak into one or two dress rehearsals and snap a shot or two.
The production was WAY beyond a typical high school’s and brought me to tears. Anna literally looked like an angel in the final number and sounded like angel too, when her high soprano sailed into the heavens as she sang, “tomorrow comes”.
Although the kids got all the glory, the parents were no slackers either as we all got roped into one thing or another from building the set to arranging/mending costumes to heading up the dinner. I was in charge of the dessert auction-which is a HUGE fundraiser for the choir department. So no pressure.
Let’s just say I was glad when it was over.
I moved right from that into my second year of heading up our elementary school’s Art Night. With the help of some amazing volunteers, it went off without a hitch and thank the heavens, we managed to pull it off less than a week before the first case of coronavirus was diagnosed in the state of Idaho. Phew.
As I’ve begun to age more visibly in recent years, it has forced me to contemplate the value of beauty.
I’ve always prided myself on not really caring much about my appearance. It’s not as though I do NOTHING to accentuate the positives in my appearance, but I do very little.
At least in comparison to many of my peers. I don’t color my hair, I only get it cut about once every 4-6 months, in fact. My makeup routine takes about 5 minutes tops. Some days I don’t even bother putting it on. As for clothes, I’m pretty sure I’m still wearing my faves from 5-10 years ago so clearly vanity is not much of an issue for me.
I’ve been unable to justify the cost of beauty, and I can’t seem to explain away spending a decent chunk of time enhancing it. Until recently.
In my musings, I have come to realize that beauty, like anything else, is a gift. Much like brains, or money, or talent. Possessing any number of these gifts only becomes a problem when it is self-serving or when one prioritizes it above the most important things in life.
Even God never said money is not the root of evil but that the love of money is the root of all evil. Can’t the same be said for any talent or gift? Beauty in and of itself does not corrupt, but the love of it certainly can.
Take the story of Esther in the Old Testament, for example. The king favored her. Why? Well, among other things she was beautiful. Did she use that beauty to influence? Yes she did. Was it self-serving? No, it wasn’t. She gained favor in the kings sight and later combined it with courage to save her people.
God also says in 1 Samuel 16:7 that “man looketh on the outward appearance but the Lord looketh on the heart”. So wouldn’t beauty be a distraction from what really matters? It can be. I mean, if someone blessed with a gorgeous exterior uses it to manipulate others or sell unsavory web content it is most certainly the antithesis of what God would want. And that it how it is with all blessings we receive from Him.
Take riches, for instance. The Book of Mormon prophet Jacob tells us “but before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God.” He goes on. “And after ye have obtained a hope in Christ ye shall obtain riches, if ye seek them; and ye will seek them for the intent to do good- to clothe the naked and to feed the hungry, and to liberate the captive, and administer relief to the sick and the afflicted.”
Does God care about riches? Nope. Does he want us to care about riches? Nope. But if we acquire them in this life, is he pleased when we use them to do good? Darn-tootin’ absolutely.
Think of Bill and Melinda Gates. Certainly he is more pleased with their intent to bless the lives of others through their foundation than with those whose riches bear the stain of human trafficking or illegal drug sales.
Back to beauty though. God cares little about our appearance. He wants us to know that we are all precious in his sight, despite our various circumstances in mortal life. However, to enhance one’s physical appearance is not particularly worthy of disdain. Our intentions determine how we will be judged.
So I’ll quit rolling my eyes at my friends who sell beauty on online platforms. Because they also bear frequent testimony of God and his goodness. They are examples of faith and family. They use their beauty to influence others to be good and do good. And why shouldn’t they?
We kicked off September by biking the Greenbelt up to Barber Park, where we rented a raft for our annual Boise River Float.
School started (boo) and I never got to see the older four and spent far too much time with the preschooler. Good thing he’s kinda cute.
Tim celebrated his 41st birthday in style.
Can you guess which kid was responsible for Jack’s tears?
Rachel started up basketball, we took the younger two to the pumpkin patch, threw a Halloween party for Eve and her friends, and went trick-or-treating against our better judgment.
It’s no secret that I like my toddlers more than more teenagers. Emphasis on the word “like”. Toddlers are just so much more agreeable, and even when they’re not, they boast a whole lot of cuteness to make up for it.
Still, I would have to say that I firmly believe that opposition spices up life. My struggle to raise teenagers and still “like” them provides the contrast I need to swell with pride at their successes. I can’t help but be their biggest fan.
Last night, Anna put on the “blue dress” for the first time. The blue dress isn’t just a pretty get-up, it is a symbol. A symbol that one has attained the highest level of choral excellence in our local high school. (Which pretty much has the best choir in the whole state).
Last night was her first concert wearing the “blue dress”. I’ve been attending these concerts for years in support of neighbors, young women I taught at church and so on. Anna came with me on many of those occasions. It surprised me how much pride I felt in my daughter, hearing her high soprano voice sailing above the others now that it was her turn to don the blue dress on that same stage.
The volatility of raising teenagers is real. But the satisfaction at observing their transformation into distinct almost-adults tops it a million times over. Watching them come into their own and magnify their talents is a parental privilege that for me defies description.
