Recap and Reflections of My "Time Off"

Note: I apologize for the delay. Thank you for the 15 of you who checked yesterday/this morning to see if there was a post, and to my mother, who worriedly emailed me, afraid she had missed it. You didn't miss it. I am just still suffering from jet lag and a cranky toddler who learned how to throw epic temper tantrums in my absence. Here is this week's post.

I think I have about five blog posts running through my head right now. I am hoping I can turn all (or at least most of these thoughts) into a coherent something that makes sense. If I can't, well, we are close to another 500 pageviews bonus post, so keep an eye out!

As mentioned in my last post, last weekend I climbed aboard an airplane, flew across the country, and played hooky from my normal life for four days.

It was glorious.
No diapers, no dirty laundry, no cooking dinner, no cleaning.

It was hard.
My arms felt very empty. I couldn't sleep very well without my husband. I missed my loves terribly.

And now that I've been home for four days (the same amount of time I was gone), I have had time to reflect on my favorite parts of my trip, the things that made it more than "worth it" to spend some of our tax return on a plane ticket.

My big brother!

And even though I saw a hundred really cool places and things (I went to Washington, D.C. for heaven's sake!), these are the parts I loved the most:

The look on my brother's face when he realized his little sister had walked through the door at 10:30 pm.

A Thursday night slumber party on air mattresses in the living room with my mother, where we stayed up far too late, just talking.

A Friday morning drive through the Virginia countryside, made an hour longer because of an accident on the freeway. My father and I (the two diabetics and two history-lovers in the vehicle) insisting we were fine to skip lunch if it meant that we could make it to the Monticello tour on time.

with my Dad at Monticello (we made it and we got lunch, which is why we are both still standing)

A Friday night at the fanciest dinner I've ever attended in my life and my mother asking me what all those utensils were for, when she's the one that taught the etiquette classes growing up!

A Saturday afternoon personal tour of my brother's law school, where he has spent the majority of his time during the past three years. How I admire his accomplishments. How proud I am of the things he and his wife have done, the people they are, the service they render. Meeting one of his professors. Explaining that though I have two Bachelor's degrees, I am a happy and content stay-at-home mom. Watching my parents, a financial analyst and a kindergarten teacher, watch their son among what was basically the top ten percent of his class, receive an award for his accomplishments. Of all the parents in the room, I can't help but thinking that perhaps they were the proudest because their son, who had once struggled in school, had come the farthest.

on the courtyard by the Law School at The George Washington University

A Saturday evening skyping session with my husband and daughter. Seeing the smile on her face when she saw me, seeing the dark circles under his eyes and the relief to see me so happy, knowing  he was worried that I wouldn't be able to relax and enjoy my trip. Neither of those things were a problem!

A misty, rainy Sunday morning sitting encased in plastic in the middle of the National Mall, where my brother, dressed in a cap and gown with three stripes on the sleeves, celebrated his accomplishment in the midst (could also read "mist") of history, knowing he was making history of his own.

My cute sister-in-law, who took care of me all weekend

after commencement, with the Washington Monument in the background

This is my favorite picture of my mom and brother from the whole weekend

Sunday evening, playing cards and watching Duck Dynasty and making chocolate chip cookies for my brother, because as I learned on my mission, food=love. Hearing him proclaim that my whole trip was worth it just for those cookies. Realizing that he loved having me there and didn't think I was an intrusion on the limited amount of time he gets to spend with my parents.

Rinda's famous Cookie Doo cookies

Monday evening, cuddling with my husband and daughter, realizing that they missed me more than I could ever comprehend.

I realized while I was traipsing along the East Coast that my roles in life have changed since I've become a mother. Understandably, I've changed since becoming a  mother. My thoughts and priorities and energy levels are completely different than they were before Kevin came along. My relationships with my siblings and my parents have changed--I'm not just their daughter and a sister anymore; I'm the mother of their granddaughter and niece and that changes things for bad or good or whatever, life just changes. And even though this trip didn't make me "not" a mother--my thoughts still veered toward my little family at home more often than not and my energy levels were still shot--it did let me revert back into being the daughter and little sister first and everything else second.

I needed that, and others needed it too.

My husband and daughter needed some one-on-one time together.

My in-laws needed Scott to be free for a weekend so they could have some personal time with their youngest son (where he also got to revert back to his pre-marriage relationship with them, made strong from his days of being the only child at home) and their granddaughter.

