my mother, that's who i need

There are lots of mothers and mother-types in my life that need celebrating and recognition this weekend, but I've been thinking about my own flesh and blood mom, and also reflecting on becoming a mom. I have this very random and distinct memory from Rhoda's first days at home—Robbie was really wonderful and changed all of Rhoda's diapers during those middle of the night feedings (which seemed like they would never end—I can't believe I woke up every two hours and still managed to function during the day), but for some reason there was one night where I was determined to do the feeding and changing and re-swaddling all by myself just so that I could prove to myself that I was capable of mothering. There were lots of moments of uncertainty in those days—there still are, I suppose—and I didn't know if I could survive without my mom in the next room, without Robbie at home on paternity leave, without Eliza being willing to drive over and stay the night with me on our first night home so we'd have some reassurance from someone who had done this new baby thing before, so I figured I'd better suck it up and gingerly heave my swollen and bruised body out of bed and get to work. You know, just in case I'd have to do it all by myself someday. Funny to look back on that line of thinking now—I think I was convinced that Robbie would be getting up in the middle of the night with me every night for the rest of my childbearing life. (Spoiler alert—he doesn't.)

That night, in my half-awake state as I was trying to gingerly fasten a diaper on this delicate baby, I felt a keen sense of admiration for Rhoda's tiny body. And a sense of admiration for myself, I guess. "I know every single curve and dimple on this body," I thought to myself. It was kind of weird. I remember reading in a Dr. Sears book that when you bring your baby home from the hospital that you should "take stock" and just really soak in everything about your tiny baby's body, which is where this half-asleep thought must have come from. And my next thought was, "At one point in my life, my mom knew me this intimately too." Twenty-nine years ago, my mom was doing those same diaper changes—and more, since she had to change the casts on my sad club feet too—and knew me just as well as I knew little Rhoda. Maybe she didn't have exactly the same sense of wonder for my newborn body because I was her fifth baby, but I've seen veteran moms with their newborns and it seems the admiration is still there, despite the other distractions.

Having my mom stay with me after Rhoda came home was such a special time for me. I know I have lots of friends who don't care to have their mom come stay with them after their babies are born, but not so with Granny Babs, who knows all the right things to do and say. She told me before she came that coming for the first baby is the absolute best, too—when there are more kids, you're busy entertaining those kids, not just hanging out and holding a sleeping baby and watching Netflix all the time. (I guess that happens after the other kids go to bed.) It's just different. The time went by far too fast and I wish it could have lasted longer. It's been a long time since I've felt like I've really needed mothering—moving away from home does that to you, I guess—and it was nice to be okay asking for help and feeling vulnerable again. 

So that's what I'm thinking about and celebrating this weekend, in addition to looking back at photos and videos of tiny baby Rhoda and crying a little bit (by myself... on the couch... late at night...) at the sweetness of that time. Motherhood is a weird and wonderful gift that keeps on giving.

one-a-feets

I can't get over this picture of my niece Isla and nephew Sully. They are a match made in cousin heaven. Apparently Isla will only wear overalls or footed sleepers (what she calls "one-a-feets," which is pretty much the best name ever) and it's not uncommon for her to go out in public wearing one of her animal costumes. Sully was pretty excited about her costumes and he decided to go out to lunch with the family wearing that dog costume which has a head that looks more like a horse's head? It was pretty much the funniest thing ever and maybe you had to be there to really get the full effect but being at a Souplantation on New Year's Day with three tour buses full of people in line in front of you isn't so bad when you've got Sully in a dog costume standing with you. 

Which leads me to the thought that got me here in the first place—at what point do kids stop being so funny? I wish I kept better track of these things because I know all of my brother's and sisters' kids have been funny as little guys and now they're grown up and funny in different ways but don't you wish the dog costume phase could last just a little longer? I guess if that was the case for everyone then I'd still be meowing my nightly prayers (yes, this is a thing I did once upon a time) and it's probably better that I don't do that anymore.

odds and ends

Sorry for being gone so long. I'll make it up to you by posting an incredibly flattering picture of the three of us in our matching pajamas on Christmas morning:

It was worth the wait, wasn't it??

