Motherhood is hard. Sometimes I am not very good at it. This summer has been R.O.U.G.H. I'm glad it is almost over, although I am sure fall comes with it's own challenges (my husband taking a double classload for his MBA being one of them).
Good thing that we are equipped with someone who has "been there" before, and dealt with us as whiny three-year-olds, and helps us realize that we turned out okay so our children will probably be fine too.
The following are a series of texts I have sent to my mother over the course of this summer. I share these for two purposes:
1. Your Enjoyment.
2. To Remember.
June 29
Me: Scott came home for lunch and I asked [Kevin] t tell him how many time outs she has had this morning. Her response? "I don't know...Three? Four? Nine? Seven, nine." (Correct answer: Two).
July 25
Me; "Want a threenager? I do not like her Sam I Am.
Mom: I am sorry...Do you want Papa to call her?
Me: No! He will take her side!
July 26
Me: For sale. Three year old. Comes with adorable dress, cute hairstyle, and a ton of attitude. No returns.
Me: Freshly bathed and potty trained.
Mom: Papa would like to take you up on it.
Me: He is more than welcome to her! She doesn't come with any toys though (she lost them all) and she is out of clean underwear.
July 28
Me: Does Papa still want to buy Kevin? We are running a special. Free shipping.
July 29
Mom: Did today go better?
Me: I only swore four times.
Mom: If that is an improvement then good for you.
Me: Yesterday I only cursed twice...
Me: But I also let my kids (swim in the backyard pool) today, so maybe that makes up for my sins?
Mom: Good job!
July 31
Me: On Daniel Tiger this morning: being silly= peanut butter and pickle sandwiches
Note: those are my mom's favorite kind of sandwich.
Me; Also, Kevin fell in the toilet yesterday.
Mom: I fell off the toilet when I was little, my mom said. I guess we will have to call Grandma's sandwich the silly sandwich.
Aug 11
Me: Do you know of any good boarding schools for three-year-olds?
Mom: (sends their home address) Papa headmaster.
Me: Perfect. I'll bring her by tomorrow and pick her up at Christmas.
Me: Make sure she knows her ABCs by then.
Mom: I will let him know!
Me: Seriously though.
Mom: Sorry it has been a rough day.
Later
Me: Both kids are having a screaming match and it's been going for 15 min. I'm hiding in the basement.
Mom: Maybe they will go hoarse
Me: One can only hope. Deafness would be an asset right now.
Maybe these texts don't cast me in the right light. Does that matter? I make an effort to be genuine and truthful on my blog. Truthfully, this summer has just about done me in. Mixing the overly emotional threenager with the busy madness of a baby-turned-toddler and a husband who is drowning in school and work, in addition to the fact that my health has been flaring up and my medications don't seem to be doing their job but the labs seem normal so no one at my doctor's office is too concerned...well, it makes for a depressed, exhausted, and snarky Rinda.
Motherhood is hard. I swear sometimes. I can't handle life some days. I take more naps than my preschooler. My brain was too tired last night and this morning to let me look over my husband's final paper for his economics class--the first time I haven't been able to edit because my brain literally could not think.
But, you know what? It's okay. I know I am doing what I am supposed to do.
A few days ago I was sitting in the Primary room at our church. Primary is the children's organization for kids age 3-12, and I serve in the presidency. Every week I get to sit with 70+ children as they sing and learn about Jesus. It truly is a privilege. Some weeks are tough, however, and we just pray something is getting through as they do gymnastics routines on their chairs, ask to go to the bathroom a million times, and call us out on every mistake we make. I watch the teachers of the individual classes and see their energy levels drop and the color drain out of their faces as the hour goes on. I was watching this on Sunday and I was overwhelmed, once again, of the feeling of charity I felt for these little ones. I knew it wasn't my love I was feeling, it was God and Christ's love for these children. I knew that their parents and teachers didn't always see the good they were doing, but that day, I could see it. I could see the improvement in behavior, the growth in their testimonies, the outward actions that showed me that something was getting through.
And suddenly, the Spirit whispered to me the reason that I'd been asked to serve in the Primary. It wasn't because my talents were needed (although they have come in handy) and I had a willingness to serve wherever I was needed. Rather, Primary has started to serve as a type and symbol of my daily life with my little ones. The teachers in those classrooms are doing the same thing that I do with my children every single day: teaching them the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Most days it doesn't seem like anything is getting through, and we spend more time coloring and taking bathroom breaks than the actual learning. But I think Heavenly Father wanted me to know that if learning is happening in Primary (and I know it is), then it is happening in my own home, and I'm doing a better job than I think I am.
After all, there are swear words in the Bible too.
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Research
Let me tell you about a little moment I had with my children this morning. We were playing in Sly's room--and by playing I mean that I was sitting in the glider looking at my phone while the two little ones went to down pulling out every single toy in the vicinity, all to the musical symphony of my husband installing a ceiling fan in the room next door.
After a few minutes, I looked up from my phone to find that Kevin had claimed her throne (aka sat in the little chair that was once hers but now has been adopted by her little brother) and was "reading" one of Sly's books.
"Baby duck says 'quack,' baby puppy says 'ruff!'," she chanted as I smiled to myself, relieved that she still knew her animal noises (you know, in case they quiz you on that sort of thing when you start preschool). Soon she came to a picture of a baby giraffe.
"Momma? What sound does a giraffe make?" she asked.
My first thought was hold on a sec while I ask Siri...just kidding, I don't have an iphone.
"I'm not sure, honey," I answered her. "Maybe they make a 'nom nom nom' sound when they eat the leaves."
"Giraffes eat leaves?" She reiterated, as if the idea was blowing her mind and she hadn't, in fact, seen a giraffe eat leaves on at least half a dozen visits to the zoo when she was two.
"Yes," I said. "That's why their necks are so long, so they can eat the leaves at the tops of the trees."
She nodded, gave me a skeptical look, and then went back to her book. A moment later she got up and walked out of the room, somewhat agitated. When she came back, she was holding a board book about jungle animals and their daddies. The first pages just happened to feature a giraffe and its father, go figure, eating leaves.
