Eliza's Mad Hatter Tea Party

Eliza's lucky that her birthday happens when the weather is fine and (so far, the past two whole years) I feel up for making an extra effort at a friend get together.  (We don't really have a system for birthday parties in place, just a vague sort of every other year family/friend thing.)  Mostly her party is an excuse to have friends over at all, for the boys as well, and eat treats.  With those two things a good time is guaranteed!

I had grand visions of a wild outdoor tea party, surrounded by picturesque weeds and sky.  The weather forecast changed our plans last minute and we decided to hold the party at our house and garden, instead of the park.  I wish we'd just gone for it at the park, as it didn't rain after all.  Still, we had fun and enjoyed having friends to help celebrate the summer season and this little girl with us.

I've said I'm not a party game person but then I ended up thinking of several games I thought would be fun.  The boys were super excited to help with the games and made all the Cheshire Cat smiles. 

Then we played a touch-football-esque game with the older kids called "catch the white rabbit" where Collin ran around the garden with a stuffed bunny in his pocket and the kids had to grab it out.

The kids decorated hats in mad-hatter fashion.  Finally, we played "who are you?" caterpillar charades.  This all came out of my own head (though I could have used Pinterest or a party blog) and I'm a wee bit proud of that. 

Eliza received some wonderful books for her gifts, and the Lambourne grandma and aunties sent her this very apropos Alice dolly that she adores.  She's come everywhere with us for the past week.

The undisputed crown jewel (so to speak) of the party was Collin dressing the part of the Mad Hatter.  What a guy, what a daddy.  Not everyone could walk around London dressed as he did (though some do, certainly) with such poise and confidence.  Thanks for being such a great sport, love.

Eliza Turns Two

Oh, Eliza Bee.  I cannot believe that you are two.  I really remember like yesterday that you were delivered in that proverbial stork's parcel.  You swooped in and captured all our hearts, permanently.  Your brothers adore you.  Your friends are many, as you share and sympathize but never give away your ground.  Strangers catch your smile or your stare and can't help but smile back.  You delight your dad.  You "nuggle" (snuggle) with your mom (mostly) on request.  You are sunshine and thunderstorm and every wonderful weather in between.  We love you and your whole incredible two-year-old self.  That love is only strengthened by the potential of greatness that is so obvious in you.

She was, as she said, "too busy" to look for portraits.  Her bear, Button, and her bus were so much more interesting than my attempt at catching her attention.

Blueberry muffins for birthday treat.

Far too eager to blow out candles to wait for both to be lit.  We must have lighted those candles at least four times before we could move on to eating (plus the brothers wanted turns lighting matches, naturally).  She's got some good blowing talent for the years ahead! 

 

Happiest birthday and coming year to you, our dearest Liza.

Funnies (and photos from Avebury Henge)

These pictures have nothing to do with the funnies.  They were just convenient.

Davy:  Here's a game.  Let's see who can laugh the most!

Eddy:  I don't like leftovers.  I don't like old food.  I prefer new food.

Eddy:  Mommy, I can't get to sleep.  Eliza is keeping me awake.  She won't stay in her bed even when I scare her down.

Liza Bee:  (after I drew on a piece of paper I thought she was done with) Naughty naughty mommy!

Eddy:  I don't need to got to the bathroom.  I'm just dancing to a song in my head.

Eddy:  (while mom was gone Dad was slow getting out of bed and he didn't want to wait for water to boil) Dad, would the hot water from the bathroom work for oatmeal?

Davy:  (building a city out of blocks and train tracks) I've never been this busy in my life.

Eddy:  Dad, I think Mom has more money than you.

Eddy:  I'm as hot as bacon and burnt pancakes.

Eliza:  (not wanting to put her coat on) No tanks, I'm OK.

Eliza:  I need dis, I want dis . . . I don't want dis.

Liza Bee:  Scuse me book.

Rachel:  (looking up from reading) So I accidentally found myself in the middle of what is apparently another teenage dystopian trilogy.
Collin:  Aren't you always in the middle of a teenage dystopian trilogy?
Rachel:  . . . Touche.

