Christmas Joys

Is there anything sweeter than holding a sleeping baby at Christmastime? The pause and the peace and the gentle rocking of the recliner relaxes me and fills me with more happiness than I think I have ever known. I count her long, dark eyelashes. I admire the smoothness of her slightly chubby cheeks. I watch her mouth move as she breathes and dreams and relaxes into my arms.

Was this how Mary felt? Sometimes I wonder how much of our perfectly placed nativities actually resemble that original night in Bethlehem. Somehow the stable dung piles never get painted into those heavenly-lit scenes, though I am sure they were copious. After having children, it is harder to forget the pain of childbirth that was real for Mary that night. Despite her divine infant, and perhaps because of Him, I don't think she was spared the pain. But neither was she spared the joy.

I think of the moments that make my Christmases special, and how my favorite things have changed over the years. I used to love eating the treats given to us by neighbors, but now the best part is leaving cookies on doorsteps and the worst part is all the houses we drive by that I wish we could fit into our budget, because they do fit into our hearts.

I used to love attending the endless parties with family and friends, and now I find the joy in planning the gatherings. I loved listening to Christmas music for weeks and weeks, but even the best of Kurt Bestor and Anne Murray cannot compare to the slightly off-key choir that is our family of five, singing a song about Jesus each evening before bed.

I used to love the anticipation of opening gifts early on Christmas morning; that wait has turned into something so much harder as I wait for my loved ones to open the gifts I spent hours making or carefully choosing. I love to find and give the perfect thing. I hate it when I can't find anything good enough to express my feelings, gratitude, and love.

I used to love waking up in the wee hours of Christmas morning to see the family room lit only by the lights on the tree, stockings overflowing and mountains of gifts blocking walkways. Now, those scenes can't compare to the feelings I have as I stay up late with my husband, smiling and whispering as we assemble our family's Christmas. There may be less gifts, but there is no shortage of love!

I loved listening to my mom read "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" every night and watching "Elf" and "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" with my siblings, wrapped in a blanket. Now I delight in the sparkly picture books my children beg me to read on repeat. I've even learned to love Trolls Holiday, despite watching it more than a dozen times with a three-year-old cuddled on my lap.

My holidays were wonderful as a child, but...nothing compares to holidays now. Every moment is special, even my husband's eye rolls as I spend another evening with Shutterfly while he watches basketball on TV. Although my distractions annoy him, he knows how important every single detail is to me, and because he loves me, he goes along for the sleigh ride. He even puts up Christmas lights at the beginning of November because who knows how long the pristine fall weather is going to last along the Wasatch Front.

I climb into bed happily exhausted every single night, because creating magic takes a lot of energy. I try to ignore the piled up cookie sheets and crusted loaf pans, because time is always short and it is more important to make all the things than clean up all the messes. I mourn over the service I can't do and the charities I can't donate to. I wish there were more of me to go around. I rub lotion into my cracked hands, because I've spent my days changing diapers, making bottles, and helping a little boy go potty and the repeated hot water washings have done a number on my hands.

This is my life right now. This is my best Christmas pageant ever. It looks nothing like I thought it would, just like the scene at Jesus' birth was probably nothing like Mary anticipated. And yet, like Mary, I am grateful for the craziness and chaos and the crowds because I hold in my arms a precious gift from God.

Although the world spins around us, we are in our own little bubble, just me and a baby who will grow up too fast.

The Last Day

"I'm so excited!" She giggled and wiggled as I tucked her into bed with her threadbare fleece blanket and Fancy Nancy storybook. Her sparkling eyes spoke volumes, as they have since she was born: this is it! they seemed to say. The big day is FINALLY here!

I smiled, though I felt like sighing. Yup, that day is here. "You need to go to sleep, you have a big day tomorrow" I told her three more times as I sent her back to bed. What is Disneyland compared to Kindergarten? The excitement was more than her little body could stand. Finally, after her brother and sister had been asleep for an hour and her Dad headed to the gym, I decided to put the matter in God's hands.

"Should we say a prayer to help you sleep?" I asked, and she nodded. We said a little prayer, I kissed her forehead, she headed up the stairs, and for the hundredth time today, the same phrase went through my head.

It's the Last Day.

Kevin has always had a hard time handling anticipation. When she was about three, we started using the phrase, "it's the Last Day!" to let her know that her wait was about to be over. Every Monday she'd wake up asking, "is it the Last Day?" and I'd have to carefully break it to her that we had several days to go to make it to the Last Day. Somehow Friday always arrived and I loved to start her day with, "Guess what sweetheart? Today's the Last Day! Daddy doesn't have to go to work today!" or "it's the Last Day! Tomorrow we go to Papa's House!" or "It's the Last Day! Tomorrow is your birthday!"

There was no need for that conversation today, but my brain still reminded me.

I was reminded as I watched her sleepily walk down the stairs, realizing that tomorrow she'll have to be out the door by this time.

I was reminded as she came up from the playroom to find me, telling me, "I just thought, 'I miss my Mom,' so I thought I would come up and see what you are doing."

I was reminded as I gave in to her brilliant idea to paint our fingernails, surprising her by painting my nails to match hers. It's like the Kissing Hand, I thought. "Tomorrow," I told her (and myself), "If you are missing me, you can look at your fingernails and remember that ours are the same and you'll be fine."

I was reminded when painting our nails turned into playing paper dolls, her standard request whenever her sister is sleeping and her brother is watching his shows. I looked at her and realized:

It's the Last Day.

My last full day with her at home. Our last day before we start the grade school era of our lives, which will be followed by middle school, high school, college, missions, marriage, grandchildren...