My parents needed to have me there with them to make the event feel more like a family accomplishment, something they could share.

My brother needed to know that his graduation was important to me. I can't seem to express just how important. More important than a simple cross-country trip. Way more important. I am so grateful for the man he is and the example he has always been for me.

And, perhaps most of all, I needed that experience of sitting next to a businesswoman from New Jersey, proudly telling her where I was headed and why, and a few minutes later, in the exact same satisfied and content tone of voice, telling her who I was and where I was coming from, and realizing that I didn't feel anything lacking when I told her my job was raising my daughter, and I love what I do.

 

 

 

 

 

Walk Tall, You're a Daughter

In five shortish, longish hours I will be getting on a plane for the first time in almost three years. And, unlike the last three times I have flown anywhere, this time I am not going to Texas (my heart is already there after having heard about the devastating tornados that hit there--not just within my mission's boundaries, but within one of my favorite zones).

I am unbelievably excited about what is waiting for me at the other end of this flight, but I am more than a little anxious about leaving Kevin and her father for four days straight. I've never been away from either of them that long (not since the last trip to Texas, wherein Kevin wasn't even born or thought of quite yet). I've spent the last few days preparing for their weekend, giving Scott itinerary ideas: dinner with his brother's family on Friday night, a daddy-daughter date to the zoo on Saturday, a family gathering Sunday morning. I went to the library and checked out board books with the word "Daddy" in the title and even picked up "the Princess Encyclopedia" because I figured it might be handy information for this dad of my daughter. I went grocery shopping and picked up extra snacks for Kevin and treats for Scotty, as if some extra sugar and cans of chili (because I don't like what happens after he eats chili so usually he doesn't eat it around me) can make up the fact that I am leaving them.

Scott has dubbed this week "the week from down south" (so I have taken to calling it Provo Week) at work. By the time he got home yesterday, he'd logged 32 hours in three days. I know to a lot of you out there, that might not seem very grand, but for us, it has been an adjustment to have him gone so much when we are used to being together in the evenings. Not only is Scott training at work, but he is learning a new position, and his May 15th deadline to get everything done came both too quickly and not soon enough. I see the exhaustion in his eyes, which makes me feel a little bit worse, knowing that a weekend full of diapers and bedtime and naptime battles awaits, with no partner to share the load. To make things even better, last night Kevin started her teething routine again and so we all got to bed late and up early.

But somewhere in all of her tears last night, Kevin taught me another little lesson about letting go. I was singing to her our traditional bedtime lullaby, a song I learned at Girl's Camp that I hope, through nightly repetition, will get through to her spirit some how and teach her who she really is and why she is really here. And although singing this song to her has been a daily occurrence for over a year now, sometimes I still get teary and have to stop singing and start whispering.

Walk tall, you're a daughter
A child of God
Be strong, please remember who you are
Try to understand, you're part of His great plan
He's closer than you know
Reach up, He'll take your hand

If only she knew.

If only she knew how much I love her. How much her daddy loves her. How much our Heavenly Father loves her. In my mind, her little 14-month-old brain isn't capable of understanding such love. But then again, there are moments, like last night, when she had just calmed down from crying and unexpectedly wrapped her arms around my head and touched her lips to my hair, when I think perhaps she understands love better than I do.

If only she knew that she is never alone. How many people surround her, giving her support--people she can see, angels she can't.

If only she knew how much good she has to do in this world, and what a grand purpose she has that nobody knows yet. What is her mission in life to be?


Walk tall, you're my daughter

 Kevin has been practicing walking all week long. Each day she gets a little bit stronger, a little bit steadier, a little bit faster, a little bit braver. Each day she takes more tumbles and gives a few more smiles, a few more tears.

A child of God

Her favorite place to come to walk is to me.

Be strong, please remember who you are

And although she usually falls at least once along the way to my arms, she usually gets back up and tries again. Occasionally though, after a particularly hard bump, she will sit and hang her shoulders in discouragement, and then look at me  with her sad eyes and hold up her arms. I cuddle her for a minute, wipe away the tears, and set her back down on her feet.