"You're right mom! They do eat leaves!" She said with a little laugh, amazed that I was correct.
And thus it began.
My daughter is no longer "taking my word for it."
She's doing her own research.
And just maybe, this experience has taught me not to roll my eyes every time she asks the question, "Why? But why? Why? Why, Momma?"
Why, indeed.
She's starting to figure out that I don't know all the answers.
Why do you have to grow up so fast, little one?
After a few minutes, I looked up from my phone to find that Kevin had claimed her throne (aka sat in the little chair that was once hers but now has been adopted by her little brother) and was "reading" one of Sly's books.
"Baby duck says 'quack,' baby puppy says 'ruff!'," she chanted as I smiled to myself, relieved that she still knew her animal noises (you know, in case they quiz you on that sort of thing when you start preschool). Soon she came to a picture of a baby giraffe.
"Momma? What sound does a giraffe make?" she asked.
My first thought was hold on a sec while I ask Siri...just kidding, I don't have an iphone.
"I'm not sure, honey," I answered her. "Maybe they make a 'nom nom nom' sound when they eat the leaves."
"Giraffes eat leaves?" She reiterated, as if the idea was blowing her mind and she hadn't, in fact, seen a giraffe eat leaves on at least half a dozen visits to the zoo when she was two.
"Yes," I said. "That's why their necks are so long, so they can eat the leaves at the tops of the trees."
She nodded, gave me a skeptical look, and then went back to her book. A moment later she got up and walked out of the room, somewhat agitated. When she came back, she was holding a board book about jungle animals and their daddies. The first pages just happened to feature a giraffe and its father, go figure, eating leaves.
"You're right mom! They do eat leaves!" She said with a little laugh, amazed that I was correct.
And thus it began.
My daughter is no longer "taking my word for it."
She's doing her own research.
And just maybe, this experience has taught me not to roll my eyes every time she asks the question, "Why? But why? Why? Why, Momma?"
Why, indeed.
She's starting to figure out that I don't know all the answers.
Why do you have to grow up so fast, little one?
Yes, but why?
Monday, July 20, 2015
Justice and My Friend Mercy
I think we all go through those seasons of life where there seem to be more storms than sunshine. Scott and I went into July knowing that it would be an expensive and fun month, but we had no idea just how adventurous it was going to be. It seems that since the second of July, we've had one rough day after another, with challenge after challenge. These trials are nothing we can't handle, we have friends and family members going through worse, but they've been hard on us.
Mostly because the hardest parts aren't our fault.
I think sometimes it is easier for Scott and I to go through trials when we know why something happened--we understand agency and choices, and we try to accept responsibility for our actions and not complain about the things we ourselves have caused (with the exception of having children, I need to have a better attitude about that, but seriously, we were both good kids--where did these two miniature crazies come from?!).
Last weekend, Sly started running a high fever for the second time in a month. We debated for the next 48 hours about whether or not he would be well enough to make the trek to Idaho Falls for my Grandma's annual Float N Bloat family reunion (the name explains it all: we float the canal and eat lots of food. Scott says that the older you get, the less floating and the more bloating you do). On Friday night, we started making different plans for our weekend. Sly had just endured possibly the worst day of his life thus far, and I just didn't want to make this illness harder for him to overcome. I prayed and prayed to know what to do. The next morning, he woke up doing lots better, even though he was still not 100%. I had a strong feeling that we should go, so we packed up and headed out.
An hour or more into the drive, we were almost rear-ended by a driver who wasn't paying very much attention. Thankfully, Scott was and he was able to move our car in just the right ways to avoid an accident. We knew we were being watched over and continued on our way.
Then, when we were about 45 minutes from our destination, Scott and I were in the middle of a conversation when the semi in the lane next to us made a loud noise and started spewing debris at our car. Chunks of rubber and cement (yeah, cement!) blasted the front of our car. Scott and I both watched as the black and gray matter came straight at our windshield, and then somehow miraculously bounced over our heads and off our car without coming through (or even denting) the glass.
I wasn't scared until Scott said, "They cut our power. I don't have any brakes."
And I started praying as I pushed the button to turn on our emergency lights. It took us a couple of miles to get over to the right lane, then to the shoulder, and then to slow down enough that the emergency brake would stop our car without sending us fishtailing into a ditch.
When we looked back, the semi that we thought had pulled over was no where to be found. Apparently he didn't have enough damage to stop, so he moved on and left us on the side of the road in the July afternoon heat, wondering what on earth we were going to do now. The front part of our grill was gone, with pieces missing. The hood was so dented we couldn't open it. Liquid was pouring out from underneath the carriage.
And our kids were waking up.
We started looking for some other adults to take charge of the situation. There were none, so we began making phone calls.
I kept thinking, "Why us? Why now? I thought we had been prompted to come to the family reunion. If this was supposed to happen, why did I feel that way?"
My father wisely explained to me later that sometimes these things need to happen "to give us experience" just like the scriptures say, even when we don't understand why it is necessary.
I don't know why exactly we needed to be in Idaho that day--part of me knows we needed to spend that time with family, and another part of me thinks that Scott's smart driving skills saved more than one life that day.
If we had been in a smaller car, we would have been dead. As it was, he and I should have been severely injured and we weren't. Kevin, who would have been traumatized by the whole thing slept right through it, and Sly was facing backwards where he couldn't see and wasn't even disturbed (until, of course, we stopped driving and he got bored).
My first thought was to call my parents. My mom didn't answer. My dad never has his cell phone, so I didn't even bother. My aunt didn't answer. I only had 2% left of my phone battery, so I hurried and dialed my Grandma's number on Scott's phone. My aunt Luci just happened to be in the house (the celebrations, already well under way, took place entirely outside) and answered the phone. I then talked to my mom, who quickly sent my uncle David Jack and Luci with her car to come rescue us, before we even knew what would be happening with our car (all we knew was that we wouldn't be driving it to Idaho Falls).
Scott called 911 and an officer responded immediately. Somehow, in all of our AC/tire replacing excitement of the week before, the owner's manual and insurance card had been taken out of the car. We couldn't reach anyone with access to our number, and then Scott just happened to find it on his email (because we'd sold his car to my little brother and gotten the insurance switched over only days before).