You May Call Me Master

It's all done.  The degree requirements met and everything tied up neatly.  I was able to make it to graduation ceremonies, thanks to the generosity of friends and family.  Collin stayed home with the kids for several days and they had a fabulous time from all accounts.  I stayed with friends and saw friends and was by myself and had a wonderful time too. 

It was the most hot and humid day so far this year in Boston on Commencement day, so wearing those robes was a bit of a trial.  But nothing could dim the spirits of the ceremony.  The sea of funny black hats and crimson robes of advanced degree earners was glorious.  We followed bag pipes from our respective colleges to Harvard Yard, then waited for everyone to find their places before filing into hear speeches.  The Latin one was my favorite, of course. 

If you're interested in my research and thesis, I included a link to my paper from this website.

 

My grandmother and grandpa were given a mug from each of their children and grandchildren from the schools they attended.  They are displayed on a shelf--one from BYU from me is there!  I thought of them when I found this, though selfishly I'm keeping it for myself.

Where There's Love and Family

There's a folk song I like to sing to Eliza about another Eliza.  (My favorite version is sung by Elizabeth Mitchell).  Around these parts we've made up our own version, special for our Eliza Bee.  Here is her song:

Come my love and go with me, little Liza Bee
Come my love and go with me, little Liza Bee
Oh Eliza, little Liza Bee
Oh Eliza, little Liza Bee

I've got a home in London, little Liza Bee
Primroses in the garden, little Liza Bee

(Chorus between each verse--lots of Liza Bee!)

I've got a home in Boston, little Liza Bee
Red maple leaves all fall, little Liza Bee

I've got a home in Utah, little Liza Bee
Snow capped mountains all around, little Liza Bee

I've got a home in Cali, little Liza Bee
Beaches and Micky Mouse, little Liza Bee

Love and family make it home, little Liza Bee
Doesn't matter where we roam, little Liza Bee

Belonging.  What a concept.  We all want to belong somewhere, even if we also long to be a little unique.  I know many feel adrift, without ties or sense of belonging to anywhere or anyone.  I've felt little tinges of that, the awkward feeling of not knowing anyone at the party or being left to continue a lurching-along conversation at an event.  I've been an outsider in a world I wanted to be a part of so much, when I began riding and caring for horses.  Moving makes one out of place and out of sorts.  Earning the privilege of belonging to a neighborhood or a city takes time and effort.

I feel so blessed to belong in many places, to many people.  I belonged to my birth family immediately, being wanted and loved.  I belong to my husband's family through cooperation and mutual respect and love.  I belong in the family I'm creating.  I know the weight of making my children feel welcome and worthy of fulfilling their roles in our family.  Family I get.  I belong in family.  I know keenly how blessed I am for this.

It's belonging elsewhere that I struggle with.  I have not found it easy, making different places and other people home.  Though well aware of it, I continue to fall into the trap of having too high of expectations of things (and maybe people as well) and am bitterly disappointed when the reality differs.
   I cried for a week (at least) when Collin and I moved to our first apartment in the Boston area.  It was so different than where we had grown up and just awful, to my inexperienced eyes.
   I battled wanting to love being a mother the first time around when it all didn't come easily.  
   I fell into a long depression for the first almost year of living here in London.  Lots of factors went into that, but not having friends or know-how right away definitely contributed. 

Once a network of belonging starts to strengthen--and I know it is always there, fortunate as we are to have a church organization and people prepped and eager to serve, as well as caring neighbors and far-away family supporting--the other stuff lessened in intensity or at least felt more bearable.  Belonging to a church, to a neighborhood community, to family, to friends, eases the stress of big life changes and small yet steady disappointments.

I'll share two times when I felt overwhelmed with belonging.