I want to be a better recorder in 2014. I used to be a great journal writer but that stopped around the time I got married and also when blogging got big. And now Instagram has killed my blog. So I'm hoping to make more time to be here this year. I like to read old posts and see how much I've changed and grown over the years and I feel like the last year has just been a travelogue with no snippets of my real life. And this week marks twelve (!!) years of this blog's existence. Can you believe it? So many changes have happened and are going to continue to happen over the next while so I need to write it while I remember it. So, here we go.

The three of us just spent a glorious three weeks visiting family and friends in Arizona and California. Robbie reminded me that three weeks is like 30% of Rhoda's life so far. Unfortunately she won't remember how wonderful the west is in December and January. We completely avoided the polar vortex and DC's first snow (I'm actually a little sad about that one) and we came home yesterday to temps in the 50s. Climate change? What climate change?

So, now Rhoda is 11 weeks old. Since we've been gone, Rhoda has become way more responsive than she was when we left. She smiles back at people and coos and does really cute baby things. She also drools like crazy now, which concerns me because my mom said "well, maybe she's teething already." TOO SOON, RHODA. Our flights out west and back were really great, which was nice because I was anxious about flying with a baby. On our first flight, we got upgraded to first class, thanks to Robbie's really generous sister Keena, and she either slept or was cute the whole time. On the way back home we missed our flight but got put on a direct flight just an hour later, and Rhoda even got her own seat and got to sleep in her carseat for much of it. That was pretty great too. 

Another thing I was concerned about was the three hour time change, but that seems to be going okay too. Last night was a little rough because she was waking up for her regular nap time until 11 pm (because she had adjusted to the time change by the time we left California), but then she woke up at 7:30 as usual. Unfortunately, I haven't adjusted yet so I was pretty tired, but then we both took a 3 hour nap this morning and I think that we're both feeling pretty great right now.

As for me, I was feeling a little bit down before we left and now I've come back feeling like I can do life as a mom, and I'm ready to figure out this life stage and new identity of mine. It helps that we just spent three weeks with family that was happy to hang out and play with a new baby whenever I felt like I needed a little bit of a break, and it also helps that Rhoda is more fun to be around. I do miss newborn Rhoda and how small and cuddly she was, but everyone's been right so far—each stage of a baby's life continues to be fun as they grow. I sometimes feel like I'm talking to myself when I'm around her but at least she turns her head toward me when she hears my voice and she responds in her baby voice so I don't feel so alone at home most of the day. Rhoda's also a good sport about going out so I really don't feel as cooped up as I thought I might, though the weather hasn't been super great since she was born and we sometimes end up being at home all day.

One thing about having a baby at home is that it is a constant reminder that each day is a new beginning. A few weeks ago Rhoda got a round of vaccines that she didn't really respond well to—she woke up from her afternoon nap screaming so hard that her body was shaking, and it continued without stopping for an hour. I remember thinking, "What happened to my sweet baby that never cries? Is this going to be my life from now on? Did I just break her?" Another time right after Robbie went back to work, we had an off day cooped up indoors and by the end of the day Rhoda and I were tired of each other and I just handed her to Robbie when he got home and I told him I was going out by myself and I went and got a milkshake. A little irrational, I know, but when you have a bad day with a baby that changes so much from day to day, you kind of wonder if this is them turning a corner and changing their otherwise sweet habits. But then in the morning after everyone's fed and rested, Rhoda is usually all smiles and I kind of forget how horrible the day was before. She is more forgiving of me than I am to myself and everyone needs someone like that in their life—it doesn't matter that my someone can't talk back yet, right?

So, those are the haps. Hopefully the haps will get more interesting than that, but there you have it. Here's to a year of better blogging!

oh rhodie

I understand now why lots of people stop blogging once they have babies. (Though I guess I was tapering off for a long time there already...) And I have lots more respect now for people who blog for a living and have babies. I don't know how they manage to post anything on the internet that you can't do from a phone. Speaking of which, if you are interested in seeing more Rhoda and hearing less Hannah, you can just check out the pictures I post on Instagram, which is just a lot easier to keep up with these days.