I wonder, have I done enough to prepare her? Have I read a thousand books to her? Did I spend enough time teaching her letters? Practicing counting? Mixing colors and recognizing shapes? Did I model enough appropriate social behaviors? Did I teach her to be unfailingly kind? Will she know how to make new friends? How long will it take for her teacher to correct her habit of starting at the bottom instead of the top when she writes her letters? Did I instill enough confidence? Humility? The child is not resilient. I know that much. I tried. Oh, I've tried.

It feels like the end. The timer is about to beep. My time is up.

And then I remembered this quote that my mom shares in her kindergarten readiness parent workshops:

"Children’s first and most influential teachers are their parents/family. They play an important foundational role in the child’s learning and achievement. When parents, educators, and caregivers work together in the education and well-being of a child, a partnership is formed that will influence the best possible learning outcomes for the learner" (Utah's Early Childhood Standards, p. 4).

 I may be her first teacher, but I will not be her last. 

After all, tomorrow is the First Day. 

Two People

Last night I watched my husband hold another woman, and my heart broke.

I saw the look she gave him as we walked into her sparsely furnished bedroom, the way the tears heightened the despair, grief, and sadness in her eyes. The room was full of people, her family and her friends, but it was when she saw him that something in her changed.

I pushed him forward and he sat next to her on the bed, which was nothing more than a full-size mattress on the floor. He put his hand on hers, and she cried. After a minute or so, he looked up at me. This kind of situation is not his forte. I don't think it is anyone's forte. What do you say to someone who has just lost their entire world?

"Hold her," I mouthed more than whispered. I left the room to silence my cell phone. I watched from the doorway as he put his arm around her and pulled her close.

My husband doesn't have sisters and his mother is not prone to tears. When I am sad, I retreat or I get angry. I get quiet and I want to be left alone and there have only been a few times when I've sobbed in his arms.

He cries even less than I do. In our entire marriage, I've seen him cry three times (I'm not including the times where we watch sports movies, because his eyes always seem to leak during those. Pass the hat for Eddie! *I'm not crying, you're crying.) The last of those times were happy tears as he called Kevin early in the morning to tell her she had a long-awaited sister.

But yesterday morning, he cried again.

I knew something was wrong when I picked up my phone after leaving it on the counter for ten minutes and there were two missed calls, a text and an email. My stomach dropped because I thought he'd been in an accident. I figured if he was calling, he would be okay, but I was still worried. The voice on the other end of the phone was not the one I usually hear. "Hi, are you okay?" I said in one rushed breath. "I'm fine," he answered slowly. "I'm fine."

Then he was silent for a moment before he went on, "Do you remember hearing about that drowning accident at Deer Creek Reservoir?"

"Maybe?" I answered.

"The one where the husband drowned and the wife was barely saved?"

Suddenly my mind flashed back. I had seen the headline on facebook. It occurred to me as sad, but I didn't read the article and I kept scrolling.

"That was Anshul and her husband."

"No," I whispered. "No. No. No."

I've only met Anshul a handful of times, but I've heard my husband talk about her nearly every day for the last year when he comes home from work. She has been a helpful addition to his team and I'm grateful that she's been able to shoulder some of his workload. He'd tell me about conversations they'd had about religion, culture, finances, cars, everything. She loves our little ones, especially Sly, and is always excited to see them when we visit Dad at work.  Their relationship was more brother-sister than coworker, and I was grateful for that. I remember him commenting on Thursday of last week about how excited Anshul was that her husband was flying in for the weekend. "She's seemed sad and lonely lately. Today she was almost giddy because he's flying in tonight."

Anshul and I come from different worlds. She and her husband are from India and their marriage was arranged, although they had a courtship and very much agreed to the match. He was finishing up a research and advanced degree in Illinois and she was working in Utah. Their plan was for him to join her in a few months when he finished. In the meantime, they lived apart, flying back and forth to see each other once a month, staying in contact through emails and chats and video messaging. The very concept of a long-distance marriage absolutely threw Scott and I when we first met her. The two of us can barely survive an eight-hour workday away from each other. We came to realize, quickly, that their love wasn't any less real than ours.

Anuj would order her lunch. Sometimes he would add a cookie to the order for Scott. He would take care of his wife from a distance. We'd heard much about him and were planning on going on a double date one of these days when he was in Utah to visit. We were looking forward to meeting him at the company party last Friday, and were both impressed by his warmth, friendliness, and intelligence. He came over and struck up conversations with us more than once. And Anshul? She was practically glowing to have him finally by her side.

I knew all these things about her. And I'm sure she knew more things about me. And even though she is more my husband's friend than mine, my heart ached for her.

But my heart also ached for him.

"I'm sick about it," Scott told me. I could practically hear his mind trying to wrap itself around the tragedy. "She tried to contact me on Saturday. I got this email saying 'URGENT, emergency, call this number.' I thought she'd been hacked, so I didn't respond."

It felt like he was the last coworker to know, when he really should have been one of the first. A couple of people from work tried to call and text him, but nothing ever came through on his phone. And selfishly, I knew this was a tender mercy for me. Yesterday was Sly's birthday. Saturday and Sunday were spent cleaning up and getting ready for the party and then hosting a party. Had Scott known, we wouldn't have had his full attention, and I didn't know we needed it until I realized that there was a reason we didn't find out about the accident until yesterday morning.