Try to understand, you're part of His great plan

And somewhere along the lines, yesterday I realized that is exactly what Heavenly Father does for me, every day of my life. I get up, I start cruising along, I take a tumble, I make a mistake. Sometimes I can pick myself back up. Sometimes I need His encouragement. Sometimes, I feel those loving arms wrapped around me, telling me that it is okay, He's provided a way.

He's closer than you know

I am reminded of a scripture that I found on my mission during a particularly tough week. It comes from the Book of Mormon, in the Book of 2 Nephi, 1:15.

"But behold, the Lord hath redeemed my soul from hell; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love. "

During that same week, my companion and I had tracted into a middle-aged man in the midst of several apartment buildings in a college town. This man was kind, albeit uninterested. With a twinkle in his eye, he looked at us and smiled and said, "I bet God is just looking down on you right now and saying, 'there's My girls.'" This stranger's confidence that God not only loved us, but God approved of what we were doing, gave me courage and reminded me that He is closer than I know.

Reach up, He'll take your hand. 

 I am going on this trip. It has been planned for months, practically years. And it's not just for "fun"--although I know I am going to have a blast--it is to show love and support and gratitude for a job well done. I know that if I let them go, my fears and anxieties will be eased and I can do what I am setting out to do. Although I look forward to a season in my life where we can travel recreationally and see all the places I read so much about, for right now I am content with experiencing them through reading. This trip is not about a place, it is about people. When they hear about my trip, friends and family keep asking what I am most excited to see--and I just smile and tell them it isn't the what, it's the who, the ones I can't wait to encircle with my arms.

So I will let go of those little arms for a moment in time, entrusting her care to others, just as her Heavenly Father entrusted her care to me. And by the time I get home, she will walk taller with even more confidence.

Straight into my arms.

Maybe You are Mothers

I have been putting this off all day today. I know exactly what I want to write about, and who, and why. I know this topic is important. It is important to me. It is just that I don't know that I am qualified to write it.

I have a child. What could I possibly understand about empty arms, offices that stay offices instead of becoming nurseries, or watching friend after friend get married until I am the only one left, with only nieces and nephews to cuddle instead of being able to pick out names and cribs for my own babies?

I can't.
I know that.
I can't understand it.
I haven't been there.
I don't pretend to try to know how you feel.

But I do have something to say today about this subject.

My parents struggled to have a baby for years before my older brother came along. Then my sister and I came with no issues (okay, we definitely came with issues, but getting us here wasn't an issue). It took four more years of waiting after my little sister came for my little brother to round out our family at six members. 

And although her oldest child will graduate from law school next week and her youngest is only three weeks away from high school graduation, my mother still vividly remembers the heartbreaking days of sitting in their married student congregation at church, surrounded by wailing babies and walking pregnancy announcements.  She remembers the feelings of hurt and anger when an ignorant loved one asked my grandma, "Does BJ even like kids?" This person had no way of knowing that my parents were begging and pleading with Heavenly Father to let a little one come into their home and family. The question itself, however, was quite absurd. My mother taught first grade. It's not like she was a Ms. Trunchbull flinging hated children around by their illegal pigtails. Since she was a child,  my mom had only ever wanted to be two things: a teacher and a mom.

She was both from a very young age, but she didn't know it.

First, there was my mother's childhood. Growing up in smalltown Montana, she was no stranger to hard work. While her parents struggled to keep the family business running, my mom was in charge of keeping her younger brother and sister alive (and if anyone knows my Aunt Ronda, who once almost drowned in manure, they know this was no easy feat!). When she was in high school, her parents had two more children. Once again, she helped brush hair and change diapers and make cookies and cut bangs and she spent hours stretching my uncle's hands so his fingers wouldn't grow bent and crooked like they were predisposed to do. This is the life of the oldest daughter; helping out is second nature. It's just what we do.

And then my mom went off to college, to become a teacher. She met my father. She fell in love for a second time, but learned what true love was for herself for the first time. They got married. He went to work. She finished school. Then she went to work and he finished school. They decided to start a family. Nothing happened.

But my parents were parents long before my brother ever came into the picture.

You see, they had Annie.

Annie was one of my mom's students. To say she didn't come from a loving home would be a complete understatement. Annie's home life was hell. My mom did everything she could, but quickly found she was powerless to change much about Annie's situation. So, instead, she made the most of the time she had with Annie at school. She taught her how to wash her hands, brush her hair and teeth, and to read. Once in a while, on the weekends, as a reward for good behavior, my parents would take Annie to the park. Those pictures of that little curly-haired girl, smiling on the teeter-totter back in the early 1980s are mixed in with our baby pictures and family vacation snapshots.