Four weeks have come and gone, and so have our month's worth of visitors. Robbie is back at work today and Rhodie and I are all on our own for the first time. It's been okay so far but during one of her naps this morning I heard a mouse trap go off in our laundry room and I wanted to scream (it's the fourth mouse we've caught this week). I also really want to take a nap but I can't seem to fall asleep, thanks to the man operating the jackhammer right outside our window (SERIOUSLY??). But it's okay. We're having a good time here together and settling into a normal routine. I think it will be even better once Rhoda has the coordination/ability to put her binky back in her mouth when it falls out. That's probably the most important milestone of babyhood, right?

I also went back to church yesterday for the first time in a month. Physically I was ready but if it weren't for the promise of Christmas music every week I'd probably wait a little longer to go back, as long as we're being honest here. The problem with going back to church after a baby break, as my mom warned me, is that people assume that you're ready to serve in the same capacity and with as much energy as you had before baby. Turns out moms have a really good sense about these things because she's right—both about not having the same energy and about people suddenly wanting to ask you to do stuff. I'm just going to have to get real comfortable saying "no" or—easier yet—ignoring my email inbox. Don't judge.

But overall, motherhood has been a very pleasant experience so far. Rhoda is a great baby. She likes taking baths, she is a good nurser, she seems to sleep well, and everyone comments on how pleasant she is. We took her to the movies which is as great as everyone says it is (the experience of taking a newborn baby, that is) and it probably helped that the theater we went to had leather recliners and reserved seating. She is starting to smile back which is really gratifying. She has gotten way taller than chubbier each week, so it's getting to the point where I wonder if I'm soon going to have to wrap her around my body while I feed her. And on top of all these great things, it's Christmastime and everything is just infinitely better with a Christmas tree in your house. I guarantee it.

thank heaven for little girls

● ● ●

Rhoda Primrose Hamill

born Sunday, November 3rd at 1:58 pm

7 lbs 13 oz, 20 inches long

● ● ●

I have a one week old child. I'm still a little bit baffled by this. And I know I used to hear people say how different their babies look after a week and it's sad how fast they grow and I didn't believe it, but I'm looking at these pictures now and realizing how completely different she looks now. Sigh. They grow old so fast.

Our birth experience was lovely and amazing and hard and looking back it sort of seems like it was all a dream. The past week has felt like a dream too. We are three now, and can't imagine it any other way.

dontcha know

So I went to Minnesota with my mom and sisters last month for a ladies' weekend getaway. Almost everyone we met in Minnesota asked us, "So... why Minnesota?" (Probably an especially peculiar destination when you consider that we all live in locales that are arguably more exotic than Minnesota?) That goes for everyone that I told about our trip beforehand too. I know—it's confusing.

Anyway, there is a series of books beloved by the Terrill women—the Betsy-Tacy series by Maud Hart Lovelace—that takes place in Minnesota, and we had sort of jokingly said once upon at time that we should go one year to the Betsy-Tacy convention that is also held in Minnesota, and then Eliza was like, "well why don't we just go to Minnesota?" So Eliza was awesome and figured out logistics and made some calls to the right people and suddenly we were all going to Minnesota and going on home tours and some people (I won't name names) were crying tears of joy/excitement upon driving up to Betsy's house on Hill Street in Mankato and it was like OH MY GOSH WE ARE FINALLY HERE. I'm serious when I say that these were very important books in our house. If you want to be a believer, you can borrow them from me sometime, as well as the very rare Betsy-Tacy Companion.

Here are some pictures of the BT sites in Minneapolis and Mankato—I did a really bad job documenting because everyone in the car had a camera phone and a real camera and after a while I just left the photographing up to them.

Thoughtfully observing the commemorative rock placed on the site of the Hart (Ray) home in Minneapolis

Walking through the cute Lowry Hill East neighborhood of Minneapolis with our tour guide—amazing Victorian houses and so many friendly people. Everyone was really nice to us as we lingered outside their pretty homes.