Our minds spun in circles all day long. Scott met us after swimming lessons. We took the kids to McDonald's for Sly's birthday. He told me about the news article and how mean people were, commenting on how "they should have been wearing their life jackets."  "100% Avoidable." "Why would you not wear your life jacket if you don't know how to swim?' People think they know so much...but they don't know Anshul, and they didn't know Anuj. He told me how his coworker pointed out that there was one comment, longer than the others, from the girl who helped pull Anshul from the water. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he told me about this merciful woman, gently and kindly reminding people that these were two people, people with friends and families:

"My brother and I were the ones who saved the wife, and weren't able to find her husband. 
First of all let me remind everyone that these are two human beings, one who lost his life and one who had to go home without her husband. I spent over two hours with her yesterday, and I cannot even begin to fathom the hell she is living through. Please have some compassion. 
Second it is terrifying how fast this all happened. From the time we saw them in the water, to barely seconds later realizing they were in trouble, (We were less than 200 yards from the couple, our boat already idling, we sped there as fast as possible, and we dove in before the boat even stopped.) and still just before we got there the husband went under and didn't resurface. This all happened in a matter of seconds. The wife had taken what looked like her last breath and was under water when my brother got to her, he handed her to me and started diving for the husband. As others from our boat and nearby boats we waved down started diving as well. 
You always imagine someone who's drowning to be splashing, waving their arms, etc.. they don't have the energy for that, at first glance it looked like they were just swimming. If you ever see someone in the water, take a second look, and go check on them! Although we know we gave it our all, the regret and frustration we both feel in not being able to find him will be with us forever. If we had hesitated, they would both be gone. How would that feel, knowing we "could have"? A life is always worth it. 
Be prepared, wear a life jacket, wear your seat belt, don't hesitate to help, and be considerate. My heart goes out to this sweet woman, I pray that she can find peace. Sweetie if you see this, I love you. I truly do."

When Scott and I arrived at Anshul's apartment last night, her friends thought we were the rescuers. Granted, we were the only caucasians around, it was an easy mistake for them to make: a tall man with brown hair, a shorter woman with brown hair. "If she sees you, she'll have to relive it all over again," her friend said as she walked us to the other side of the apartment building. We could barely understand her, so we just went with it. Imagine our surprise at waiting in a random woman's apartment alone for a few minutes, only to be joined later by half a dozen of Anshul's Indian friends and four very white people. The older woman asked Scott how he knew Anshul, no doubt surprised to see us in the midst of Anshul's friends. It wasn't until Anshul's brother in law entered the apartment and started talking to them that we realized: these were Anshul's rescuers.

I felt like an imposter, witnessing that meeting, listening to them share their stories with one another. Anshul's brother-in-law had arrived that afternoon, the only member of her family with a valid visa because he visited the United States often for work. Emergency visas were unobtainable because of a weekend followed by a national holiday. He shared more details from Anshul's side of the story: how they had been wearing their life jackets, but when they went back to shore they found they still had 15 minutes on their kayak rental, so they decided to get back in and stay close to the shore and Anshul kept telling Anuj they needed to put the flotation devices back on, but he waved it off, thinking that they'd be fine since they weren't going to be in the water long and they were close to shore.

And then the Rescue Family started to speak, humbly and yet confidently sharing their side of the story. It was supposed to just be the parents on the boat that day, but due to irregular circumstances, they somehow convinced their two children, both grown and married, to join them on the lake. How the parents weren't strong enough swimmers to have gotten to Anshul and Anuj in time. How the dad had been watching the kayak, and when it tipped, he noticed that something was wrong. How minutes before, wave runners and boats had sped (too fast) past the no-wake zone, creating waves that may or may not have tipped the kayak. How the son, who got to her first, didn't know that there was another. "I never saw him," he said, "And if I had, my natural instinct would have been to go after him first and we would have lost both of them."

Detail after detail. Miracle after miracle.
People like this family---they are rare. They had such love, such compassion, such sorrow for not being able to rescue both. Their lives will forever be marked by their experience.

As I put my arms around the daughter, the one who served as Anshul's guardian and protector and comforter for hours on Saturday afternoon, I whispered, "You did a good job." It was all I could get out through my tears. I wish I could have found the words then, when I had the chance, to tell her how grateful I was that God placed her in Anshul's path that day. How much I admire her for compassion and love. And how extremely grateful we are for the way that she stepped up, once again, and shielded Anshul from an onslaught of people who think they know better than her just because they weren't the ones not wearing life jackets that day.

Anshul is not the same woman she was on Friday. All the wishes in the world won't take her back to that person, and yet that glowing, happy, woman-in-love is still inside her somewhere. More than one friend remarked to us, "she will have to move past this. We will help."

And though our options to help seem so very small and insignificant, sometimes simply being there to hold someone and cry and not talk and offer quiet prayers from the heart are the only things we can do.

Anshul's friends have set up a gofundme account to help with funeral costs (including the astronmical task of sending her husband's body back to India). If you can, donate a little.

If you can't, please say a prayer for my husband's friend.

She Gives

They say babies are helpless, and I believe this is true.

I do everything for our little miss (who still doesn't have a code name, work on that please Flan). And if I'm not doing it for her, someone else is. We've spent a lot of time with extended family over the past month, and there have been many helping hands and hearts willing to cuddle our sweetheart so that my hands can be employed elsewhere. I spent an equal amount time watching my baby be cared for by those who love her. She has been fed, snuggled, changed, bathed, soothed, and played with by grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, great aunts, great uncles, and dear friends. She has been given attention and love in so many different forms, and by extension of that, so have I.

This morning as I snuggled her close and propped up her bottle so she could get her fill, I thought of her helplessness. She depends on others for everything she needs.

What most people don't realize is that babies are some of the least selfish creatures you'll ever meet.