My parents were kind to her. They genuinely loved her. They still do. I remember Annie visiting our family when we were small children. I remember going with my mom to the dollar store to help pick out makeup for Annie for her birthday. Even now, sometimes when I am visiting my parents I will pick up the phone and hear Annie's voice on the other end, asking if Belinda is there. Last December I followed my mom around a Scholastic Book Fair, searching for a Christmas present for Annie. It had to be a book about dolphins. Annie loves dolphins.

To Annie, my mother will always be a little bit hers.

And I understand it, because there are women in my life, both those with children and those without, that are a little bit mine.

Like my third grade teacher, retiring this year, who took the time to write me letters long after I graduated from her classroom and my family moved away. I still have those letters.

Like my Achievement Day (our church's program for 8-11 year old girls) leader, who showered me with love when all the most of the other girls in our group did was show me cruelty. I don't even remember her name, but I remember her love.

Like my aunt, who taught me how to rollerblade and coached our basketball and t-ball teams and was the one who told my mom I probably needed glasses because she noticed my shot was off and didn't just attribute it to the the fact that I have absolutely no athletic ability (although she and I both knew it!).

Like all those Sisters in Texas, who sat me down in their kitchens as they prepared dinner for my companion and I and asked how we were doing while searching our faces and body language for the things we weren't telling them. Sister Green, with her whole wheat rolls and emails to my mom right after I'd been diagnosed with diabetes, because she knew my mother felt powerless not knowing how I was doing. Sister Lucas, who brought me special chocolates. Sister Lake, who encouraged us to keep going even when the work seemed so hopeless. Sister Jones, my German grandma, who gave me the love and home base I needed at the beginning and end of my mission and sent me off with a few tears and a hug. Sister Burton, who was every Graham missionary's mom--and all of the other Graham and Jacksboro women, both members and non-members alike, who gave me water and received me like the representative of Jesus Christ that I was and still am.

Over the years there have been church leaders, piano teachers, coaches, my mother's friends and mothers of my friends who took the time to encourage me, love me, appreciate me, and teach me how to become a good woman. Now there is my mother-in-law, who is breaking into the land of American Girl dolls with her granddaughters and daughters-in-law because she never got to go there with her five boys, who spoils us with gifts of homemade bread and visits and an occasional game of Phase 10 on a Sunday and who tells me that I am doing a good job even when I don't feel like it.

And perhaps I appreciate the sacrifices of these women and their love a little more now for the same reason that I appreciate my mother's love more: because I am a mother, and I see these women in other women, dear to my heart, who claim a little piece of my daughter as their own. Like my little sister, who taught Kevin how to clap on time while she sings "If You're Happy and You Know It" and buys Kevin the zebra print stuff my husband hates but is so necessary for a little girl's childhood.  Like my aunt, who continues to mother another generation with frozen fruit for breakfast and ice cream treats and whispers of off-limit adventures just loud enough to make my mom and I nervously exclaim, "She's not going for a ride on the motorcycle!" Like my sister-in-law, who from across the country gives us love and support and completes our family more than she will ever really know.  Like our neighbor across the street, who willingly watches Kevin when Kevin's parents need a night out and goes walking with me and keeps me moving forward when I sometimes feel like I am retreating--she makes me a better mother and takes her turn mothering my child, who simply adores her.

Sheri Dew, a prominent business woman and member of our faith, who is unmarried and childless yet an example to mothers everywhere, says this:

"When we understand the magnitude of motherhood, it becomes clear why prophets have been so protective of woman’s most sacred role. While we tend to equate motherhood solely with maternity, in the Lord’s language, the word mother has layers of meaning. Of all the words they could have chosen to define her role and her essence, both God the Father and Adam called Eve “the mother of all living”  —and they did so before she ever bore a child. Like Eve, our motherhood began before we were born....  Motherhood is more than bearing children, though it is certainly that. It is the essence of who we are as women. It defines our very identity, our divine stature and nature, and the unique traits our Father gave us."