Luci and David Jack showed up right after the tow truck. We moved our bewildered, hot children and all of our belongings over to my parent's car, signed the necessary documents, and watched my beloved car get towed away. Seriously, I adore that car.
Though Scott and I were still a little shaky for the rest of the day, we so enjoyed our time with family and family friends. Literally and figuratively, arms were wrapped around us and anyone who could jumped in to see if they could help. My aunt Rah, who would be spending the next week in Idaho, offered to let us take her car home so that we wouldn't have to pay an outrageous price for an out-of-state rental without the insurance company to help us negotiate a reasonable rate. My parents also offered their car, (and somewhere along the lines this equated to Papa telling Kevin that she was coming home with him) and nobody minded that we didn't float and ate more than our fair share of Steph's caramel brownies.
As Scott and I drove home that evening, we analyzed the accident from every angle. When we approached the place where we had pulled off, we started scanning the road for debris, but we saw nothing unusual. As we drove past "the scene of the crime" a quote that I'd shared at our family history conference the month before came to mind.
Mostly because the hardest parts aren't our fault.
I think sometimes it is easier for Scott and I to go through trials when we know why something happened--we understand agency and choices, and we try to accept responsibility for our actions and not complain about the things we ourselves have caused (with the exception of having children, I need to have a better attitude about that, but seriously, we were both good kids--where did these two miniature crazies come from?!).
Last weekend, Sly started running a high fever for the second time in a month. We debated for the next 48 hours about whether or not he would be well enough to make the trek to Idaho Falls for my Grandma's annual Float N Bloat family reunion (the name explains it all: we float the canal and eat lots of food. Scott says that the older you get, the less floating and the more bloating you do). On Friday night, we started making different plans for our weekend. Sly had just endured possibly the worst day of his life thus far, and I just didn't want to make this illness harder for him to overcome. I prayed and prayed to know what to do. The next morning, he woke up doing lots better, even though he was still not 100%. I had a strong feeling that we should go, so we packed up and headed out.
An hour or more into the drive, we were almost rear-ended by a driver who wasn't paying very much attention. Thankfully, Scott was and he was able to move our car in just the right ways to avoid an accident. We knew we were being watched over and continued on our way.
Then, when we were about 45 minutes from our destination, Scott and I were in the middle of a conversation when the semi in the lane next to us made a loud noise and started spewing debris at our car. Chunks of rubber and cement (yeah, cement!) blasted the front of our car. Scott and I both watched as the black and gray matter came straight at our windshield, and then somehow miraculously bounced over our heads and off our car without coming through (or even denting) the glass.
I wasn't scared until Scott said, "They cut our power. I don't have any brakes."
And I started praying as I pushed the button to turn on our emergency lights. It took us a couple of miles to get over to the right lane, then to the shoulder, and then to slow down enough that the emergency brake would stop our car without sending us fishtailing into a ditch.
When we looked back, the semi that we thought had pulled over was no where to be found. Apparently he didn't have enough damage to stop, so he moved on and left us on the side of the road in the July afternoon heat, wondering what on earth we were going to do now. The front part of our grill was gone, with pieces missing. The hood was so dented we couldn't open it. Liquid was pouring out from underneath the carriage.
And our kids were waking up.
We started looking for some other adults to take charge of the situation. There were none, so we began making phone calls.
I kept thinking, "Why us? Why now? I thought we had been prompted to come to the family reunion. If this was supposed to happen, why did I feel that way?"
My father wisely explained to me later that sometimes these things need to happen "to give us experience" just like the scriptures say, even when we don't understand why it is necessary.
I don't know why exactly we needed to be in Idaho that day--part of me knows we needed to spend that time with family, and another part of me thinks that Scott's smart driving skills saved more than one life that day.
If we had been in a smaller car, we would have been dead. As it was, he and I should have been severely injured and we weren't. Kevin, who would have been traumatized by the whole thing slept right through it, and Sly was facing backwards where he couldn't see and wasn't even disturbed (until, of course, we stopped driving and he got bored).
My first thought was to call my parents. My mom didn't answer. My dad never has his cell phone, so I didn't even bother. My aunt didn't answer. I only had 2% left of my phone battery, so I hurried and dialed my Grandma's number on Scott's phone. My aunt Luci just happened to be in the house (the celebrations, already well under way, took place entirely outside) and answered the phone. I then talked to my mom, who quickly sent my uncle David Jack and Luci with her car to come rescue us, before we even knew what would be happening with our car (all we knew was that we wouldn't be driving it to Idaho Falls).
Scott called 911 and an officer responded immediately. Somehow, in all of our AC/tire replacing excitement of the week before, the owner's manual and insurance card had been taken out of the car. We couldn't reach anyone with access to our number, and then Scott just happened to find it on his email (because we'd sold his car to my little brother and gotten the insurance switched over only days before).
Luci and David Jack showed up right after the tow truck. We moved our bewildered, hot children and all of our belongings over to my parent's car, signed the necessary documents, and watched my beloved car get towed away. Seriously, I adore that car.
Though Scott and I were still a little shaky for the rest of the day, we so enjoyed our time with family and family friends. Literally and figuratively, arms were wrapped around us and anyone who could jumped in to see if they could help. My aunt Rah, who would be spending the next week in Idaho, offered to let us take her car home so that we wouldn't have to pay an outrageous price for an out-of-state rental without the insurance company to help us negotiate a reasonable rate. My parents also offered their car, (and somewhere along the lines this equated to Papa telling Kevin that she was coming home with him) and nobody minded that we didn't float and ate more than our fair share of Steph's caramel brownies.
As Scott and I drove home that evening, we analyzed the accident from every angle. When we approached the place where we had pulled off, we started scanning the road for debris, but we saw nothing unusual. As we drove past "the scene of the crime" a quote that I'd shared at our family history conference the month before came to mind.
“Whoever seeks to help those on the
other side receives help in turn in all the affairs of life….Help comes to us from the other side as
we give help to those who have passed beyond the veil.” –John A. Widtsoe, 1980
I knew then, without a doubt, that we had been given divine aid, and that we had been extra blessed because I had spent time trying to help my family members who had already passed on. I don't know which angel was in charge of keeping me calm. I don't know which angel deflected the cement missiles from our hood. I don't know which angel kept Kevin asleep, or which one guided Scott's hands and feet as he directed our car to a safe place.