That may sound odd, but hear me out. Sure, she is in constant need. She can't take care of most of her basic functions (and that isn't going to change anytime soon, if she follows her siblings' examples).

But what she does is give us everything she has without hesitation.

A smile, a coo, a giggle. A snuggle, a cuddle, a reason to laugh. A chance to pause, a peaceful moment in the quiet hours, a lullaby that soothes us both. Her patience when she has to wait, her gratitude when she is filled, her trust that we will take care of her needs. She is our wake-up call, our divine reminder, our greatest joy.

And although there are so many things we do for her, there is no doubt in my mind.

She does more for us.

copyright by Marinda Fowler. Please do not share or use this picture.

My Happy Place

I've been thinking about my life lately. Not my big-picture life. Not the things that make up a resume or the things I want recorded in my obituary. No, I've been thinking about my little-picture life. The candid shots that don't make it into the 11x14 frames or canvas prints. I'm talking about the snapshots, the pictures that are rarely printed out but scrolled through in the evenings after a busy day. The little life in which most days follow a similar routine: early morning cuddles with the baby before she goes back to sleep. Watching my son play with his "mag-in-ex" (magnet) toys. Listening to Kevin's endless stories and commentary, doing my best to keep up with all of the activities she'd like to pack into our days.

I've been thinking about how I eat cereal for breakfast and a PB&J for lunch almost everyday, and how even though I feel like I probably should add variety, in the end that's what I want to eat and there is no one to tell me I can't, so Honey Nut Cheerios and strawberry jam it is. Every day.

I've been thinking about how I keep moving all day long, like a soccer ball in a scoreless match, so in sync with the needs of my family that I do things almost without even noticing that I'm doing them, like refilling sippy cups and picking up toys and stacking books so they don't get stepped on and switching the wash and shutting toilet lids and asking all the learning questions. "What sound does the letter a make? How many chicken nuggets are left on your plate? What shape is your blanket? How many people are in our family?"

There is so much monotony in my life, but every day is different. And it's the little moments that I love the most, like Sly coming in to my room with sleepy eyes and climbing in to bed with me and asking, "how are your dreams today, Mommy?" Or Kevin saying her bedtime prayers as fast (and repetitively) as she can so we can read a few pages of Ramona the Pest before she goes to sleep. Or that heavenly, exhausted feeling of answering the cry of an infant, who will stop as soon as she feels my hand touch her body and my voice say, "You're okay, baby, Mommy is here." And then I lift her into my arms and she snuggles into my chest and we both feel complete.

A few years ago I wrote a post entitled "The Happiest I've Ever Been." I didn't know then that a two-year long battle with antepartum and postpartum depression was about to ensue. I quickly went from the happiest I'd ever been to the saddest I'd ever been, and the only thing that had really changed about my life were my hormone levels. I'm still dealing with the effects of that era. I'm not sure my battle with depression is over, but I do know that there is help. I'm still taking medication and luckily, it is working.

Sometimes I ask myself if I'm happy because of the pills.

The answer is no.

I'm happy because there is joy in what I choose to do everyday, even when it means wiping syrup off of faces, washing the same "magic blanket" I washed two days ago because it is the only one that gets the baby to sleep, and listening to Sly and Kevin fight over toys, yelling, "That's not bery nice!" I know that in a few minutes they'll be begging each other to go play in the playroom and the fight will be forgotten.

There is joy in the two-year-old walking down the stairs and asking, "What are you holding, Mom? Oh yeah. A wonderful baby."

There is joy in Kevin having the magic touch and being able to instantly calm her baby sister while I make a bottle or kiss Sly's owie.

There is joy in their happy cries and sudden bouts of jumping when the garage door starts to open and "Daddy's HOME! Mommy, Daddy's home!"

There is joy in hearing little voices say, "Mom, I wuv you."

There is joy in the silence that comes after all three kids are tucked in bed...usually because it has taken hours to achieve that quiet peace that means we survived another day.

There is joy in knowing that this is where God intends for me to be at this point in my life. There is joy in finding ways for my family to succeed.

I was happy when it was just Kevin and me, but no longer is that period "the happiest I've ever been." That time is now.

Because of the bumps and bruises of the past four years, I know a greater happiness now because I've been through greater sorrow. Life is rarely perfect, and contrary to how this post may sound, there comes a point in almost every day where I email Scott and tell him I'm selling our kids (at least the two oldest, we still are reveling in the baby around here!). There is mess and chaos and broken furniture and thirty-minute long time outs and a fussy baby and never enough sleep. I know there are challenges ahead (cough *potty training* cough). I know I won't always be on this newborn honeymoon high.

But I'm going to enjoy it for as long as it lasts, because this is the happiest I've ever been.

Bonding

She slept on my chest for over two hours this morning, so still I had to occasionally check to make sure she was still breathing. She would let out a contented sigh, attempt to snuggle closer, and then her body would settle again into mine, listening for the heartbeat that has been the soundtrack of her whole life.

Before she was born, I worried, I wrestled. Do I attempt it this time? Am I a coward if I decide to not even go there? What kind of woman--mother--am I if I don't even try to sustain my child with my own body? Because, well, what if--what if the third time is the charm and she gets it and we can work together in a way that never worked for her brother or sister?

But what if it doesn't work? Will she hate me? Will I mean anything to her if I am not her source of nourishment? Will she prefer someone else's touch, smell, love before mine?

