Well, ok, bumped is a more fair adjective- but still. It was close.

I was in the parking lot putting Gabe in his stroller. He was asleep so I was bent over and the guy started backing up- he hit my leg- didn’t hurt, but I shot straight up and jumped out of the way!

He felt so bad! I was so bent over, he honestly couldn’t see me at all. Not only was I way below his line of sight, but I was perfectly in his blind spot. He jumped out and apologized profusely, asked me if I needed any help- just the perfect gentleman. Then he said, “It is a good thing I say my prayers at night!”

It is true- we are watched over.

And it is nice to be able to recognize that when it happens.

Church here starts at 8:30am. My husband works a shift that doesn’t allow him to attend, and so every Sabbath I drag myself out of bed very early to begin getting myself and three small children out the door. Although I have many things prepared the night before, it is inevitable that something turns this process upside down, and we barely scoot into our pew before the service starts.

This Sunday was one of those days where all three children were both irritable and needy, so as we tried to sit quietly, everyone needed to drape themselves over me or poke a sibling or talk loudly. Even when friends took Gabe, Maggie made sure it was impossible to listen to the sermons. When Gabe finally hit his limit, I took all three kids to the foyer. Yet another Sunday service abandoned by a frustrated mother.

I stood there for about thirty seconds before a familiar wave of nausea and splitting headache began. I was allergic to something in the foyer. A quick look around the room and I saw a huge floral arrangement that was left over from a funeral service that was held earlier in the week. It was emblazoned with lilies, which I am I am terribly allergic to, so I took the kids outside until the service was over.

Then I took the kids to Primary while Gabe and I went to nursery. This is my third time in four years having a nursery calling. It isn’t my favorite place to be, but there are good things about it. The noise level of a roomful of two and three year olds is not one of the good things, particularly when paired with a headache.

Gabe lasted about fifteen minutes before blowing out his diaper. When I got back from changing him he gave me just enough time to serve the children snacks and then I had to go nurse him, which put him to sleep.

As I was returning to the nursery with my arms full of sleeping baby, Maggie came crying down the hall. She was unhappy with her Sunday School class, so she came to nursery with me, where I had to focus most of my energies on her rather than on the nursery kids.

Right as church was ending, Maggie collided with her best friend and got a goose egg the size of a Cadbury Creme egg on her forehead. While I iced it down she screamed. She completely lost all control to the point where she was literally screaming the words, “I CAN’T STOP SCREAMING!!!”

She did this for over forty-five minutes. One of the doctors who attends church with us checked her out. No signs of a concussion this time (Maggie once had this exact same thing happen, except that time it knocked her unconscious and an ambulance was called. My life, it’s never boring).

Still screaming, I drove Maggie home where we continued icing her huge purple lump. While I was reaching into the fridge for something cold for her head, I somehow sliced two of my knuckles open. They bled, which made Maggie freak out even more. She screamed at me to get a band aide and leave her head alone. I kept icing her bump and opted to just bleed.

Chris should have been home at this point, but he got off work over an hour late.

I was thrashed.

Finally, everyone got reasonably calmed down. I settled into the quiet of my craft room with my head still pounding, hoping to salvage the afternoon.

It was at this point the doorbell rang.

It was the Relief Society president and her counselor with a plate of brownies. “Wow,” I thought. “Someone cares. Someone noticed what rotten day I was having and brought me brownies. How kind. How inspired. I feel so acknowledged. Wow.” I was stunned and moved. I invited them inside.

At this point in my thinking (and thank heaven I didn’t say it out loud, or break down crying from the apparent kindness of being noticed) my Relief Society president informed me that the brownies were not for me. They were out visiting inactive families and realized that my neighbor was on their list. I knew this, but it was news to them, so they wanted to ask me a little about the family before they went to introduce themselves. Uh huh.

Now, I have a very morose sense of humor. In fact I spent the rest of the day far from a pity party, laughing actually, over my misunderstanding. I’d say “Haha! Someone cares! NOT.” But that smacks of bitterness, and that wasn’t what I was feeling. It was just plain funny. (For the record, many people were kind to Maggie and I during this mess- really- I’m not feeling badly about it).

And the day did improve. I was invited to over to a friend’s house and got to enjoy the evening, so the whole day wasn’t a bust.

I’m scared just thinking about next Sunday.

Day of rest. HA!

I was attending church one Sunday when I was about seven months pregnant with Gabriel. After the service was over I had a meeting with my Bishop and also a member of the Stake Presidency for a temple recommend interview. Temple recommends are serious stuff, as the interview is a time to review one’s life and make sure that you are truly worthy to enter the House of the Lord. Although most people who are trying to live a worthy life are, it is still a situation to be approached with reverence, respect and dignity.