In front of Maud and Delos' (Betsy and Joe's) first apartment after getting married

Bick's (Tacy's) house in Mankato!

Bick's house and Maud's (Betsy's) across the street are designated "literary landmarks"—apparently there are only a handful of these across the US.

Our funny tour guide in Mankato (this was taken inside Betsy's Hill Street house!). Suffice it to say, after an hour of listening to her "Minnesota nice," our group could only talk in Minnesota accents for the rest of the trip.

The other part of the trip involved a mini-pilgrimage to Walnut Grove for the Little House fans in our midst. I confess, I read these books once as a kid and I really liked them but I am not as well versed in all things Ingall as my sisters and mom are. It was also really cold and windy (those pioneers were not exaggerating about how fast those brushfires probably spread) and I was feeling especially uncomfortable and pregnant that day, and hungry because there is literally one restaurant in Walnut Grove, so I wasn't as into touring around that day. It was a funny little town and an even funnier little "museum," if you can really call it that. But we got this picture, which made the whole trip worth it for me:

Till next time, Minnesota!

mother hearts

I know that Mother's Day is fraught with all kinds of emotions for lots of people, especially having grown up in a very motherhood-centric culture. I totally respect that—not everyone is a mother, not everyone has a good relationship with their mothers, or with their kids for that matter. I get it. As a not-yet-mother myself, I get it. (I think I do?) I also hear criticism about the holiday as a meaningless gesture to point out once every 365 days that moms work hard so we should buy them flowers and take them to brunch and send them cards. Okay, that's fair too—but isn't that the point of a holiday? (Or "holiday," in the case of days like Secretary's Day or Valentine's Day or whatever.) That we make that day special for the people we are honoring? (Does that mean birthdays are out of the question too??) I definitely think that we should remember Christ's birth and resurrection on days other than Christmas and Easter, but that doesn't make me a stooge about those days. You know? But even the creator of Mother's Day (a never-married, non-mother herself) was bitter about the eventual commercialization of the holiday so I guess we can all give a little wiggle room for the complaints.

Anyway, that was a little bit of a side rant. Sorry.

I have been thinking a lot about moms and motherhood and how this holiday sneaks up every year and I always feel like I can't adequately honor my mom—especially since she lives across the country from me! This year I didn't even send out the greeting card that Anna Jarvis would have frowned upon anyway, because it just... snuck up on me. As if I need another reason to feel guilty that I probably don't call my mom enough as it is. Boo, Hannah.

But I guess I'll take this soapbox of mine anyway and just say how awesome my mom is, and how awesome Robbie's mom is, and how awesome my grandmas are, and how awesome our older sisters are (who are both moms themselves and are like moms for us in a big way, since they all raised us too). Blog posts and cards and brunches don't really adequately provide a big enough thanks for the lessons they have taught us or for the best qualities they have passed on to us. It's sort of equivalent to the guy getting up in testimony meeting and saying he wants to take the opportunity to publicly tell his wife he loves her. Right? But I'm doing it anyway. Thanks, Mom, and Diane, and Grandma and Grandma and Bonny and Dawn and Phoebe and Eliza and Carrie and Bonnie and Keena.

Then there are my non-family moms. I have had countless "work moms" and "school moms" that have shared in my joys and sorrows and taught me numerous life lessons in the physical absence of my own mother, and there are my friends that I met when they were already moms, and old friends that I've seen become moms and grow in that role. Of course there are my friends who are not moms or yearn so badly to be moms that care deeply about their friends, families, coworkers, and are so in tune with the needs of other people that I look up to them as moms in a way. I've always liked Julie Beck's talk "A 'Mother Heart'" because we all can probably think of a long list of people off the top of our heads that are blessed with "mother hearts." Thanks, friends and work/school moms.

Finally, I've also been thinking a lot about the notion of Heavenly Mother, which is a hot topic in the Mormon blogosphere these days (or, always, I guess). I just came across this (longish) article published in BYU Studies a couple of years ago titled "A Mother There: A Survey of Historical Teachings about Mother in Heaven." Personally I've never doubted the existence of both a Heavenly Father and Mother, and some Mormons get weird about it, but this article has some really great sentiments about Heavenly Mother from General Authorities (past and present) that just make me really want to cultivate that mother heart of mine. Thanks, Heavenly Mother.