These thoughts, these feelings, they scared me in their realness. Deep down I knew what I--we--needed to do, and that was bottle feed from the very beginning. My husband is 100% supportive, and frankly a little relieved, to not have to deal with the stress of watching me try to do something my body was supposedly made to do but couldn't quite manage to make work. To him, bottle-feeding is a way for him to help more, a way for him to bond with our baby and take care of his wife. It's a way for him to provide her with nourishment.

Does that mean that role is taken away from me?

I wondered.

And then, suddenly, my water broke and 14 hours later she, our Mystery Box baby, was born! A girl. It seems I'd known all along that she was a she, but didn't fully wake up to the thought until I saw her purple body. She didn't cry, but she was alert. She looked around. The nurses cleaned her up, and handed her to her father. I watched him melt as he held her.

And then, finally, after a million years, he handed her to me. And she settled in. And nursing was the furthest thought from my mind, but not hers. We tried for a minute, then we let it go. And that was the end of that, if there was ever even a beginning. And this time I was the one melting.

There are so many things it seems I just knew when I saw her. I knew her name. I knew her divine identity. I knew she was meant to be ours. I knew her calm, her sweetness, her spirit. And I knew that I loved her more than I'd ever loved anything or anyone, save for her father and brother and sister.

Over the past few days, I've come to realize that she was born knowing certain things about me. Colostrum or no, she knows that I am her mother. She knows I am a safe place. She knows my heart because she has heard it. She knows (and Dad knows) that when Dad fails to understand her, I will figure out her needs.

Sometimes, that need is, simply, me.

All for Which We Labor

Note: I wrote this post two months ago as a guest blogger for another blog. I intended to post it here as soon as it was published on that other blog, but due to happy circumstances the person who runs that blog has had to let it go a bit and this never got published. So I'm posting it two months late and only those who get the emails will see it, but I still wanted it somewhere in my blog records. Enjoy!

“Mom, do you like growing our baby?”

My five-year-old daughter’s question surprised me. I’d often had this conversation with my peers, but I’d never been asked by a small girl.  At 36 weeks pregnant, what do I say to her? Actually, I really loathe being pregnant? It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done? I find very little of this whole process fun? I feel like a beached whale whose personal bubble has been burst?

No. I tell her none of these things. At five, my daughter is looking forward to being a Mommy. She takes better care of her plastic dolls than I do of her and her brother. She thinks being a Mommy must be the most important job in the world and she wants it.

She’s right.

Much has been said recently about womanhood and women’s rights. I used to consider myself a feminist, but I don’t want to be a worldly feminist. When I look at my daughter, I see all the beautiful, feminine traits that God intended for women to use to make the world a softer, more loving place. I see the way she cares for her little brother, the way she shares with her friends, the way little things make her cry and hurt her feelings. I see the kind of mother she can and will be.

I hope to teach her that motherhood really is the world’s most important job. Although I am not very good at it somedays, and although baby-growing is definitely not my body’s forte, this is my choice and one I’m grateful to have made.

President Gordon B. Hinckley says this about motherhood:

God bless you, mothers! When all the victories and defeats of men’s efforts are tallied, when the dust of life’s battles begins to settle, when all for which we labor so hard in this world of conquest fades before our eyes, you will be there, you must be there, as the strength for a new generation, the ever-improving onward movement of the race. Its quality will depend on YOU.

So instead of telling my daughter all about the woes of pregnancy, I tell her about the joys of having a baby to hold, cuddle, and love. I tell her that although growing a baby is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, it is also the most worthwhile, and I am excited for her little brother or sister to come and join our family.

In the end, she smiles, and our dinner conversation moves on. She doesn’t think twice about her question and my answer, but I do. That night, when I attempt to crawl into bed over my gigantic and well-loved maternity pillow, to settle my sore hips and somehow elevate my swollen feet, I think about how blessed I am to be so miserable.

Bend Backwards

I am 35 weeks pregnant and have reverted back to the state of a toddler.

I am prone to giving strangers crusty looks and wanting to answer "no" to every question.

I am hungry all the time but have no idea what I want to eat. I also get mad when I can't just have cold cereal, candy, or ice cream for dinner.

Patience is not my thing.

Sleeping is something I crave and fight at the same time. I can't make it through the night. I tend to wake everyone up when I do wake up and then it takes me forever to fall back to sleep.

I never know what I want, but you can bet I'll whine and complain about it until you figure it out.

Walking long distances is not my favorite.

I waddle everywhere I go, and tend to lose my balance when I bend over.

I am not happy about sharing. Anything. Especially food, blankets, and physical affection.

So what does this have to do with anything? Nothing. Just wanted you to know.

Six-Week Survival Mode

There I was again, in the small, one-windowed cement-bricked room, face to face with my mission president.

"Sister Burningham," he said to me, "You can survive anything for six weeks."

I was one week (or possibly less?) into a new transfer in a new area with a new companion. I'd just come from a place that felt like home and a companion that felt more like a best friend and sister than someone assigned to be with me 24/7.

Six weeks, I repeated in my mind. I can survive anything for six weeks. 

And so I did. I had no idea at the beginning of that transfer that survival mode is so much easier to bear when you are working hard, serving hard, and loving hard. My companion and I butted heads daily, but I came to love her for who she was and her unique gifts and talents. And before I knew it, transfers were upon us again and I gained a new companion. The weeks stretched into months, the months turned into spring and my Californian companion teaching me why 4/20 was now written all over our hippie-college-town area sidewalks. Within a week of that weird-smelling tracting day, I was sitting in my childhood bedroom, saying to myself once again, six weeks. 

Six weeks became fifteen, but I survived. Nine months until the end of my mission became 11, and Scott survived while I thrived.