I was nearly finished with my interview with my Bishop. He has asked me the usual questions about my belief in Christ and my dedication to the promises I have made with my Father in Heaven, and it is time to go. I stand up to shake his hand and when I do the elastic in my pantyhose breaks.

Now, I am hugely pregnant and these are not maternity nylons. They are normal nylons that are pulled onto the hips, but are riding low under the belly. They are also a little bit to small, due to the pregnancy weight gain, which probably caused this problem in the first place. They have absolutely nothing to stop them on their very fast decent down my legs. I am frozen in place, mortified as my nylons begin to fall.

I feel the blood start to rush to my cheeks as I plan my quick departure. I am considering my options at this point and plan to make a break for the ladies room at the end of the hall. My nylons are moving quickly, and I know I don’t have much time. The Bishop opens the door, guiding me out, and instantly his counselor begins to lead me the four feet to the Stake President’s office. This is in the opposite direction of the restroom, and I find myself in the middle of about ten six foot men. And wouldn’t you know it? The president is ready for me early so I can be ushered right in. My nylons are nearly to my knees. I can barely walk. There is no graceful way out of this. Ahhhh!!

Now, our Stake President’s waiting room has a senseless little recess in the wall, a tiny corner that a person can barely slip into, and would normally have no reason to go hiding in. I have never understood what the architect was thinking when this tiny, mini hallway that goes nowhere was built into the room. But today, it is my salvation. The second the counselor strikes up a brief conversation with the president, and I duck into the corner.

I am so pregnant that I can’t see my feet, and about as graceful as a beluga whale, but I’m hopping out of my heels and slipping my errant nylons over one swollen ankle at a time, all the while hearing the counselor ask, “where is Sister Killian? She was just here. Where did she go?” He quickly spots me shuffling about so he pokes his head around the corner, totally unsuspecting, and then jumps back apologizing just as I yank the hose off my toes with an ungraceful flourish. I am mortified, and yet laughing. I am also aware that my face is on fire.

I am trying not to break into hysterics as I stuff my useless nylons into my purse and walk into my second interview. You can imagine how well that worked.

My alarm did not go off this morning. Church begins at 8:30 and as I’m sure you can imagine, when the alarm doesn’t ring at 6am, it causes problems. I woke up at 7:10. If I’m not in the car by 8:15, I’m late. Chris works on Sundays and can only sneak away for church on occasion, so getting three little kids out the door is all up to me.

I have a system that has served me very well the past few months. On our clothing shelf there are baskets for each child. I keep this shelf in the laundry room so clothes can go straight from folding to put away. One basket on this shelf holds all of the children’s Sunday clothes. Shoes, socks, matching hair clippies, ties, dresses, and everything else all go in this one basket as soon as they change out of their clothes after the service or on Monday after laundry is completed. That way I never end up scrambling for errant clothing five minutes before we need to drive away. I also have one bag that I always keep loaded with the children’s crayons and coloring books, and that just stays in the car so we always have something to keep little hands busy when attention spans run short. This system has helped me not only be on time to the service, but also to keep a more loving, Christlike spirit in our home on Sabbath mornings.

(The top usually isn’t covered in diapers- I’m in the middle of laundry right now- keepin’ it real, right? Also, this is the shelf I dragged off the side of the road and my husband and I repainted and fixed up. Green, cheap and organized=bliss).

This morning, The System failed me.

After much struggle and running around like a chicken with my head cut off, I had everyone all ready, except Gabe. Babies have to be dressed last because if you dress them first you are guaranteed a diaper blow out or giant spit-up as you are rushing out the door, and then you have to do it all over again anyway. I knew Gabe’s Sunday outfit was ready to go because it was in its place. At 8:04, I started dressing him and wouldn’t you know it, SOMEONE had “helped” and folded and put away an outfit that had not only been spit up on, but pooped on! I checked in Gabe’s everyday basket for a suitable outfit switch and found that almost every article of clothing he had was in the hamper. I was barely able to piece together one outfit, a very, very cute outfit that unfortunately was designed for winter, not for the 90 degree weather we had on the menu for today. Oh well. He looked adorable, although somewhat out of place next to Maggie in her sundress, and the church has good AC.

I popped them all in the car, and while driving it dawned on me that no one had eaten anything. I then had a very nice fantasy in which I skipped church, drove to IHOP and stuffed myself silly with pancakes and sausage. I steadied myself and resisted the temptation, but decided that they did need to eat something.

I am rarely without chocolate, so I fed them mini Twix candy bars the entire drive there and made them promise not to tell anyone that their mom had fed them candy for breakfast.

(the photo has almost nothing to do with this post- he’ s just too cute not to share!)