Maybe some of you are struggling with infertility. Maybe some of you have babies only a few days or weeks old and wonder what qualifies you to be a mother when you've only been one a few days and others have been doing the job for decades. Maybe some of you want desperately to hold a child in your arms but the timing isn't right and that blessing isn't yours right now. Maybe some of you have jobs as teachers, nurses, caregivers, dieticians, therapists, housekeepers, coaches, or any other occupation where you give love that goes unappreciated.

Maybe you are mothers and you just don't know it yet.

So to all the women who mother, whether they have borne children or not, I say thank you.

 

My thoughts on five children, donuts, and graduation

Since I wrote about what was really weighing on my mind and heart yesterday, I have spent the majority of today wondering what I should write about next. Around 1:30pm I told myself I just didn't need to worry about writing. Around 1:35 pm I realized that excuse was never going to fly with my personal conscience and I needed to come up with something.

So I did what any woman does when she is stuck in a bind.

I asked my best friend for help.

He told me he wasn't sure what I should blog about and I would think of something. He said, "I look forward to discovering what it is and reading your blog post."

I responded by saying, "I'm not going to blog today. I have nothing to write about and you are no help. Love you."

To which he said, "Ouch. I could give you some suggestions, but they wouldn’t be worthy of a blog post."

And I said I would take them anyway.

ScottyDawg delivers, every time. These are his writing prompts for today, which turned out better than he thought they would be.

You could blog about your feelings of me being done with my bachelors, or you could blog about donuts (I told you they wouldn’t be that good), or you can blog about your experience with 5 kids this week.

 

Here goes. I am going to address them in reverse order.

 

A Mother of Five

Once upon a time, a palm reader at Lagoon read my hand and told me I was going to have five children. Since that time (more than ten years ago), I have just planned on having five children. But over the past four years, there have been a few kinks thrown into that plan. My diabetes and other health problems, for one. Two, after one scary pregnancy and delivery, I am really doubting my body can physically and emotionally handle doing that five times over. Three, dollar signs--adding up--probably we couldn't afford that--our insurance covers birth control for free--TMI, okay, I'm done.

 

Then, on Tuesday, I volunteered to help watch my three nieces and their little brother (only a month younger than Kevin) while their parents were on vacation. Five kids under the age of seven. One already exhausted Mommy. One two-bedroom apartment. Six hours.

 

I survived, but only with lots of help. Scott came home for lunch. He immediately picked up our nephew, which set Kevin off screaming. She was not about to let any other baby have her Daddy. Funny, she never cared when I held the little guy, only when Scott held him. I thought her jealous rage adorable. He just started worrying and wondering what she was going to do (far into the future) when there is another baby around in our house full-time. After he left to go back to work, I carried the two babies and the three other girls lugged a picnic blanket across the street and we went to the park. It was cold and windy and those babies are mobile so we only lasted about 20 minutes. My arms got quite the workout (these Fowler babies are solid chunks of baby goodness). After returning from the park, I was in the midst of pouring chocolate milk into three little cups when my mother-in-law called to check on us. The three-year-old had just spilled her cup all over our coffee table and carpet when Grandma asked if I wanted her to come over and help.

 

Normally, I would have said no. I am stubborn. I can do things by myself.

 

This time, I said yes without hesitating.

 

And by the time she got here, the spill was cleaned up, my baby was asleep, the other baby had finally decided he wanted to eat, the toddler was watching a Barbie movie, the first-grader was reading her chapter book, and the five-year-old was listening to me read her a story. I felt quite accomplished. Things were back under control.

 

And after Grandma helped us get through the last two hours, I realized that maybe we needed to rethink our family planning. The kids were awesome for me--really, so well-behaved--but I was tuckered out and it took me a while to recover. And I thought, "three's good. I'll be fine if we only have three."

 

But there is a reason that children come one (or in some cases two) at a time, so you can break into mothering slowly, adding just a little (that feels like a lot) at a time. So, perhaps I will be able to handle five children on my own after all. Someday.

 

That day is not today.

 

Donuts

I really like fried things. Like practically an addiction. But yesterday I walked by donuts at the grocery store and I didn't buy any. The saltwater taffy was a different story. And when I got to the frozen foods section and saw that box of Creamies on sale, well, I got homesick for Cache Valley and bought the biggest box I could find.

 

Anyway, I don't have much to say about donuts per se, but I do have something to say about healthiness.