I was home (for good) for six weeks when I gained a diamond ring and nine weeks later, a new name. As semesters, jobs, and challenges have come and gone, I've often repeated my mission president's words to myself. You can survive anything for six weeks.

Teething? Sleep-training? Husband's heavy workloads? Re-curring winter storms? Colds that won't go away? Meltdowns by the millions?  I can survive anything for six weeks.

Last Sunday, I hit 33 weeks of pregnancy, which means that I have only six weeks of this pregnancy left. Though pregnancy is definitely not easy, compared to my last two child-growing experiences, this one has been a piece of cake (maybe because this time I can actually have an occasional piece of cake). In the past two weeks, however, everything has gotten harder: sleeping, maintaining blood sugar control, managing anxiety, showing patience and charity to my children, telling myself to slow down and then forcing myself to ignore all the messes in my home and just let it be. I don't write this to complain--I write it to remember.

I write to remember the things and people that helped me survive:

• My two-year-old asking me to cuddle on the couch and then falling asleep in my arms, forcing me to snuggle, meditate, and enjoy the last of his true babyness before becoming a big brother forces him to grow up faster.
• My daughter replacing the toilet paper by herself, making me realize that although I may feel like a craptastic mother most of the time, I have at least taught her one human skill that most adults struggle with. 
• My husband, responding to my "I just can't deal anymore" email and working from home all afternoon, even though I know he gets so much more done in office. While I am slipping in and out of sleep, I hear him changing a poopy diaper in the next room while simultaneously making a work call. 
• And all the little things: packages with new baby goodies in the mail. Waking up to an email from a faraway friend. Not having trouble finding a babysitter to watch my kids during yet another doctor's appointment. Free insulin samples from my doctor. Realizing that I have more than enough prenatal vitamins to last through the end of this pregnancy. Making plans on the calendar for after the baby's due date. 

There is an end in sight. In six weeks, I will have survived the worst and hardest part of this pregnancy. 

And then, as I'm adjusting to three kids and a newborn schedule, I'll keep repeating the words to myself:

I can survive anything for six weeks.

A Bit About Me and Scotty

In honor of Valentine's Day, here's a bit of Q and A about my marriage.

Here's our Valentine's Day love story!

1. Anniversary? September 18
2. First date? July 23, 2004
3. How did you meet? At Especially For Youth (EFY, a kind of LDS Bible Camp) in 2003
4. What is your song? Lucky by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat
5. Do you remember the first movie you saw together? Ella Enchanted. It was a terrible movie.
6. First road trip together? Aside from drives back and forth from Sandy to Richmond, I think our first road trip together was to Vernal to the DinoTri, a triathlon he was competing in with his brother. We went with said brother, brother's wife, and three little girls. A few weeks later we went to Twin Falls with the same brother's family as well as Scott's parents. They'd gotten a hotel with 3 queen beds. Scott insisted on sleeping out in the mini van, which meant he left me to the mercy of his family. I haven't quite forgiven him for that yet.
7. Do you have kids? Yes- almost 3 little ones
8. Older? Him, by 11 days (but if you are talking gestational age, me, because I was 16 days overdue)
9. Who was interested first? I'm not really sure. Probably him.
10. Who is the most sensitive? I think we're about the same. He'll say me.
11. Worst temper? Me. Unless he hasn't had enough sleep, then definitely him.
12. Funniest? I think we're about the same. He makes me laugh everyday, but I do/say things that catch him off guard.
13. More social? Him. I think a lot of people would disagree with us, but I'm fine with being a homebody, he has to get out and have interaction with people. This is why he works in an office and not from home.
14. More stubborn? Me, unless he is fighting with our son, and then he can be super stubborn.
15. Wakes up first? Scott. Every day of our marriage. Except like, maybe, two days.
16. Has the bigger family? His, definitely. Once this baby comes, the total in his family will be 35. Mine, on the other hand, will be 13.
17. Eats the most? Me, no question. He puts up a good front, but I always have a bigger appetite and snack more.
18. Who said I love you first? Me, in an email sent right before I went back to Texas after my intermission.
19. Better cook? Probably me, but he is a pretty good cook too. I just get more chances to practice. Except right now, because I'm not a fan of cooking smells, so he gets plenty of chances to feed us. If our baby comes out looking or smelling like a taco, spaghetti, or breakfast foods, I won't be surprised.
20. Hogs the bed? Me, no question.
21. More romantic? Him.
22. How long have you been together? This is a confusing question. We've been friends for 13 and a half years, became more than that seven and a half years ago, and got married six and a half years ago. So, I'm not really sure, but probably forever.

He's pretty great. I think I'll keep him. 

8 Tips for Saving Money While Online Shopping

I hate shopping. Or, at least, I used to. Now I really relish those moments walking through WinCo by myself. Grocery shopping aside, I find that retail shopping can be really frustrating when I can’t find the things or sizes I need in the stores. I’m also not one for crowds. Hence, I’m super grateful for the advent of online shopping! I love taking a few minutes here and there to do some “Chrome Window Shopping.”

One of the things I love about online shopping is how easy it is to save money! Here are some of my favorite ways to save a buck or two online.

This post is also featured on Fruitland Home.

1.       Sign up for Ebates. If you do a lot of online shopping and don’t currently use ebates, you should really check this out! My husband introduced me to ebates in December and since then we’ve already gotten three checks back in the mail! Ebates gives you automatic cash back when shopping online. All you have to do is sign into the Ebates website and then search for whatever store you want to shop. Cashback bonuses vary by day—sometimes you can get up to 8% cash back on purchases you are already making! You also earn cash just by referring people…so sign up and then send the sign up link to your husband and add a few bucks to your fun fund. Checks are sent in the mail quarterly. It’s not much, but enough to pay for a babysitter or a dinner you don’t have to cook!