I should know better than to walk away from a half written post without saving it. Maggie immediately commandeered my computer to go play at the Friend, her new favorite website (mine too coincidentally), and deleted everything I’d written.

Back to square one.

-I got to go to the temple this morning, which was absolutely wonderful. It was a dreary drive with horrid traffic, but when I arrived there were the most beautiful tulips, and they were such a perfect sight. The service was lovely and peaceful, and I wholly enjoyed my time spent there. I really missed this part of my worship when I was expecting as I was far too ill to attend, and even when that passed I was far to about to have a baby to get the doctor’s permission to drive an hour away from home. Before the pregnancy I was fortunate enough to attend a few times each month, and I was surprised by how much I missed it. It was right up there with how much I missed keeping food down and being able to care for my children. That peace and sustaining spirit is more vital to a person’s well being than you might casually observe, but when you have it and it is suddenly gone, you feel a real void. I’m so glad we getting back to normal, and that I can enjoy that blessing again.

-Along with that religious aspect of my life, I have been focusing my children on the Easter season each night this week. I grew up in a home that never opened Easter baskets on actual Easter Sunday because my parents didn’t want to detract from the sacredness of what was being celebrated that day. Our Easter Bunny shows up at random and leaves his gifts at a time that is convenient for our family, and in tune with the real focus of the holiday. This alternate time is also great when you don’t want to be tripping over jellybeans on Easter morning and trying to make it through a worship service with sugared up kids.

Every night this week I am trying to sit down and share something relating to the Savior and the Resurrection with my children. If anyone has any good ideas for me, there are a few days left in the week and I’m running short. I am not skilled at teaching at the level of a small child, and when you try to teach something as all encompassing, amazing and ultimately little understood even by those who have a deep testimony of those things, it can be really hard for me to break it down to be more than bare facts, but less than overwhelming doctrine. I don’t want to be trite, but I want to be understood. I’d be grateful for ideas.

We have read accounts of the crucifixion, atonement and resurrection, and looked at some beautiful art representations of that. We’ve compared empty eggs to empty tombs. I am going to attempt to explain sacrifice, lambs, and the Lamb of God tonight. I really want to help them understand, at their level, the joy and gratitude surrounding this celebration.

Why is sharing something I so deeply feel and have faith in so challenging? I am a person of words, and yet frequently when I want to explain things like this, I just don’t know what to say. It is a feeling thing. I hope they feel it. When I say “Heaven help me,” I’m not kidding.

I have an awful lot to teach these kids.

Our old couches finally got sent to the curb this month! These couches were borderline health hazards after a few years of toddler and baby abuse: potty training accidents, yogurt covered fingers, markers, scissors, climbers, jumpers, stinky feet. . .to sum up: everyone in the house but me had thrown up on them. I kid you not, I have never been so ready to see furniture go.

All year I have stared at those couches and told myself, “just wait until tax season”. I had a mental image of what I wanted in new couches; I’ve known I wanted brown leather couches with studs and curves for nearly ten years now. I’ve just never been able to afford the couches I wanted. Cue tax refund. Cue other bills. Still not enough money to even come close to what I wanted, so I resigned myself to the old, icky couches, or perhaps an extremely el-cheapo set at some discount place that wouldn’t be anything I wanted, but would at least not have throw up spots.

Why are leather couches so expensive? I have been in and out of furniture stores lately and any time I found a set I was even a little fond of they seemed to run between $4,000 and $8,000 dollars. I don’t have eight grand laying around, and if I did, I couldn’t justify it on couches that I ever planned to let anybody sit on. Perhaps I am just cheap, I don’t know.

We looked at our meager couch allotment. I sighed. Chris decided to do a couch search on the internet. I mentally gave up.

And then the windows of heaven opened.

The first website we clicked, the first set of couches we landed on in all of the great world wide internet was EXACTLY what we wanted, on sale, nay, not sale, but deeply discounted CLEARANCE, and located less than one hour from our home. And all we typed in was “couches”.

These couches were within $2 of the exact amount of money we had to spend.

I believe in God. I believe that He, in His wisdom, does not give us everything that we want, but that sometimes, when we are doing our very best, He helps us out. And this was definitely Divine Help, because I am just not that lucky. I am, however, very blessed.

I GOT MY COUCHES!!!!

Couch modeled by Gabriel.

Love seat modeled by Hello Kitty and Maggie passed out on the floor after an very exhausting tantrum. She was so unconscious people were cracking jokes about finding the chalk to draw an outline around her body, and so crabby that no one dared move her lest she wake up and continue her reign of dethroned baby of the family rage. Kids.

The men in my life hauling the old couch to the curb. You have no idea how much I wanted to set them on fire in the backyard. No joke. (The couches, not the men).

