Living Life Slow

I am trying my very best to keep up with this blog this year. As you can tell, I'm not doing so well. I've been working on last week's post for over a week (it's a list of reading recommendations, so be on the lookout for when I finally finish it). I'm so far behind on our family blog that I'm hoping we at least make it into the New Year by Valentine's Day.

I always thought that life would take on a slower pace when I was a stay-at-home mom with small children. We aren't even to the point of extracurriculars or preschool yet, but life seems busy. When I step back, I know it isn't, I just want it to be.

Scott is taking a class about human behavior for his MBA this semester. Last week they had an online discussion about the pro's and con's of the "Living Life Faster" trend going on right now, where employers are asking more and more of employees and in an effort to do more and be more, are we really accomplishing anything? A wise woman in his class pointed out that as employees devoted more time to their employers to move up corporate ladders faster, it was their homes and families suffering most. She thoroughly explained how, as the workforce demanded more and more, the employee's home life started to crumble. And when you look at it that way, our quest for success is really only hurting the next generation.

I often feel guilty for being a stay-at-home mom. I'm not sure why, when I know this is where Heavenly Father wants me to be, but there it is: I feel guilty. I feel like I could do more, be more. I feel like I have so much wasted potential. I could be changing the world, right? It is hard to not feel stuck changing diapers when I want to be superwoman.

Last Thursday Scott headed back to school. We are almost halfway through his MBA and it has been one of the hardest things I've ever done, but we both know the time is right and he needs to be there. I was having one of those days. I think I sent Scott the email with my bi-weekly Motherhood Resignation around 2:00 pm. Thank goodness he doesn't take those things seriously. The rest of the afternoon was difficult, as I was spending more time counting down the hours until the weekend hit and I wouldn't be on my own anymore.

That evening, I had gotten Sly to sleep for his pre-bedtime nap (he seems to think that he needs to sleep for 45 minutes around 7:00 pm and then be up until ten...but he sleeps through the night so we let him) and Kevin and I were playing in her room. Well, she was playing, and I was trying to figure out how to talk her into starting the bedtime routine of pajamas and brushed teeth and winding down.  She told me she had to put her baby to bed first and I consented wearily. She then proceeded to sing "Jingle Bells" to her baby doll, cradling the plastic body into her chest in a way that mothers do with their infants when they don't care if anybody is watching because the whole world only consists of them and their sweet-smelling, sleepy baby.

She then proceeded to pray with her doll. I mean, really pray. "Hen'ly Fader, Thanks day. Thanks our famiwy. Bwess [Sly]. Christ, amen."

It was the first time I'd ever heard her say a full prayer on her own, without help. And it meant even more because lately she refuses to pray, even with us helping her, and I haven't pressed the issue, just simply asked her to close her eyes and fold her arms while her Daddy or I pray. Those simple words simply melted me.

And then it came, the little reminder, the little whisper of the Holy Ghost: "You are doing something right. She is listening!"

Suddenly, the day didn't seem so long. The hours didn't seem so slow. The job didn't seem so miserable. I have all day everyday to teach my babies to pray. And they have all day to teach me to do and be a little better.