I just know they were there.
I know there were other angels there too, and these ones I can name, because they are the ones who physically rescued us and calmed our nerves.
Last fall, Scott's car was the unfortunate victim of a nasty hit-and-run. For days and weeks afterward, we struggled to forgive our nameless, reckless neighbor for costing us so much money and taking away a car that felt like part of our family (maybe a dependable family dog is a good comparison). It was tough. We had done nothing wrong, and yet we were dealing with the consequences of another person's bad decisions. Gradually, we learned that we were never going to know who did it and we needed to forgive to find our own personal peace.
This time around, I had the same feelings, but they resolved themselves much more quickly.
For the past few days I have been thinking a lot about the laws of justice and mercy. There doesn't seem to be a lot of justice going on here, and though I sometimes still wish that somebody else would take the financial hit, I am also not at all happy when I think that someday, in the life hereafter, somebody will have to pay for what happened to us. Because in my heart of hearts, I want these people to be forgiven, and I know that in the end, it is really Christ who ends up paying for the bad decisions that we all make, whether we accept his help or not.
I have also learned that when there seems to be an absence of justice, there is an abundance of mercy. There were so many things that could have gone wrong--but most things went right. We are taken care of, we are safe, and we are together.
And we couldn't ask for anything more.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Sharing is Caring
We have reached that haggle stage of siblinghood with my two children. They frequently want the same toy, the same sippy cup, the same parent. It gets exhausting to constantly be the referee and court judge, deciding what is fair and what course of action should be taken.
To comfort myself, I repeat often in my mind that I am helping them learn a valuable life skill. I don't think they should have to share everything, and I don't make them share everything, but taking turns is a part of life. If they can learn to balance this tightrope with stuffed animals, maybe someday when they have to share bigger things, like a car and a mortgage payment, they will be better prepared to handle life.
This is somewhat of a lie. I've realized this week that there are some things you never get used to sharing.
For the majority of our four years-and-nine-months marriage, Scott has been in school. This wasn't so bad at first, because I was also working and in school, and aside from our callings, we didn't have many other things occupying our time and attention.
And then I graduated. And the baby came. And I stopped working. And I had to learn how to share my time with him with my baby, along with the time he already spent at school and work.
And then he switched jobs. And I had to learn to share him with a commute. BUT, he graduated from Utah State and we were done with one phase of schooling, so that was nice.
And then he switched jobs again. And I had to share him with an even longer commute, because we bought a house, and I also had to share him with the backyard and leaky faucet and a half dozen other home improvement projects.
And then baby #2 was on his way. And Scott had to learn to share what little was left of my energy with not only our daughter, but our unborn son and all of the appointments, tests, shots, and procedures that went along with getting him here safely. And then, once Sly was here, Scott and I had to learn to share a little more of ourselves with our children, because suddenly we weren't double-teaming our daughter, we were stumbling around trying to figure how to play man-to-man.
And about a month after we found out about Sly, Scott started graduate school. And because we all know that this (eventually) would be a great blessing to our family. I learned to share him with Weber State, and homework, and reading, and discussion posts, and paper writing, and group projects. And, I've happily learned to share him with a newfound passion he has for learning that somehow never really showed up during his undergraduate years.
As he has accepted new callings in our church congregation and we've made new friends, I've learned to share him and his thoughtful heart with those around us who need his helping hands on occasion. My husband is the most generous man I know. This is a gift he has inherited from his parents, who liberally give of their time, talents, and resources--often more than they should give, because it isn't in them to say "no" or "I'm sorry, I can't."
The lesson that I want to teach my children, then, is that sharing really never gets any easier, but it can become a positive experience when you learn to share the things you love most with the people you love most. For example, in high school I learned to share my swingset with my best friends, and as a result many late-night heart-to-heart discussions created beautiful memories. In college, I learned to share my personality and intellect with my roommates, many of whom are still my dearest friends. On my mission, I learned to share my Heavenly Father and Jesus with complete strangers, and because of this my love for and my relationship with God grew. When we got married, I learned to share my favorite, oversized quilt and I've enjoyed it so much more now that I have someone to cuddle with under the green 1970's polyester fabric. I've learned that sharing my children with their grandparents spreads love through three and four generations, and this is a gift that at this point in life, only Scott and I can give to both our children and to their grandparents. We make the effort to give them time together, and they make the very most of it! We just have to learn to get out of the way, and all of the sudden, being a spectator is one of my favorite roles.
So it is with Scott. When I get out of the way and give him time to learn, work, serve, and play, my love for him grows and grows. The most selfish thing in the world that I could ever do would be to keep him to myself. I know better than anybody (except maybe his mother), the wonderful kind of man he is, and it would be wrong of me to keep him hidden from the world.
So, I let him go.
I send him to work. I send him to school. I send him to Elder's Quorum meetings, home teaching, and when we can manage, the Temple. I send him upstairs to play with Kevin and rock Sly to sleep. I send him downstairs to work on homework. I send him to Lowe's for hardware for the sprinkler system. I send him outside to talk to the neighbors. I send him back to bed to get a bit more sleep so that he can, by some miracle, find a little more energy to balance all that he has to do.
Actually, the truth is, I don't send him anywhere. He goes on his own. What I do do, however, is give him room to fly.
He does the same for me.
And because we are learning to share each other, those moments we have truly to ourselves become not only precious, but sacred. In that way, we aren't growing apart in the white space between us, but closer together.
The lesson that I want to teach my children, then, is that sharing really never gets any easier, but it can become a positive experience when you learn to share the things you love most with the people you love most. For example, in high school I learned to share my swingset with my best friends, and as a result many late-night heart-to-heart discussions created beautiful memories. In college, I learned to share my personality and intellect with my roommates, many of whom are still my dearest friends. On my mission, I learned to share my Heavenly Father and Jesus with complete strangers, and because of this my love for and my relationship with God grew. When we got married, I learned to share my favorite, oversized quilt and I've enjoyed it so much more now that I have someone to cuddle with under the green 1970's polyester fabric. I've learned that sharing my children with their grandparents spreads love through three and four generations, and this is a gift that at this point in life, only Scott and I can give to both our children and to their grandparents. We make the effort to give them time together, and they make the very most of it! We just have to learn to get out of the way, and all of the sudden, being a spectator is one of my favorite roles.