So, on this Mother's Day weekend, thank the moms and the mother hearts in your lives. Or at least be extra nice to them. It's an honor to be in their presence.

tender mercies

I just wanted to share some thoughts about Boston while it's still fresh in my mind, since a few people have asked how my family is doing (short answer—they're fine, thanks for asking!).

Yesterday I got a text from Julie inquiring about the state of my family—and since I was in the car, away from the internets and rocking out to power ballads, I hadn't yet heard about what was going on at the finish line and had no idea what she was talking about until she told me that there was an incident at the Boston Marathon finish line. I immediately called my brother in-law Matt, who was at Boston Common with my sister Eliza and their three kids, waiting to meet up with my dad, who was running the race. Matt didn't sound super concerned or anything (Matt is pretty much the most chill person I know, though) and said that they didn't think my dad had crossed the finish line yet because of his slower pace (due to a hip injury—my 68 year-old dad normally runs WAY faster than I do), so I wasn't really worried about the situation and didn't think that anything that crazy had happened. So I continued my errands in ignorant bliss for a little while.

Long story short, the rest of my afternoon consisted of hectic back-and-forth group texts from my family, and the pieces of yesterday didn't really fall into place until I came home that night and I was able to talk to my dad. I was the only one who had talked to Matt, so I was operating under the assumption that things were cool, but no one knew where my dad was and phone access was basically kaput after I had my miracle call with Matt. Then there were the speculative reports flowing in on the radio and the continuous replays of audio from the blast, which started to really get to me after a while. So I spent a lot of time in parking lots, checking Facebook and responding to texts from friends, when I finally heard from my brother, who talked to my mom, who talked to my dad (follow me here?) and confirmed he was okay. But for a while my poor dad had no idea what exactly was going on or if my sister's family was okay, which must have been the worst part—since we all had bits of information but no way to share it with everyone. 

Anyway, this isn't even really my story to tell (my mom tells her side here)—Robbie and I decided at the last minute not to go to Boston this year, and yesterday I was simultaneously feeling very grateful about this turn of events, yet very frustrated that I wasn't there and able to help my sister out and support my dad. But there are so many things about this story that make me appreciate the tender mercies that are supplied to us every day (including our decision not to go, I guess). My dad injured his hip a few weeks before the marathon, and was kind of waffling about going, but decided he'd rather run a slow race and enjoy his 10th Boston anyway. So he was running behind schedule because of about 10 minutes of delays (tender mercy #1) and a slower 10 minute per mile pace due to his injury (tender mercy #2), and was about a mile away from the finish line when everything stopped and the runners were all instructed to leave the course. And last year, when Eliza and I went to cheer on my dad, we opted to walk down Boylston Street and cheer on the finishers instead of heading straight to Boston Common, where we normally meet my dad. Not really that big of a deal since that was last year, but when I heard where the blasts happened I immediately knew that was the route we walked last year and had a brief moment of panic when I didn't know which route Eliza and Matt had taken this year—thank goodness they had the foresight to avoid the crowd this year (tender mercy #3). And—their kids were none the wiser that anything was even wrong (tender mercy #4).

So, that's all I have to say about that. Except—please hold your families close, and call your parents to tell them that you love them.

Also relevant: "If you are losing faith in human nature, go out and watch a marathon"
And, Peter Sagal's eyewitness account, full of his own tender mercies, is definitely worth a read

forgotten treasures

I have been backing up old photos from my phone onto my computer for the past few months and for whatever reason they don't magically organize themselves into chronologically-ordered folders, so I forgot that I had some funny family pictures buried deep in my folders left over from our New Year's trek to Monrovia. My sisters and I must not stay up late very often because the weird sister poses seem to happen every year. And on the same piano bench too?

Here are a couple of good ones of all the Terrill sibs and my poor parents squished by us on the couch.