2.       Let Honey Do the Coupon Hunting. Honey is Google’s personal coupon clipper. When you sign up for honey, you can add a button to your toolbar and when you go to check out, honey will automatically (try) to apply any coupon codes it can find. It only takes a few minutes but it can save you a few bucks here and there! The more you use honey, the more you can build up HoneyGold, which only translates into more spending money for you on Amazon.

3.       Use Credit Card Rewards. Chances are, if you are shopping online, you are probably using a credit card. I like to bank up my rewards and save them until Christmas rolls around. I cash in rewards for gift cards to places like Shutterfly (which is where I do a heck of a lot of Christmas shopping). I only redeem these points for rewards that give me a little extra, for example I’d turn in $20 worth of rewards for $25, or $40 for $50, etc. This gives me extra back for my rewards, rather than just using them for face value on Amazon.

4.       Check out Gift Card Zen or Gift Card Granny Say you are ordering clothes for your kids (cough*or yourself*cough) and even though you’ve gotten some great deals with coupon codes, you’d still like to save a bit more. Sites like Gift Card Zen or Gift Card Granny allow you to search for gift cards that are being sold for less than they are worth (for example, a $25 gift card for $21). It might not seem like much, but every dollar helps, right? You can search for gift cards that are sent electronically (read: automatically!) so that you can search for an amount that is close to your cart total, so you aren’t spending extra on gift cards that are more than you really need.

5.       Sign Up for Email lists. We all hate junk email, I get that. BUT, companies really like to send out specialized coupons to your inbox that can alert you to sales you may not have heard about otherwise. That being said…

6.       Don’t Look at Ads for Things You Don’t Need. This is how they get you! You look through an ad, see a really good deal, and then talk yourself into needing that thing that you didn’t know you needed ten minutes ago. My suggestion is to keep a running list of things that you do need or anticipate buying in the next six months and only look at ads that pertain to those things.

7.       Watch out for Shipping Costs! Most companies will give you free shipping if you spend a certain amount. If you are within $10-15 of that amount, sometimes it is worth it to order an extra item or two to give you the free shipping. It’s simply a matter of weighing the cost of shipping versus the cost of the extra items. I find this to be especially true with stores like Shutterfly, where the shipping costs can get astronomical.

8.       IF you are a Book Lover…it wouldn’t be a post by me without mentioning something about books, right? I used to be a strictly-printed-books-only person…and then my husband gave me a kindle for my birthday. I love not having to run to the library every time I finish a book! The Goodreads app has a feature where you can sign up to receive daily emails for books that are on sale through the Kindle Store or Google Play. These books are always $3 or less, and they look at books on your Want-to-Read list to give you recommendations. Score, right? Another similar service is BookBub, which also searches for free books (can’t get better than free, right?). Even though I still maintain that nothing beats a book you can hold in your hand, it’s nice to have some books on my phone to pull up while I’m waiting to pick my daughter up from preschool!

What are your favorite money-saving tips for online shopping?

To My Daughter, on Women's March Day

Dear Daughter,

Today, you are oblivious. You don't know that there are marches taking place all across our country--all across the world, actually. I haven't been able to tell if these are protests or rallies. There is a difference. If these women are marching for something, then I hope you know I would join them. However, if all they are doing is marching against the things they see wrong with our world, then, you know, I'm happy that I chose to spend my day as I did.

Your brother woke me up early. Daddy and I took one hour shifts from about 6 am to 9:30 am, alternately playing with you and feeding you and catching a few extra Zzz's (we can't seem to get enough these days). Daddy took you to run some errands while I played with your little brother in between cleaning out closets, doing laundry, and picking up the millions of toys that seem to be scattered everywhere. This was followed by lunch and your parents cutting holes in a huge cardboard box to entertain you and your brother while we lounged and watched basketball (or, in my case, read a book).

We haven't had a day this quiet in months. It occurred to me, as I was painting your little nails pink and we were waiting for cookies to come out of the oven, that if I were going to fight for something, this is what I would fight for. The right for us to be a family, to have a peaceful day, to know that we are where we want to be, doing what we want to be doing.

I can't really tell, but I think--I think-- that is what the women who are "marching" with their posters and signs and flags are trying to fight for. That is what I hope anyway.

You don't know, but I watch. I watch what goes on outside of our home. I keep up on the news. I don't say much, but I do have opinions. I hope you know that. I would like to consider myself a feminist, but I feel that word has gotten so skewed that it isn't really about being feminine at all anymore.

Lately, you've struggled with wondering why sometimes your brother gets different things than you, like why he gets to sit on my lap or has an extra snack while you are in preschool. To you, equality means everyone gets the same things. The women marching today want that too. The want everyone to get exactly the same thing.  As your father and I have tried to explain to you, that just isn't how life works. Things that you see as unfair, like your brother getting an extra bath or cuddle, aren't really unfair at all. He would love to have his fingernails painted, but that isn't going to happen for him. Your father and I want your needs to be taken care of equally--and rarely will that mean you both get the exact same things.

People today often confuse "Equal Rights" with "Civil Rights." They aren't the same thing at all. You have a civil right to be fed, clothed, and sheltered. So does your brother. But he wouldn't want to wear pink tutus all day, and you could care less about having a soccer ball on your shirt. Life doesn't always have to be equal to be fair.