So it is with Scott. When I get out of the way and give him time to learn, work, serve, and play, my love for him grows and grows. The most selfish thing in the world that I could ever do would be to keep him to myself. I know better than anybody (except maybe his mother), the wonderful kind of man he is, and it would be wrong of me to keep him hidden from the world.
So, I let him go.
I send him to work. I send him to school. I send him to Elder's Quorum meetings, home teaching, and when we can manage, the Temple. I send him upstairs to play with Kevin and rock Sly to sleep. I send him downstairs to work on homework. I send him to Lowe's for hardware for the sprinkler system. I send him outside to talk to the neighbors. I send him back to bed to get a bit more sleep so that he can, by some miracle, find a little more energy to balance all that he has to do.
Actually, the truth is, I don't send him anywhere. He goes on his own. What I do do, however, is give him room to fly.
He does the same for me.
And because we are learning to share each other, those moments we have truly to ourselves become not only precious, but sacred. In that way, we aren't growing apart in the white space between us, but closer together.
Saturday, June 20, 2015
A Day in the Trenches
Yesterday morning, my mom sent me an email asking me to share the day with her by emailing her and "chronicling all the things we do in a day that wouldn't happen if we didn't do them."
I'm an Aggie, so I've been trained to meet a challenge. This is what I did yesterday.
11:11AM
Woke up and got Scott off to work
Wished a friend happy birthday on Facebook
Checked blood sugar and took medicine
Put a second coat of paint on the chalkboard wall
Got Sly up
Got us both breakfast
Played with him for a long time
Put him back to bed
Loaded the dishwasher
Wrote a birthday card
Worked on a family project for the Fowlers
Cuddled Kevin after she woke up
Got her breakfast
Tracked down the air pump and blew up the swimming pool
Cleaned up the breakfast spills from while I was outside
Took Kevin to the bathroom
Got her ready to go swim
Got Sly up again
Changed a poopy diaper
Got Sly and I ready to swim
Sunscreen for everyone
12:37PM
Took the kids swimming
Came in
Got everyone dressed
Hung up the wet clothes
Emailed Daddy
Instagrammed the experience and sent new pictures to family frames
Got us all water to re-hydrate
Snack time
Emailed my sister-in-aw back about the family project
Finished eating Kevin's breakfast
Gave Sly more food
Opened the baby gate for Kevin
Dance party in the kitchen with Sly
1:08PM
Took the kids downstairs
Put up the baby gate and moved the broom so Sly wouldn't eat it
Did an art project with Kevin
Read two books to the kids
Broke up a fight over a basketball
Saved Sly's life half a dozen times
Sent Kevin up to use the bathroom
Put Sly in the jumper so he wouldn't eat anything off the floor while I was upstairs with his sister
Checked on Kevin, who decided she didn't need to go after all
1:40PM
Helped Kevin change her clothes since she didn't like the ones she had picked earlier
Put in a movie for her
Put Sly down for a nap
Sorted laundry
Started laundry
Checked my blood sugar again and made a mental note to call the doctor
Took three loads of junk back downstairs where it belongs
Picked up the family room
Answered a dozen "why?" Questions from Kevin
Swept the family room
Sat down to cuddle with Kevin and watch her movie with her
Checked and responded to emails
2;27PM
Took a 20 min rest
Helped Kevin go potty
Picked up my bathroom
Started picking up the living room
Helped Kevin change into outfit #3
Turned off the movie that she had stopped watching 20 minutes ago
Got a puzzle down for her so I could unload the dishwasher
Told her she couldn't have another snack
Explained that some elephants have tusks and others don't and the fact that cows don't eat people, people eat cows
Fixed her hair clip again
Realized unloading the dishwasher wasn't going to happen and helped her with the alphabet train puzzle
3:03PM
Taught Kevin about "big" letters and "little" letters
Put away the puzzle
Read a story to Kevin
Emailed Scott
Texted two friends
Planned BBQ menu for a friend's moving party tomorrow
Took Kevin to the potty again
Went in to see why Sly woke up screaming
Gave him cuddles and distracted him by taking selfies on my phone
Caught him before he crawled out of the room
Started playtime in Kevin's room
Moved her garbage out of his reach
3:38 PM
Broke up several fights in the process of playing in Kevin's room
Went downstairs intending to switch the wash
Got distracted pulling the painter's tape off the chalk wall
Listened to both children banshee screaming
Washed out a bottle and made a new one for Sly
Rescued screaming children
Fed Sly a bottle
Fixed a toy for Kevin
3:55PM
Switched the wash
Folded the load in the dryer and took it upstairs
Rescued library book from Sly's clutches
Told Kevin to go in the bathroom after she told me she pooped in her underwears
Found out that she lied and had a little talk about that
Put away the clean linens and hung up the line dry laundry
Got her a new pair of underwear anyway
Cleaned up the mess of hair stuff from when I asked her to bring me a ponytail holder this morning
Talked to her about choking hazards and little brothers
Pulled Sly out of the kitchen
Fished dried waffle crumbs out of his mouth
Blocked off the kitchen with a barstool
Rescued another library book from Sly
3:57PM
Rescued Sly and discovered the barstool trick doesn't work anymore
4:36PM
Gave a poop pep talk
Saved Sly again
Took Sly "flying" then became a human trampoline
Helped Kevin get dressed again after she decided she didn't want to go potty
Played the piano to try and distract them
Cleaned up Sly's spit up
Played the piano with Sly on my lap
Practiced the piano a a few more minutes and tried to plan Primary sharing time in my head
Broke up a few fights
Worked on Scott's birthday surprises
Breathed a sigh of relief when Scott walked in the door an hour earlier than anticipated
At the end of the day, my mom sent me this email:
" Now you have reinforcements. This has been fun to share the day with you. Have to admit I had ulterior motives. I needed someone to share the day with but most importantly I wanted you to see how full and valuable your days are. I guarantee that no one can do what you do and do it as beautifully as you do it....Your trenches are so much more important than a novel or a clean bathroom. Take it from me. I have navigated the trenches and it is worth it!"