 

Scott and I have been rocking the exercising this week, even if we haven't mastered the eating well part of healthy living yet. He's been doing much better than me, but still, we've done more exercising in the past week than we probably did in the whole month before that. And we are proud of that fact, but we didn't put it on Facebook. You probably won't ever get a weight loss report, a picture of our super healthy dinner (because they don't exist), or an update on our marathon training on Facebook from us ever.

You can thank me for that.

(But I can't guarantee I won't blog about it.)

Graduation
How do I feel about Scott finishing his Bachelor's degree this week?

FREAKING WONDERFUL.
excuse my French.

School is hard. Putting a spouse through school has been even harder for me. Why? I miss homework (sometimes). I get jealous of his homework sometimes, but I don't ever do it for him (occasionally I help edit and revise a paper and that makes me homesick too). I miss learning new stuff and having things to work on. I miss the feeling of accomplishment after turning in a big paper or project (I don't miss the anxiety in the days leading up to when the paper is due). I don't think Scott shares these same feelings exactly. He loves to learn and he loves figuring out new things. But he is not a big fan of homework, tests, or especially writing papers.

The past three weeks have been pretty harsh. He's had one assignment on top of another, and we've had a lot of family events going on, so he's had to get even better at managing his time (he already rocks at that, seeing as how he has worked full-time and gone to school full-time simultaneously over the past four years). And now that we see that light at the end of the tunnel and I've pulled the stiches out of the makeshift hem his grandma put on my oversized graduation gown from last year so that he can wear it, we are breathing a sigh of relief and trying to forget that he has to start studying to take the GMAT in a few weeks. We are going to give ourselves a week to ignore the fact that we have two long years of graduate school ahead of us.

In the meantime, we are going to practice walking.

Scott is going to walk and receive his diploma that he so deserves and enjoy the fact that he is one step closer to being done with school forever.

I am going to walk and get some exercise and keep improving myself and learn how to learn outside of a classroom.

And Kevin is going to work on taking more than one step at a time without holding onto our hands.

Truth be told, though, we don't mind that she is still holding on.

Have a very happy Thursday, friends!

Acts of Love: How to Help

This past week one of my dear friends delivered her baby entirely too early...33 weeks if I'm not mistaken. And as I looked at the pictures of this friend and her teeny, fragile, wire-covered baby on facebook, it all came flooding back, as it often does....

I know I probably sound like a broken record. I've written about this before. The thing is, I just can't write about our experience of Kevin's birth enough. I'm not "over" it yet. I don't think I ever will be. I had no idea going in that I was going to come out not only as a mother, but as a completely changed woman. Once you've been there...to the room where babies are surrounded by other babies, most of them too small to even wear "premie" clothes, and beeping equipment and nurses rushing too and fro, soothing cries, checking medicine and tubes, and calming parents that can do nothing but sit and wait for time to pass and their baby to get stronger...well, if you haven't been there, you just don't know.

Scott and I often reflect on what we call our Utah Hospital Tour 2012 (three hospitals in three and a half weeks). We talk about the people that showed us love and concern. We talk about things that we didn't get that could have been helpful. We realized then, as we do now, that a lot of the people who could have helped us most just didn't know how to.  Mostly there were those, however, who found ways to help even when they didn't know what we were going through. I'd like to share their examples for anyone out there who has friends or family members in the NICU and just doesn't know where to start...