I’m so excited! I have this huge list of improvements and projects I want to complete around the house, and it feels so good to knock off one this big. It makes the house look so much better, and they are so comfortable, perfect for naps and nursing.

This morning I woke up with morning sickness. I know, I’m HOW far along? With the last two babies I vomited straight up until delivery, but the last three months of this pregnancy have suddenly turned into “normalcy” and so the intense nausea that followed me around all day caught me very off guard.

We go to church on Sundays, even when Dad is deployed and I’m cranky and huge. Church for us meets at 1:00pm, which is not too bad of a time as long as you don’t have any children who nap. We share our church building with another congregation, and every year we flip schedules to meet either in the morning or the afternoon. This way everyone is tortured equally, either sacrificing your nap, or being forced to get up early and wrangle children into church clothes before you’re fully awake.

Now, this switch happens every year. The first Sunday of the new year, you meet at a new time and your kids move up a year in their Sunday School classes. I’ve been doing this for most of my life.

I spent all morning building up how exciting this class switch would be, and how they were getting SO BIG, and how they would have a BRAND NEW teacher and would they PLEASE be so good and lovely and reverent at least for the first few weeks of the new teacher to save our family a little face? My children were stoked. I convinced my nauseated self that this would all be worth it, wiggled my swollen feet into a pair of heels and drove to church.

We made excellent time on our drive. There are seven stop lights between our house and church and we had green lights on all but one! The Killians were not only getting there, but we were getting there on time! And I had remembered to put mascara on both of my eyes! This was going to be a good Sunday!

We pulled up, walked into the foyer, entered the chapel. . .and no one was there.

Church was at 8:30 this morning.

As soon as I saw the empty chapel I knew exactly what I’d done and I started to laugh. My children were positively bewildered. They sat down in our usual pew and stared at their crazy, hugely pregnant, laughing mother, and then clearly assessing my behavior as not too terribly strange for me, asked if they could have their crayons and start coloring! It was too much. I nearly cried laughing.

I calmed myself down and explained the mistake I had made and apologized for dragging them all the way here for nothing. Maggie was fine with it. I think she’d be pleased if church was always a drive by event, but Jonas was not happy with me for missing his Primary class. What can you do?

Some days are just bound to turn out this way. In case anyone was laboring under the delusion that I have all my ducks in a row, now you know the truth. My ducks? They’re all over the place.

This past week has been a trying one. Starting with some very sick children, every plan I had or task on my to do list got shoved aside and rearranged. I rescheduled a birthday party. I burned the midnight oil when I didn’t have any oil left to complete some work deadlines and to catch up a bit around the house. I’m still not caught up. This next week is going to be a flurry of activity, and I’m a little overwhelmed just thinking about it. I crafted my to do list this week and it is already two pages long, and that’s just the stuff I can remember!

I have run on so little sleep this week and on so much worry. I have wondered frequently how I am still going and handling all of my many tasks. My family and friends have warned me not to over do it, but keeping up with my very basic “must do” list is over-doing it in and of itself. One person cannot be expected to take on everything I am taking on and be successful. Thankfully, I am not taking this on alone.

It has been so very evident and clear to me that I am not alone in all of this, and that I have the help of my Father in Heaven and my Savior. There is no other explanation to why I can do these things right now. There is no explanation for why I am in good health. Life may not be a cake walk, but it is possible, and possible with a lot of joy. I am being lifted and carried and given strength far beyond my natural capacity because He is mindful of me, and charitable in His grace. I am both humbled and very grateful.

Even yesterday, which was a difficult day, was remedied by His quiet prompting and guidance. I hit a very tired, very overwhelmed wall yesterday, and finally bowed my head and turned it over to Him asking only six words, “what would thou have me do?” His answer was immediate, and reassuring. Paths opened up, ideas came to mind, and the remainder of my day and my children’s day was peaceful and happy. I ended the day feeling as though everyone’s needs had been met, and feeling more calm and capable toward the upcoming events of this week.

The Lord is so willing to help us. It is kind of sad that I am so caught up in my plans and my control that I forget to ask Him, who is so much more capable and who sees the entire plan so much more clearly, that simple question. What would thou have me do? It is unlikely that His plans will bring significant deviation from the course I’m already on if I’m doing my best to live as He would have me live already. I will probably not be told to build an ark or wander in the wilderness for forty years; it is more likely that I will be given the direction and inspiration that I need to do what I am already trying to better. Knowing this, why am I so slow to ask, and claim the direction and blessing that He is waiting to give me?

The good news is, as stubborn and controlling as I am, I am learning a little faster each time. I know that we were not meant to struggle through this life alone, and we were not sent here to fail. In even the most difficult of situations, the Lord is there to hear us, help us, and make us more than we ever thought we could be.

So much to be grateful for.