Isn't it weird to think that once upon a time it just used to be the eight of us? And now there are like 25 of us? My parents and older siblings probably think it's weirder than I do because I don't actually really remember when it was just eight of us (since my sister got married when I was five). 

Anyway, my family is awesome. Can't wait till we all get together again!

a birthday

A year ago today, my brother and sister in-law welcomed baby Jonah to the world. He was only here for 11 days but in that time (and in the year since) he brought our family together and gave us perspective on life and eternal families. I am grateful to celebrate his life while I'm here in Monrovia (for the world's shortest trip) and after an inspiring weekend of General Conference.

I'm grateful for my family and how they bless my life every day. Happy birthday, Jonah!

and the living's easy

1 // unknown swimmers at Saltair  2 // my Grandpa Clayton and great uncle Paul  3 // Grandma and Grandpa Clayton  4 // Grandma Terrill and my aunt, uncle and dad  5 // my mom and two of her sisters  6 // my dad and some girl  7 // Grandpa Clayton and my uncles at "the shop" (but what does that mean? what was he making?)  8 // my mom and my dad's sister Frances  9 // my mom fishing  10 // my mom and Grandma Terrill  11 // my sisters Phoebe (and cute tummy) and Bonny  12 // my brother Noah

I know some people complain about their parents being on Facebook but I couldn't be more pleased that my parents are on the 'book and that my mom uses it avidly. She posts lots of old family photos and I've been saving my favorites, and I just noticed that most of my favorites just make me feel summer all over.

assateague

Cold breakfast s'mores because it was too windy/rainy for a fire the night before—and behold, the crumpled canopy that met its demise in the storm

Um... every picture of Eliza's family was a variation on this theme. Foot in mouth?

SWEETEST OUTFIT (in hindsight, what a great idea to bring my rain boots!)

I knew that I should have posted about our weekend camping trip at Assateague as soon as we got back, because now the details are becoming foggy. Well, the whole thing is becoming more and more funny to me, which I guess is a good thing, since I was feeling kind of pessimistic about it late Friday night.

This is what sticks out to me: we showed up to the beach, it was GORGEOUS. We set up our tent, hung out for a few hours, it got a little rainy. Waited a little longer, the torrential rain and lightning and thunder and tornado warnings in the county showed up. And then didn't go away till... I don't know, really late, like 2 or 3 in the morning. By that point I stopped keeping track because I was delirious from exhaustion and tried to fall asleep with a pillow over my whole head so that I could attempt to block out the lightning and the noise of the rain pounding on the tent. Our tent protected us from the elements (we tested it in Iceland during a crazy storm on the beach), but poor Eliza had some leaking problems in her tent. And Matt was not there because he was gone on a work trip. And the lightning was scary. (Seriously, it felt like it was IN OUR TENT—but I had a husband to cling to and she didn't, and I felt bad about that. Though I did offer to go to her tent to let her cling to me and that didn't ever happen. I'm great to spoon with, Eliza! Okay, stopping now.) So I really don't blame her for wanting to leave in the middle of the night and sleep in the car (didn't happen—I don't think you guys understand how bad the rain and lightning really were), or for wanting to leave first thing in the morning after enjoying a cold s'more. But Eliza has raised some really amazing kids who didn't wake up at all during the night, even when they were sleeping in puddles in the tent, and claimed when they woke up the next day that they had a really great time.

So. That's that.

I'm really selling this whole camping thing to you guys, aren't I? Haha. I have such wonderful memories of camping from when I was a kid! And now that we know how to do it right (i.e., good sleeping pads, sleeping bags, etc.) it's a lot more fun, and we live by so many cool places that we just want to take advantage of it more than we have in the past. And Assateague is seriously gorgeous. It's a pretty amazing place with lots of beautiful wildlife (horses, deer, turtles, rabbits, birds, the works!) and the beaches are clean and virtually empty. As you can see in the last few pictures, Robbie and I stayed for a little while afterward and soaked up the sun, which made the trip worth it. (Also—all of those pictures were taken Saturday morning between 6 am and 11 am. What weird weather.)

Maybe you can come with us next time. But I promise we'll just get a hotel if there's a chance of rain.