• Scott will never forget how, as he was following the ambulance that was taking me from Logan to Ogden, he called various family members to let them know what was going on. It brings tears to both of our eyes to think about how his brothers offered to drop everything and drive hours to come and sit with him. There were so many family members that came just be with us. My mom and aunt drove to Ogden in the middle of the night. Scott's parents brought a bag full of snacks. My dad took Scott out to dinner while my mom stayed with me. We were never alone.
• A couple from our ward stopped by the hospital the day after Kevin was born and brought us some homemade breadsticks. Not only was the homemade food much better than hospital food, they took the time to visit with us and admired our pictures when we had no baby to share with them. I think that is one of the hardest things as a NICU parent: you have a baby, but you just can't show her off to anyone besides her grandparents (if you are lucky). You don't get to keep her in your room at night or during the day. You don't get to have a say in when she goes to the nursery and when she is fed and when she is taken home. They tell you all that. So when somebody would ask us for what we did have...a picture of our gorgeous girl, we were more than happy to show her off!
• Our bishop and his wife came and visited us twice and checked in on us multiple times. Sister Dunkley brought us a little baby outfit, but she also knew that I loved reading, so she brought me a book. That book became a lifeline for me because reading is my outlet, and her gift gave me somewhere to escape when everything in my reality became too much. I read almost seven books while we were in the NICU with Kevin...and Sister Dunkley started all that.
• We received various texts and phone calls. Even though we couldn't always answer our phones (sometimes because we were with Kevin and sometimes because we just couldn't talk to people without breaking down and crying), those messages gave us strength and comfort. Facebook messages, although they felt a little less personal, also helped a ton! We felt not quite so alone when people made the effort to reach out to us and check on us and ask how our baby was doing.
• I had two friends (both of whom I hadn't talked to in about five years) offer us a place to stay when Kevin got moved to Primary's. Although we didn't take them up on their offers, I was so touched to know that they would invite us (rather an inconvenience, when both of them had multiple small children) into their homes so willingly. Along the same vein, my sister-in-law's parents let us crash at their house the night after Kevin was moved to Salt Lake since we hadn't had time to get a room at the Ronald McDonald House yet. They weren't home most of the time we were there, but it was so nice to have a real shower and a real bed and a place to be alone together while we learned to cope with our situation and figured out our next move.
• Both sets of our parents were just awesome. Although it was a drive and not easy for them, they visited at least every other day and usually made sure to take us out to dinner and get us out of the hospital for a bit. Sometimes they would come and spend time with Kevin and hold her so we could go and rest and know somebody we loved and cared for was taking care of her.  My aunt made multiple trips, even though for the first five days she couldn't see her namesake. My grandma even made a long trip down from Idaho Falls to meet her great-granddaughter. Our families made such sacrifices for us, and they didn't go unnoticed.
• On a particularly hard day, I received a surprise visit from one of the sisters in our ward, who just happened to be in town for a little while and decided to use her limited time to come and sit and talk with me, although she was eight months pregnant herself. She brought me a little plant, but more than that, she brought me love and friendship.
• My best friends, as usual, were completely in tune with my needs at this time. Not only did they text and call throughout each week, but one evening they all drove the 45 minutes to the hospital and took me out for Chinese food and threw me a surprise baby shower amid the fried rice and lo mein. They gave me courage and helped me to understand that I could handle this. One of them showed up at the hospital a few days later with a stack of books she knew I hadn't read. Another shared her NICU experiences with me and helped me to feel not quite so alone. She showed me the beauty in Holland while I was still mourning my lost trip to Italy. Her advice was my rope when I just needed something to hold on to as I struggled to keep going.
• My second parents (my parent's best friends) came and took us, along with my Mom and Dad, out to dinner one night. We loved being somewhere besides the hospital and we loved having a chance to just laugh and be happy and get our fill of food (yay for Sizzler!). I guess the one thing we could have always used more of: food. A gift card to go out to eat somewhere would be an awesome gift to send to parents of NICU babies--especially since you don't have time/effort to cook and eating out every day gets super expensive after about three days. At the same time, Scott and I craved simple, homemade meals like PB &J or spaghetti. If someone you know has a baby at the NICU and like us are away from home (or even if they are home), inviting them over for a home-cooked meal would be just plain awesome of you. Also, we could have used more meals when we finally brought Kevin home. Even though she was almost a month old, we were still getting used to being parents and we were far more exhausted than we would ever admit. I sincerely hope that Heavenly Father showers blessings down upon the three sisters in our ward who offered and brought meals even when no sign-up sheet was passed around at church. They saw a need and filled it without being asked. That is what being a Christian is all about.
• When we got home, our front porch was decorated (my family is good like that). It made being home that much more special. 
• We found out after we got home that our ward had held a special fast for our Kevin. We didn't know this was going on, but we were so very touched by the outpouring of love and the sacrifices that our ward family made to help our little family. We know that our miracles were a result of the fasting and prayers of many people who loved us--family, friends, and mere acquaintances.

This list could go on and on...I barely even skimmed the surface of the many acts of love that were shown to our family during an especially difficult time. Mostly we just needed to know we were not alone, and so many people were able to show us how much they cared by simply being there for us.