I wanted to have a record of this day and this experience. Friday was a pretty typical day for me: by 2:00 I was tired and by 3:30 I wanted to give my kids away. This record doesn't show the emotional ups and downs. It doesn't reflect how I fell asleep with tears on my face the night before, wondering what the heck I was doing with my life and if I was using my time to do anything worthwhile. Most days I don't feel like much of a mother. For someone who was once used to excelling at everything she did, feeling like I'm floundering on a daily basis is beyond difficult, especially since motherhood is my life these days. There just isn't time or energy for anything else, as much as I wish I could be writing and publishing the stories flying around in my head.
My health has been crazy for the past few weeks. I'm not sure what is going on, if this chronic fatigue can be chalked up to my faulty body or the fact that I have two extremely active children and get literally no breaks during the day (except to use the bathroom maybe once, for thirty seconds, because I fully believe that everyone is entitled to use the bathroom without an audience). In the process of trying to figure out my body and my head and my life, I've come to some realizations.
Although my diabetes is something that gets put on the backburner most days, I can't ignore the fact that it has dictated my life for the past six years, in both good and bad ways. It changed the shape and speed of my mission, it led to my marriage to Scott, changed our family planning to have a baby earlier than what we had planned, defined my motherhood career. I don't have energy for a side job, or the career I once thought I wanted. This is what I am doing with my life these days. And although it is hard to be okay with that, I am beyond grateful that my diabetes took away the option of "something on the side" and led me to making my family my main focus.
I think sometimes, it is hard to see the war--or even the battle--when you are fighting from the trenches. All you see are sandbags. All you feel is sand and grit and exhaustion. Sometimes, you risk peeking your head above the walls to see the horizon and try and place yourself in the grander scheme of things, and inevitably you fail.
That's because it's not your job to plan the battle or singlehandedly win the war. Leave that to the General.
All He asks us to do is man the trenches.
I'm an Aggie, so I've been trained to meet a challenge. This is what I did yesterday.
11:11AM
Woke up and got Scott off to work
Wished a friend happy birthday on Facebook
Checked blood sugar and took medicine
Put a second coat of paint on the chalkboard wall
Got Sly up
Got us both breakfast
Played with him for a long time
Put him back to bed
Loaded the dishwasher
Wrote a birthday card
Worked on a family project for the Fowlers
Cuddled Kevin after she woke up
Got her breakfast
Tracked down the air pump and blew up the swimming pool
Cleaned up the breakfast spills from while I was outside
Took Kevin to the bathroom
Got her ready to go swim
Got Sly up again
Changed a poopy diaper
Got Sly and I ready to swim
Sunscreen for everyone
12:37PM
Took the kids swimming
Came in
Got everyone dressed
Hung up the wet clothes
Emailed Daddy
Instagrammed the experience and sent new pictures to family frames
Got us all water to re-hydrate
Snack time
Emailed my sister-in-aw back about the family project
Finished eating Kevin's breakfast
Gave Sly more food
Opened the baby gate for Kevin
Dance party in the kitchen with Sly
1:08PM
Took the kids downstairs
Put up the baby gate and moved the broom so Sly wouldn't eat it
Did an art project with Kevin
Read two books to the kids
Broke up a fight over a basketball
Saved Sly's life half a dozen times
Sent Kevin up to use the bathroom
Put Sly in the jumper so he wouldn't eat anything off the floor while I was upstairs with his sister
Checked on Kevin, who decided she didn't need to go after all
1:40PM
Helped Kevin change her clothes since she didn't like the ones she had picked earlier
Put in a movie for her
Put Sly down for a nap
Sorted laundry
Started laundry
Checked my blood sugar again and made a mental note to call the doctor
Took three loads of junk back downstairs where it belongs
Picked up the family room
Answered a dozen "why?" Questions from Kevin
Swept the family room
Sat down to cuddle with Kevin and watch her movie with her
Checked and responded to emails
2;27PM
Took a 20 min rest
Helped Kevin go potty
Picked up my bathroom
Started picking up the living room
Helped Kevin change into outfit #3
Turned off the movie that she had stopped watching 20 minutes ago
Got a puzzle down for her so I could unload the dishwasher
Told her she couldn't have another snack
Explained that some elephants have tusks and others don't and the fact that cows don't eat people, people eat cows
Fixed her hair clip again
Realized unloading the dishwasher wasn't going to happen and helped her with the alphabet train puzzle
3:03PM
Taught Kevin about "big" letters and "little" letters
Put away the puzzle
Read a story to Kevin
Emailed Scott
Texted two friends
Planned BBQ menu for a friend's moving party tomorrow
Took Kevin to the potty again
Went in to see why Sly woke up screaming
Gave him cuddles and distracted him by taking selfies on my phone
Caught him before he crawled out of the room
Started playtime in Kevin's room
Moved her garbage out of his reach
3:38 PM
Broke up several fights in the process of playing in Kevin's room
Went downstairs intending to switch the wash
Got distracted pulling the painter's tape off the chalk wall
Listened to both children banshee screaming
Washed out a bottle and made a new one for Sly
Rescued screaming children
Fed Sly a bottle
Fixed a toy for Kevin
3:55PM
Switched the wash
Folded the load in the dryer and took it upstairs
Rescued library book from Sly's clutches
Told Kevin to go in the bathroom after she told me she pooped in her underwears
Found out that she lied and had a little talk about that
Put away the clean linens and hung up the line dry laundry
Got her a new pair of underwear anyway
Cleaned up the mess of hair stuff from when I asked her to bring me a ponytail holder this morning
Talked to her about choking hazards and little brothers
Pulled Sly out of the kitchen
Fished dried waffle crumbs out of his mouth
Blocked off the kitchen with a barstool
Rescued another library book from Sly
3:57PM
Rescued Sly and discovered the barstool trick doesn't work anymore
4:36PM
Gave a poop pep talk
Saved Sly again
Took Sly "flying" then became a human trampoline
Helped Kevin get dressed again after she decided she didn't want to go potty
Played the piano to try and distract them
Cleaned up Sly's spit up
Played the piano with Sly on my lap
Practiced the piano a a few more minutes and tried to plan Primary sharing time in my head
Broke up a few fights
Worked on Scott's birthday surprises
Breathed a sigh of relief when Scott walked in the door an hour earlier than anticipated
At the end of the day, my mom sent me this email:
" Now you have reinforcements. This has been fun to share the day with you. Have to admit I had ulterior motives. I needed someone to share the day with but most importantly I wanted you to see how full and valuable your days are. I guarantee that no one can do what you do and do it as beautifully as you do it....Your trenches are so much more important than a novel or a clean bathroom. Take it from me. I have navigated the trenches and it is worth it!"