First, after the fire in our apartment in the Boston area (here is more of that story) I was blown away by the love of our church and our community for my family and for our neighbors, who shared the loss of home and things.  We were absolutely, positively surrounded by angels of all description.  I remember distinctly one particular moment when I was utterly alone physically--perhaps for the first time in weeks, having had a brand new baby (six weeks old at the time of the fire) and swept up in the frantic to-dos of clean up and finding a place to live and moving, etc.  I was standing under the entry way arch in our new, found by a miracle, lovely apartment.  I was looking around at the work of my friends and neighbors to create this new home for my family.  I think I'd held it together fairly well until then, but I began to sob and sob and sob.  Not the tears of disappointment that I'd had when first moving to the area three years before, but gut-wrenching sobs of gratitude.  I don't think I'd ever cried so hard of happiness before.  And it was because I belonged with those people and that town like I'd never imagined I could.  People made me belong, through nothing special I even did.

This next story is one I'm on the fence about sharing, because it is one of those special ones you don't just willy nilly share.  This is my space, though, and I will try to make this a safe place if you will.

My husband's family virtually adopted a neighbor kid who needed their family like he needed water.  He is a remarkable person in many ways, though it may take a while and a lot of patience to see those valuable qualities under a difficult personality.  That's a whole 'nother story about inclusion and belonging.  Where my moment comes in, though, is a lot of years and history past that first bit.  We got along okay, that kid and I.  (Though by then he was a man in age, a kid in a lot of other ways he remains.)  We both tried, for Collin's sake, if nothing else.  They are like brothers, you see.  We were traveling as a family and things were strained between me and him--between him and everyone, actually.  Yet there we were in the temple and it was time to pray.  In times of solemn and powerful prayer only good feelings should exist between people.  (Which I should have remembered and confronted the feelings before entering the temple, of course.)  I hadn't had particularly kind feelings and thought for one horrible moment that I would need to excuse myself.  Then suddenly I decided to let my heart get rid of the ugly and in that split second of repentance for my part I was washed over with a sense of belonging.  Belonging for me but mostly of belonging for my husband's friend--my friend.  I knew that above all else, he is a son of the most high God.  He belongs in that ultimate family.  My petty little bad feelings were perfectly purged by the flood of God's love for him and me.

Belonging.  We long to be with each other, to be with God.  Long to be.  We belong to each other, we belong to God.  Remember this and our hearts, our minds, our actions can only be beautiful.  Where there's love and family (or friendship or community) there is home and belonging.

This last part is an addendum to the original essay I wrote.  I posted this picture of Davy looking around the corner to watch bigger kids playing football at our neighborhood playground to Instagram and a friend commented how it reminded her of this topic of belonging.  I didn't even think about how challenging it is for my children to work up the courage to ask to join or ask a friend to come play with them may be.  I notice that they are shy like me and Collin, maybe a combination of genetics, our parenting style, and their observation of our own insecurities in social situations.  I want my children more than anything to be people who help others belong, and to find a place where they feel comfortable beyond our family circle.  You don't need to have a huge group of friends to feel the belonging, either.  A friend or two can fill the ache to belong very nicely.  One thing my friend Cathryn wrote in her essay that I am going to keep and take with me is the idea that this world is so big and so full for us, there is no room not to belong.  There is a place for everyone.  My children belong with me and they also belong in that great wide world.  I know they are strong and good enough to make their place good to be.

I was asked by a friend to join a thread of blog-keepers talking about belonging.  I've never really done anything like this before, but I thought I would give it a shot.

Please also read a sweet anecdotal essay on belonging in a London neighborhood by London mum Lorianne Toler here. She grew up in Provo, UT, collected degrees at BYU, Oxford and University of Pennsylvania.  She works as an international constitution builder and as a mom of two young children.  She is also the author of a book about receiving graciously, "The Other Side of Charity."

I've asked my good friend Cathryn Daniels (we go way back to Latin class days--frantic pre-class preparation in the hallway are some of my fondest memories!) to write on belonging.  I can't wait to see what she writes in a few days!  Cathryn grew up in Utah, double majored at BYU in Comparative Literature and Harp Performance, then completed a graduate degree and continued to teach harp to many students while reading voraciously.  She is the mother of two young daughters and writes thoughtfully about her life here.