In your lifetime, you will see real inequality. I hope not, but chances are you will experience inequality. What I want you to remember, however, is that equal isn't always fair. I hope that I can teach you to give what you can, whether that be your time, your money, or your talents, to help those that need your help. I hope I can teach you to fight for what you believe in. I pray daily that I won't break your strong spirit--and that your strong spirit won't break me.

There are so many wonderful things about being feminine. Sparkly skirts, lip gloss, and tiaras make life magical for you now, but sweetheart, that's just the beginning. There is so much more to being a woman than what you see on TV.

There is strength, but also tenderness.
There is determination, but also compassion.
There is nurturing, loving, serving, empathizing.

You are more than a paycheck, and so am I. That's why I'm okay with not having one. The world might not see a whole lot of worth in me--considering I make nothing, I have no titles or accolates, and most life insurance companies won't give me a policy--but I KNOW and I hope you know, that I am priceless. My career is the one I choose, and I choose to be with you. I don't always enjoy it, but I do always love you.

You remind me almost hourly that our baby is making me bigger. My first instinct is to be hurt or mad, but then I remember the fact that my body is growing a human being, and I just smile and nod. I am getting bigger, and caring for a baby (unborn or born) is the most feminine thing a woman can do, and something I certainly hope you get the opportunity to experience.

My little love, I hope you are always proud to be a woman, but I hope you are proud in the right ways. You don't need to be marching on capitol hill. You can be proud to be a woman as you sneak another cookie and wipe another runny nose. You don't have to prove anything to anyone--just prove your worth to yourself and you will find the peace and happiness that others are screaming for.

All my love,
Mommy

A Bit about the Sibs

I have seen this little diddy going around facebook and I wanted to write down my answers. I have two brothers and one sister and they pretty much make me laugh harder than anybody. Except maybe my son, and maybe my husband. So here's a little glimpse into my family background. 

1. Who's the smart one? 
Used to be me, then I had kids. 

2. Who is spoiled?
Flan. No question.

3. Most sensitive?
Liz. 

4. Best driver?
Probably Flan. 

5. More social?
Liz is the most social out of all of us. The rest of us prefer an evening at home and not to deal with people (most of the time).

6. Most stubborn?
Um, we're all pretty stubborn. But probably Liz.

7. Who's the favorite?
Flan. Because we all like him most.

8. Who's liable to fight anyone?
Liz.

9. Who's a better singer?
Liz or Flan. Ben and I...well, singing is not our forte.

10. Better cook?
Probably me, unless you are talking about cooking on a grill, and then Ben wins.

11. Clothes And Shoe Hoarder?
Liz. Or Flan. 

12. Who wears the most Hats?
Flan. 

13. Who was the worst kid?
Ben.

14. Who has the biggest house?
Probably me, although Ben's house is a similar size.

15. Who was born 1st?
Ben.

16. Who is better at sports?
Well, Ben played college football...but Flan still beats him at pretty much every other sport, so...Flan.

17. Best Hair?
Liz. Or Flan. Ben and I lost that contest.
.
 19. Coffee Drinker?
Um, none of us. Yuck.

20. Most expensive taste?
Flan or Ben. 

21. Tallest?
Once again, Flan. I'm really not winning at any of these, am I?

22. Biggest Disney fanatic? Me. Okay, this one I can win.

24. Broken the most bones? Probably a tie. Ben has broken his thumbs many times, but he never saw a doctor about it, so it doesn't count. I broke my arm. Liz fractured her face. Flan's had the most stitches, but I'm not sure he's had any broken bones. 

25. Who will have the most grandkids?
Considering that my kids are half Fowlers, I'd probably say me. Who knows at this point though!

January Journaling

In an attempt to keep myself more accountable to "keeping a record" of my daily life, I have decided to try and do a journaling blog post every month this year. I'll take five questions (aka journaling prompts) and spend some time writing out my answers. So, here it goes for January.

1. What is your number one goal this year?

My number one goal this year is to celebrate and enjoy the little moments. I have so many things to look forward to (cuddling a new baby, a family trip to one of my favorite historical sites on the planet, my oldest starting kindergarten), and some scary things I might not be looking forward to (my third trimester, turning 30, potty training my son). I'm trying to find the little joys and let go of my fears, frustrations, and worries. This is easier said than done. I want to remember this year as being a joyful one, full of lots of things to celebrate. 

2. What is your best memory of last year?

I don't really know that I can pick just one. We had so many wonderful moments last year! I think one of my very favorite moments was walking in Texas with my sweetheart. I'd been waiting 8+ years for that dream to come true.

3. What is your favorite thing to drink?

Currently, I crave hot chocolate. I try not to drink a lot of it because, carbohydrates. My close second is OceanSpray's diet Cran-Pineapple juice,  2 carbs and so much deliciousness per serving. My whole family is addicted, which means I can't get it out unless I'm willing to share half the bottle with my children. I'm not a fan of sharing my juice. 

4. How much time did you spend at the grocery store the last time you went? 

I went yesterday, two kids in tow. It takes us an average of 40 minutes; yesterday I think it was closer to an hour, since we had to pick out Valentine's for Kevin's preschool class. I am both faster and slower when I shop by myself--it is more convenient, by far, but then I also make an extra loop around the store because alone time. The kids do pretty well for the most part, as long as Sly is buckled into the cart! 

5. Who was the last person to tell you they loved you?

Sly. Every so often he will just pause and say, "Mommy, I wuv you." I love it. I do the same to him, and his sister. I don't want them to forget. Also, sometimes I have to remind myself that I do love them. Charity is tricky.

This month I took my questions from this handy pin on pinterest. Take a look if you want to join me on  similar journey. I am hoping to do these posts a couple of times a month, but I'm not promising anything.