I wanted to have a record of this day and this experience. Friday was a pretty typical day for me: by 2:00 I was tired and by 3:30 I wanted to give my kids away. This record doesn't show the emotional ups and downs. It doesn't reflect how I fell asleep with tears on my face the night before, wondering what the heck I was doing with my life and if I was using my time to do anything worthwhile. Most days I don't feel like much of a mother. For someone who was once used to excelling at everything she did, feeling like I'm floundering on a daily basis is beyond difficult, especially since motherhood is my life these days. There just isn't time or energy for anything else, as much as I wish I could be writing and publishing the stories flying around in my head.
My health has been crazy for the past few weeks. I'm not sure what is going on, if this chronic fatigue can be chalked up to my faulty body or the fact that I have two extremely active children and get literally no breaks during the day (except to use the bathroom maybe once, for thirty seconds, because I fully believe that everyone is entitled to use the bathroom without an audience). In the process of trying to figure out my body and my head and my life, I've come to some realizations.
Although my diabetes is something that gets put on the backburner most days, I can't ignore the fact that it has dictated my life for the past six years, in both good and bad ways. It changed the shape and speed of my mission, it led to my marriage to Scott, changed our family planning to have a baby earlier than what we had planned, defined my motherhood career. I don't have energy for a side job, or the career I once thought I wanted. This is what I am doing with my life these days. And although it is hard to be okay with that, I am beyond grateful that my diabetes took away the option of "something on the side" and led me to making my family my main focus.
I think sometimes, it is hard to see the war--or even the battle--when you are fighting from the trenches. All you see are sandbags. All you feel is sand and grit and exhaustion. Sometimes, you risk peeking your head above the walls to see the horizon and try and place yourself in the grander scheme of things, and inevitably you fail.
That's because it's not your job to plan the battle or singlehandedly win the war. Leave that to the General.
All He asks us to do is man the trenches.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Watchful unto Prayer
Kevin has known how to pray for months now. The trouble is, she has put up a big fight about saying any prayer, even with our help. She refuses at breakfast, lunch, dinner, family prayer, personal prayer, famoween prayer--you name it, she doesn't want to say it.
I haven't pressed the issue. I feel like the desire to pray is as much a part of prayer as the words you say, and I want her to know real prayer, not just the rotary. So, we've taken the approach of giving her opportunities, and having her help us, telling her she is an example and needs to help us teach Sly, and just talking to her about when and where she can prayer (always and anywhere) and what she can pray about. If she says she doesn't want to say it, we very rarely make her say it.
I don't know when exactly prayer clicked in her mind and became her sincere desire. Maybe it was last night, when she heard her cousins say prayers on their own in front of the whole extended Fowler family. Maybe she had a lesson in nursery about praying. Maybe she saw me kneel down in the private of my room to break my fast and saw her father do the same, on his own, a few minutes later. Maybe it was a lot of little, quiet moments throughout the past year when she has seen and heard me say prayers at all times of the day, when I didn't even know she was listening or watching.
Last week, she hit three firsts in one 24-hour-period (and I hope she will forgive me, someday, the slight embarrassment of divulging what these three firsts were): sleeping in underwear for the first time, clogging the toilet for the first time, and saying a prayer on her own for the very first time. She was so proud of herself, and my heart was so full, it needed a bit of plunging in addition to the toilet.
Since then, she has said about one prayer a day on her own, sometimes needing help and sometimes not. Even with this recent progress, she blew me away today, when she said every.single.prayer on her own.
It started with breakfast. She asked me if she could say it and I told her of course. And for three full minutes, she talked to "Henly Fader." And it wasn't just her usual "thank you for da day"--she asked Him to be present throughout our whole day--from asking for Daddy to be good at work to Sly smiling for his nine-month pictures to the bike ride we were going to take for famoween.
Lunch was a similar repeat, with extra blessings on Mom and Sly. Then she said the prayer for dinner, and thanked Heavenly Fader that Daddy could come home from work and we could be together. And then her prayer for family home evening, thanking Him for the bike ride and that we could have famoween and a testimony (the word she uses to describe our lessons) and Mom could make a treat.
After we finished reading the scriptures and Dad said he was going to say the family prayer before she went up to bed, she asked to say it instead. Who were we to stop her? She went on for five or six minutes. She got so involved in her conversation with Heavenly Fader, saying His name multiple times, that sometimes we would have to remind her with a word or a phrase to get her back on track. She blessed Mommy and Graham twice, forgot about Daddy (she'd later told us she prayed for him at breakfast, so it was okay), asked to be good for bedtime, and then.
And then she ended in the most tender way:
"And Henly Fader? I love Jesus. Amen."
Over the past few weeks, I have noticed more and more that she is paying attention. I hear words from my mouth come out of hers as she interacts with her brother and her baby dolls. I hear her asking to do the things I do. Today, as we were coloring, she opened a notebook and asked me if she could write in her journal, which is something she sees me do on a regular basis. She asks me to read her books and an hour later I come into the room to find her repeating similar words to whichever doll is settled squarely on her lap, as she points out part of the picture. She even tried putting her brother to bed today by giving him a binky and leaving the room. From her play makeup, to her projects, to her fake phone calls, all she wants is to do what I do. All day long.