Now our baby is a healthy, busy, chubby little girl whose bangs I had to cut four days ago because she couldn't see with all that hair in her eyes. She is happy. She is thriving. She is an almost-walking miracle. And as of about a month ago, she has finally figured out how to go to bed at a decent time and sleep all the way through the night.

Sometimes her life is still tough. She will always have challenges. She will probably always be a little bit behind when it comes to some things, we just don't know which things yet.

We will always shudder when we think back to some of those experiences we had--especially those times when the doctors and nurses asked us to step into the hall because they didn't think we could handle what they were about to do to our baby. We couldn't have handled it, we know that (what parent could stand watching their two-day-old baby get her heart shocked back into a normal rhythm?), but I will never get over feeling guilty for leaving her alone during the times when I felt she needed me most. We will never forget what it felt like to sit there, day after day, and simply watch her breathe. We will never forget the joy of simply holding her--most parents take that for granted, or don't get to appreciate it as fully as I think NICU parents do. We will never forget crying the whole drive home with her because the car seat was no longer empty and she was all ours and we just couldn't believe it.

 

 

And over the past thirteen months, when we feel like sleepless nights and viruses and teething and temper tantrums are too difficult, we remember how blessed we are to have her home, and we lower our voices, show a little more patience, and give a few more hugs and kisses. And, like Alan Matthews in the season six finale of Boy Meets World, we say an extra prayer for anyone who has to be there.

 

Rinda's Reads: April Report

Hi all! I can't believe it is May already! April flew by. We were so very busy, but in good ways. I didn't get a chance to read a whole lot, but I did like the three books I did manage to read, so I am passing them along.


The Dressmaker by Kate Alcott
Most books about the sinking of the Titanic focus solely on the voyage of the Titanic. This book was refreshing because the actual voyage and sinking of the Titanic only covered two chapters in a rather large book. Instead, the book focuses on what happened after the survivors were dropped off in the U.S. My favorite character by far was the woman reporter assigned to cover the hearings held to discover why the ship sank and if there was foul play involved. This book wasn't the greatest book I've ever read, but it was interesting and I learned something from it. If you are a fan of historical fiction, you would probably enjoy this one.


Gingersnap by Patricia Rielly Giff
I picked this book up in the children's section of my local library and I was not disappointed. I recognized the author's name and from the snippet on the back cover, I found that the book was set in the WWII era, which I am a sucker for. The book is probably geared more toward a fourth or fifth grade audience, but I enjoyed it. Ghosts, cookies, a turtle, redheads, and a family mystery. Where could you go wrong?


Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand by Carla Kelly
I picked this book up because I had recently recommended another book by this author (My Loving Vigil Keeping) to my mom for her book club assignment in June. I hadn't read anything else by Carla Kelly, so I decided to give her a try again. Unlike the book I passed on to my mom, which is set in a Utah mining town, this novel is set in Regency England. If you need a good romance, well...let's just put it this way: I read this one within 24 hours and Kevin had to keep reminding me that she needed attention because I just couldn't put it down for more than five minutes at a time.

I've also been slowly working my way through Ladies of Liberty by Cokie Roberts in preparation for some of my summer adventures. I've only read the chapter on the John Adams presidency thus far. I've learned about women I didn't even know existed and I understand better some of the politics of the era, but I must say that I've been rather disappointed by the way that Roberts treats Abigail Adams. According to Roberts, Abigail all but ruined John's political career and was solely responsible for him not being re-elected. I just don't buy that. So...take it with a grain of salt.

And now, Kevin's Pick of the Month!
Actually, we have two, because they were just so darn adorable I had to pass them along. The first is this gem:

Plant a Kiss by Amy Krouse Rosenthal.
You may recognize Rosenthal as the author of Duck! Rabbit! but I think this book is much, much better. It is simple, with only a few words on each page, but maybe your little ones will be enthralled by the harvest of glittered kisses that Little Miss reaps--mine certainly was!

And then we found this one:

Goldilocks and Just the One Bear by Leigh Hodgkinson
I love it when there are books that tell the tale that comes after the nursery tale! This one has delightful pictures and a fun twist on the story of Goldilocks.

Happy Reading!

Also...we are only five pageviews away from 2500...which might not seem like a lot to you, but it sure means a lot to me! For every 500 views this blog gets, I try to do a "bonus" post on a day other than Thursday. So be watching! Thanks for your support everyone!