I was flattered, and humbled, then, when I realized that of all the things that she knows are important to me, this is one that is truly important to her, too. And not just in a casual, repetitive way. In a way that she knows He hears her. She knows he will listen to anything she has to say. She knows He will help her whenever she needs Him to.
She knows because she watches.
And she knows I know, too.
I haven't pressed the issue. I feel like the desire to pray is as much a part of prayer as the words you say, and I want her to know real prayer, not just the rotary. So, we've taken the approach of giving her opportunities, and having her help us, telling her she is an example and needs to help us teach Sly, and just talking to her about when and where she can prayer (always and anywhere) and what she can pray about. If she says she doesn't want to say it, we very rarely make her say it.
I don't know when exactly prayer clicked in her mind and became her sincere desire. Maybe it was last night, when she heard her cousins say prayers on their own in front of the whole extended Fowler family. Maybe she had a lesson in nursery about praying. Maybe she saw me kneel down in the private of my room to break my fast and saw her father do the same, on his own, a few minutes later. Maybe it was a lot of little, quiet moments throughout the past year when she has seen and heard me say prayers at all times of the day, when I didn't even know she was listening or watching.
Last week, she hit three firsts in one 24-hour-period (and I hope she will forgive me, someday, the slight embarrassment of divulging what these three firsts were): sleeping in underwear for the first time, clogging the toilet for the first time, and saying a prayer on her own for the very first time. She was so proud of herself, and my heart was so full, it needed a bit of plunging in addition to the toilet.
Since then, she has said about one prayer a day on her own, sometimes needing help and sometimes not. Even with this recent progress, she blew me away today, when she said every.single.prayer on her own.
It started with breakfast. She asked me if she could say it and I told her of course. And for three full minutes, she talked to "Henly Fader." And it wasn't just her usual "thank you for da day"--she asked Him to be present throughout our whole day--from asking for Daddy to be good at work to Sly smiling for his nine-month pictures to the bike ride we were going to take for famoween.
Lunch was a similar repeat, with extra blessings on Mom and Sly. Then she said the prayer for dinner, and thanked Heavenly Fader that Daddy could come home from work and we could be together. And then her prayer for family home evening, thanking Him for the bike ride and that we could have famoween and a testimony (the word she uses to describe our lessons) and Mom could make a treat.
After we finished reading the scriptures and Dad said he was going to say the family prayer before she went up to bed, she asked to say it instead. Who were we to stop her? She went on for five or six minutes. She got so involved in her conversation with Heavenly Fader, saying His name multiple times, that sometimes we would have to remind her with a word or a phrase to get her back on track. She blessed Mommy and Graham twice, forgot about Daddy (she'd later told us she prayed for him at breakfast, so it was okay), asked to be good for bedtime, and then.
And then she ended in the most tender way:
"And Henly Fader? I love Jesus. Amen."
Over the past few weeks, I have noticed more and more that she is paying attention. I hear words from my mouth come out of hers as she interacts with her brother and her baby dolls. I hear her asking to do the things I do. Today, as we were coloring, she opened a notebook and asked me if she could write in her journal, which is something she sees me do on a regular basis. She asks me to read her books and an hour later I come into the room to find her repeating similar words to whichever doll is settled squarely on her lap, as she points out part of the picture. She even tried putting her brother to bed today by giving him a binky and leaving the room. From her play makeup, to her projects, to her fake phone calls, all she wants is to do what I do. All day long.
I was flattered, and humbled, then, when I realized that of all the things that she knows are important to me, this is one that is truly important to her, too. And not just in a casual, repetitive way. In a way that she knows He hears her. She knows he will listen to anything she has to say. She knows He will help her whenever she needs Him to.
She knows because she watches.
And she knows I know, too.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
In Summer
It feels like summer.
Have you noticed?
Nothing much changes for me from season to season. Scott's work and school schedule are the same. We don't have any fancy vacations planned, or even camping trips, or anything like that. Life is the same in June as it was in January--take care of the children, do the laundry, pick up the masses of toys, wait for Scott to come home from all he has going on so bedtime can commence (because both the sun and Kevin refuse to go to sleep before 9:00 pm).
Still, summer feels good to me.
It's the little things that make this time of year different, like waking up to kisses from the sun streaming in through my bedroom window, or leaving the windows open while the fans blow the fresh air around, or nightly walks around the block to wear Kevin out. It's flowers blooming in our yard (because the early warm temperatures followed by a day of frost and snow killed all of our spring plants) and getting my hands dirty from the constant weeds. It's the lawn needing to be mowed once a week and the sweet neighbor boy ringing my doorbell to ask if he wants us to do it for him, because he knows Scott is busy. It's the sounds of children playing up and down our street, and the smell of the neighbor's fire pit smoke wafting into our yard, and the sounds of hundreds of birds chattering to one another over our heads.
Someday, summer begin and end because of a school calendar.
For now, however, summer begins because my senses tell me it is here and to enjoy it while it lasts.
Have you noticed?
Nothing much changes for me from season to season. Scott's work and school schedule are the same. We don't have any fancy vacations planned, or even camping trips, or anything like that. Life is the same in June as it was in January--take care of the children, do the laundry, pick up the masses of toys, wait for Scott to come home from all he has going on so bedtime can commence (because both the sun and Kevin refuse to go to sleep before 9:00 pm).
Still, summer feels good to me.
It's the little things that make this time of year different, like waking up to kisses from the sun streaming in through my bedroom window, or leaving the windows open while the fans blow the fresh air around, or nightly walks around the block to wear Kevin out. It's flowers blooming in our yard (because the early warm temperatures followed by a day of frost and snow killed all of our spring plants) and getting my hands dirty from the constant weeds. It's the lawn needing to be mowed once a week and the sweet neighbor boy ringing my doorbell to ask if he wants us to do it for him, because he knows Scott is busy. It's the sounds of children playing up and down our street, and the smell of the neighbor's fire pit smoke wafting into our yard, and the sounds of hundreds of birds chattering to one another over our heads.
Someday, summer begin and end because of a school calendar.
For now, however, summer begins because my senses tell me it is here and to enjoy it while it lasts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)